Answer me! Part 2: Responding in-kind

This is a bit of a rant, but honestly, I feel fine. This is based on past – not current – experiences:

Have you ever worked and slaved and …

1) spent lots of energy writing a

2) complete,

3) thorough,

4) fully explanatory,

5) passionate letter,

… only to get a one-line response to it (if any at all)?

And so next time around, you write a terse letter? And then you get a one-line response to that, asking for …

1) more energy,

2) completeness,

3) thoroughness,

4) explanation,

5) and passion?

You write a lot and get asked to pare it down. You summarize and get asked to clarify, magnify, explain, or provide more information. You answer a question and get told you didn’t answer the exact question asked. But when you answer the exact question asked, you are then asked for the extra information you already provided so eloquently in your original answer. Some people are never pleased. If Microsoft ever invents a way to reach through a computer and tweak someone's nose, the world will be a better place.

Having written lots of letters and explained myself in many ways to many people, this phenomenon has carried over into my speaking, as well. Sometimes I have trouble carrying on a conversation because I’m formulating the perfect sentence that will explain my thoughts in as few words as possible yet leave no room for question or interpretation. That is a tricky (and fully unnecessary) balance, and Freud would probably have a field day with it.

Those of you (or us) who play cat and mouse with one-line responses designed to make you look superior rather than help the other person, let’s re-learn and re-invoke that whole Do Unto Others thing. Every communiqué is important to its writer. No one composes their thoughts just to practice their typing! The writer doesn't have to know your reaction; most of the time, they just need your considered answer.

My rules:

Communiqués from students are always important. After all, I’m in the business of communicating with students.

Communiqués from family members are always important.

Communiqués from old friends are always important.

Communiqués from administration are (usually) important.

Everything else can wait.

Organ recitals and camera angles

The threat of over-production always lurks when video experts get near an organ console. Cameras zoom, pan, sweep, go after moving (and non-moving) body parts, get shots of stained glass windows, exposed pipes, church exteriors, and so forth. Fine to get all that, but not at the expense of missing the best visual part of the piece!

Let’s boil this down now: When an organist is playing, there are only two views that will be of continuing interest to the live audience: hands and feet. Based on that simple fact, here are some suggestions for the video crew:

1. If you insist on multiple shots, get an organist to call them -- you’ll get better shots at the right times.

2. This isn’t about video composition; it’s about getting an audience some visual access to what they otherwise usually cannot see. When in doubt, put the camera where any normal person would want to stand where they could see everything going on at the console, and then leave it alone. Find a good spot and stay there. Ignore the rule you learned in video school that says that people will lose interest after 7 seconds on the same shot. We're not watching cows graze here.

3. Shooting over the organist’s shoulder to get the score usually also picks up fingerings, piston markings, other scribblings, and unsightly Post-It Notes. Therefore, this shot is not as dramatic as the videographer's playbook says it is. And don’t forget that you’ll probably get a page turner’s arm in there at some point, too. Uninteresting subject matter.

4. There is nothing of interest on the organist’s face. There is nothing of interest on the organist’s face. THERE IS NOTHING OF INTEREST ON THE ORGANIST’S FACE. I can’t tell you the number of videos I've seen that zoom into the organist’s face while the fingers and feet are at their busiest and most impressive. “Oh, you can tell she is concentrating so admirably!” Well, yes, she had better be, and we should be able to tell that from the sound, not from the camera shot. If you insist on going for the face, then just make it a full body shot, and make sure you have an organist calling the shots – you don’t want to miss something truly interesting while you’re chasing B-roll butterflies.

5. When putting titles up on the screen during live performance, recall that the audience has that same information in their printed program. So really, there’s no need. However, if you insist, then have the performer and the shot-calling organist check those title cards well beforehand. And refrain from over-quoting titles. The title is NOT “Adagio from Symphony No. 6,” quote marks and all. It is:

Symphony No. 6
II. Adagio
Charles-Marie Widor
(1844-1937)

Just as we all learned in the seventh grade, we use quote marks to quote quotations, not to refer to titles. And use the composer’s full name; he deserves it.

6. Finally, be willing to tell the organist that in the future they would do well to straighten out their posture, get new socks, or stop muttering under their breath while they play.

7. When in doubt, park the camera where the average person would park themselves in order to get the best view. Then step away from the camera and resist temptation.

Recruiting, Part 7: Recruiting the old-fashioned way -- just be an organist

I cannot realistically visit high schools to recruit for the organ. Not only are there no organs in most schools, but also many youth these days are not attending churches with organs, if they attend at all. The organ always faces these distant threats toward obsolescence. However, and fortunately, the organ does most of its own recruiting. As a machine that faintly resembles a piano, it is already both familiar and newly fascinating to many young people. The work of the American Guild of Organists and some “maverick” performers has breathed new life into the “rock star” appeal of the instrument. Couple this with my own performing and affability with audiences, and my student recruiting has taken care of itself so far.

It is vital for a teacher to maintain a conscious, pro-active approach to professional relations. Being friendly and refusing to be difficult go a long way. When “You’re so easy to work with!” becomes a fact rather than the occasional compliment, you have arrived.

Perhaps a teacher’s healthy performing career is his most powerful recruiting tool; a visible, assessable product is a strong magnet. Public visibility grows with every recital played away from the home base. Performing often “at home” is a good opportunity for me to prove to students that I practice what I preach in their lessons.

I always make available to interested persons the organ consoles at which I “preside” or on which I have just performed. This sends a message of good hospitality, which can help reverse a lingering stigma of surly organists in our society. Too often I hear of interested visitors who are categorically turned away from churches or institutions that keep the console under lock and key, with no hope for closer inspection. I have seen many a young person increase his interest in the organ after enjoying a brief visit to a console, and I am committed to maintaining the availability of those opportunities for all ages. I have said before that I am living proof that this works, and I have been fortunate to have realized it and be able to thank my mentors while they are still among the living.

Finally, I have developed a Halloween Monster Concert and an annual Messiah Singalong at Appalachian. The Monster Concert brings in capacity crowds in costume, ready to hoot, holler, sing Pumpkin Carols, watch a scary silent move, and get candy. The Messiah crowd bring their children, and all follow along in the scores and sing all those Part I choruses and Hallelujah. I learned two years ago that some people will come to the Singalong no matter the weather, and so I decided never to cancel that one for the weather – that music really does make a lot of Christmases, and I’m glad to deliver. After each event, the organ console is made available to all interested parties.

In short, for recruiting, I just do what I do, which is to be an organist. The organ draws a crowd in its own way, and a little positive reinforcement from me is usually all it takes to seal the deal.

Nunc dimittis: Gerre Hancock, 1934-2012

I'll be brief:

Few serious church musicians have never heard of Gerre Hancock. I met him in passing only twice, yet I easily joined the ranks of those who admired him and cherished his wonderful work with the St. Thomas (NYC) choirs and later with organ and sacred music students at the University of Texas. May he rest in peace, and may Judith be strengthened, comforted, and buoyed during this difficult time.

Just do it

Organ builders are funny.

There is only one good organ builder in the world. Fortunately, you never have to look very far to find him/her, because it's always the one who is talking to you at the time. Everyone else is a raving lunatic or just an idiot.

You point out an issue that needs fixing and you get back, "Yeah, that's how [that builder] did things in those days." [And...?]

You point out an issue that needs fixing and you get back, "Yeah, I noticed that." [Might you be inclined to fix it while you're here and being paid for it?]

You point out an issue that needs fixing and you get back, "Yeah, they tend to do that." [And...?]

The tuning of reeds is perhaps the most contentious issue among organ builders. One swears by tuning on the scroll, one swears by tuning on the wire, and one swears by using both in a prescribed ratio that should not be changed. It is all a very handy argument that gets the builder off the hook for recalcitrant reeds and conveniently keeps you caught in the middle and spinning around helplessly with an organ that doesn't do what it's supposed to do. I can usually make the reed tuning argument go away, while giving the organ builder(s) an easy choice. I tell them, "Do whatever keeps the reeds in tune AND in regulation, or I will fire you and tell everyone that you don't know what you're doing. Just do it."

Of course, then that starts up again with, "Well you know, those reeds by [that builder during that era] just won't stay in tune unless you blah blah blither blather dither yada rattle yip yip yap yap jibber jabber whatever."

Dear organist: organs are machines. They are absolutely stupid, and they will do as they are made to do. Insist on a serviceman who knows how to make that happen. Reclaim your God-given right to play an organ that actually works, with stops that are actually in tune and in regulation. Hire service personnel who are good mechanics AND have good ears. Just do it.

A life cut short, we hope not

I'm going out on a limb here; I hope I don't endanger anyone by telling their story in public.

A high school student was discovering new empowerment as a service player. He had the "chops" to play hymns, anthems and solos and to sightread new music in choir rehearsal. He had drifted into service playing, like many people do, little by little: "Hey, could you play this or that song/hymn/anthem next Sunday?" "Hey, could you play the whole service next month?" The weeks went by, and one thing led to another, and the next question was, "Hey, could you be our regular pianist?" The student quickly discovered how rewarding all this was and how rewarding it was for his listeners, and he could come away a tiny bit wealthier at the same time. Win-win-win. He was falling into his element.

His mother was horrified and forbade it. Not because she thought service playing was a bad idea, but because it would be a bad idea in that church 60 miles from home. Her son would no longer be around on weekends. "I'd never see you again, dadgummit!"

Well, the kid did what any other kid under the age of 18 ought to do: he obeyed his mother's command and turned down the church's offer. While the kid went on to become a successful and acclaimed service player, being made to turn down that very first offer as a church pianist came at a price. Three prices, actually, all of which Mother, not the kid, paid: 1) When he came of age, the next offer was for organist, not pianist. This was equally horrifying to dear old mother, because she had rather he play the piano, not the organ. 2) The offer was from a Presbyterian church, not the Baptist church mother swore by. The next two offers were Methodist and Episcopal! 3) He never trusted Mother again.

It is difficult to continue this story in third person, so I'll switch to first, which is the correct person, anyway. I had a mentor help me through that time in my life. It was a difficult time, and I am not the only person to have experienced such a thing. I was amazed at how calm my mentor was and how he had just the right words to say, even when he spoke to my mother and tried to talk some sense into her. Although that didn't work, no one expected it to, and at least I knew I wasn't alone.

Fast-forward to today, where I am now the mentor and have the same calm disposition on behalf of a kid in a similar situation. It is remarkable to compare a time when I was in emotional need with now being in a position of meeting pretty much the same emotional needs. That is about the only good thing I have found about getting old and bald. It feels good to me to be there for someone, although I wish the situation didn't exist for the one going through it.

Anyway, today there is another high school student who is discovering his empowerment as a service player. He has drifted into service playing, first as an occasional organist and now as the permanent, all at his home church. (That alone should raise a red flag -- prophet in his own land!) He does not receive the positive reinforcement I did in those early churches, and he is growing weary of denominational dogma. So he went job-hunting. He found a lovely Episcopal church, interviewed, and was offered the position. His pastor and father intervened and have forbidden him from accepting that position, citing that Episcopalians (I'll bet their word was 'Episcopals,' but I wasn't there) are actually Catholics, and "Catholics don't pray to God."

One hardly knows where to begin, and so I will just end: young person, if you're listening to this, you hang in there. Better days are ahead, and people like me standing by to help are legion. And just as my mentor spoke with my mother in a calm, reasonable voice, I am ready to do the same for you when you need it. We all know it won't hurt, but we also know it probably won't help.

You organists are all the same

Marcel Dupré was and is consistently described as a patient teacher and a kind mentor, while he expected from his students the same exacting standards on which he insisted for himself. Moreover and probably more importantly, he seems to have been absolutely consistent in this, never losing his temper or “firing” a student on a whim.

On the other hand, more than one rift developed (exploded) between him and others. The one most discussed nowadays is the one between him and Jeanne Demessieux. Everyone leans toward the same lurid explanation, but the abruptness and finality of the rift remain a mystery. I am not interested in the rift as much as I am in Dupré’s immovability over it. I am interested in Dupré the patient, wise, kind, grandfatherly teacher, who apparently also had a dark side and would forsake someone so talented and otherwise irreproachable. Surely that had consequences to Dupré’s reputation and art that he was willing to accept.

Organists just wouldn’t be organists if they weren’t in one tiff or another. But aren’t we all that way? We like it. We like the juicy gossip. We like the drama. We keep hoping the ones who deserve it will get theirs, good or bad. If The American Organist magazine were to re-format into a People Magazine for organists, subscription sales would skyrocket, and Hollywood would get some competition for headlines. Every profession has grudges, and everyone in that profession knows about them. Organists are no different, but they’re probably a bit worse.

While we’d love to get a psychological profile of our favorite composers, we’d probably find consistently that all of them were ordinary people with extraordinary talents and press. So what if Dupré had a dark side? Franck probably did too, and his reputation is spotless. [And deep down, we all probably have our suspicions of Bach, too!] Perhaps in a hundred years, someone will unearth this blog and begin to piece together a psychological profile of me. I would find that very interesting. And I’ll bet that much of it would be inaccurate, just as we probably have a few things wrong about Dupré.

There are two pipsqueaks in the world who have treated me with extreme disrespect, through no particular fault of my own. One has been hailed as a patient and kind teacher and a benevolent mentor. The other is hailed as a young, humble talent worthy of glory, honor, and praise. Each one has his dark side, which if exposed would negate much of their press. I have been the unlucky recipient of their animosity simply because I heeded the advice of one much wiser than them or me.

It’s a New Year. Time heals all wounds, and I do let those grudges go little by little. Until they start affecting my own reputation, then they are harmless and quite normal in this profession. Starting with a clean slate in the new year is not possible, but polishing the slate every now and then is plenty therapeutic enough. This post has been restorative for me. Maybe next year I’ll name names!

2011 in brief

It was a great year of recitals, choral concerts, and teaching progress. Mentoring and practicing what I preach are the things I cherish the most and to which I shall always give my fullest attention and efforts.

A few months ago, I received wonderful questions about reed stops, a beautiful pencil drawing of an organ façade, and a Toccata from a neat kid who attended one of my recitals.

It was also a year of heavy curriculum assessment and revision, most of which was required by upcoming accreditation reviews, but in the end none of which hurts. I’ll get over it.

And my number of organ majors hovers around five. Which can be considered a record in some circles. We are pleased.

This year launched the heaviest performing season of my career. The Fall was full, but the Spring and Summer will be absolutely bonkers. And I love it.

2011 was also marked by a few, um, interesting conversations I didn’t see coming:

1. The ADA official told a church, “You’ll need to provide handicap access to that new organ console up there. You’ll also need to provide handicap access to the organ chamber for service personnel.”

2. The local Fire Marshall said, “That organ chamber is a room, and rooms must have sprinklers.”

3. A teenager asked another teenager from another church, “Why do you sing your hymns from a book? You're supposed to flash the words up on a screen.”

Those little innocent tragedies aside, I have no complaints. No injuries, no bankruptcy, no deaths. My 2012 looks good from here so far, and I hope yours will, too.

An organist's tale of two Christmases

I love traveling at Christmas. I especially enjoy being able to travel before Christmas, to wherever I wish!

Christmas 2008: A church hopper's paradise

I was not employed at a church that year, and I had no Christmas gigs lined up (churches tend not to need subs on Christmas Eve unless the organist is sick), and so I was looking forward to church-hopping on Christmas Eve while visiting my sister. I don't ask advice on which churches to check out. I have fun making my own discoveries:

1. I look at advertised service times and start forming a general geographical plan of attack. How many churches can I "hit" in one evening?

2. Any church I visit must be of traditional architecture. Old or new, it must look like a church, not a warehouse.

3. If I find the church does not have a pipe organ, I will take in the architecture and the general quality of the music and then leave.

4. Attending a whole service is not necessary. Hearing some music is primary. Hearing the homily is not.

5. I tend to choose big buildings over smaller ones, preferring spaciousness to intimacy.

So, for Christmas Eve 2008, I attended a traditional candlelight service at a Baptist church with a good-sized hybrid organ. Then I arrived at the Catholic church during communion, during which a marimbist was playing a solo rendition of Feliz Navidad. I took in the sight of the Holtkamp tracker sitting unplayed, and then I quickly left. From there I went to a Presbyterian church, where I discovered that their advertised service time was one hour too late, and so I got there during Silent Night and did not get to hear the organ. From there, I went to my sister's church (Methodist), where the organist insisted that if he didn't play loudly, no one would sing. Therefore, we were screaming Christmas carols at the tops of our lungs. Gutbusters such as Away in a Manger and Silent Night. A very interesting approach to singing to a sleeping baby Jesus.

Christmas Day, I attended the local Episcopal church, where a friend of mine was playing. Good dose of liturgy for me, and my friend played the Mulet Carillon-Sortie for the postlude, inspired by my recent performance of it in recital in this area. I was honored.

Of course, dinner at the sister's was its usual marvelous quality. A happy Christmas indeed.

Christmas 2011: A hospital hopper's paradise

My mother has been very sick lately. We got her discharged from her hospital back home and drove her to my sister's for some TLC and fresh medical perspectives. Since my sister is the CFO of her hospital, the staff has been all too willing to meet her mother and help her as much as possible. Mother is doing much better. She is now discharged from that hospital, and we are all together at my sister's house for a few days.

And now I am looking forward to a fresh batch of churches for my church-hopping pleasure tomorrow night, Christmas Eve. And I will look forward to attending my sister's church again, where there is now a new organist, who, I'm told, will not require us to scream at the baby Jesus.

Now to you, Dear Reader, I wish a very Merry Christmas 2011 and a Happy 2012.

The hardest job in music

Turning pages. We've all done it, and we've all had it done. Some are better at it than others; it is good to be able to explain why. I have been called ‘the most invisible page turner ever.’ That is a compliment, and I will share here what I might have done to earn that attribution:

If you’re wearing a tie, clip it or button your jacket. Leave the long necklace at home.

Stand out of the performer’s way. Stand out of the performer’s peripheral vision. Stand still. Hands at sides. Stand up straight. Do not move. Do not scratch. Do not cough. Do not sneeze. Do not react in horror at the performer’s mediocrity, if such is present.

Get your eyeglasses prescription updated, so you can see the music while you’re standing off to the side.

From that position out of the performer’s way, take one giant step into page turning position. Take the same giant step back when the page is turned. Do not shuffle or fidget into any position; move smoothly.

When moving into turning position, don’t pull drawknobs with your sleeves, and don’t push them in with your elbows or belly or any other physical attributes you have in that area.

Turn from the left side whenever possible. It is easier to “pull” a page across rather than “throw” it from the other side and hope it lands on its feet. I once had to turn for an all-Franck recital. The performer was using the Dupré edition, the dimensions of which are roughly six feet by four feet. The console was huge and wide, and I had to stand on the right, because there was no hope for reaching across from the left to grab those huge pages. The pages themselves were floppy and noisy, and I had little hope of “throwing” the page over quietly or in time. It was no easy task, and the performer and I did not become friends. But I carried on, and no one died, and the building is still standing. And it was at that event that I was proclaimed the most invisible page turner ever. If I were ever asked about it, my advice to that performer would have been to get smaller scores, prepare paste-ups, or just memorize it, for heaven’s sake.

If turning from the performer’s left, hold your clothes out of the way with your right hand. Use your left thumb and forefinger to pull the upper corner down well before turning. This gets the page ready and gives the performer a peek at the next notes. Be careful about casting shadows or blocking access to drawknobs while in that pre-turn position. Turn quickly, decisively, and quietly. Don’t let the page slip out of your hand. Pull (or more accurately, “peel”) the page all the way over, and don’t apply brakes too early; get it turned! Smooth out the page immediately, to keep it opaque and flat. Be sure your thumb does not hide the first notes.

If turning from the performer’s right, slide your right hand behind the page to be turned. Careful that it does not make the last notes of the page transparent. Push the page over until it is completely flat on the other side; you don’t want it rebounding back to you.

Once turned, check the score for centering, remove extra pages off to the side, etc., and then step back out of the way.

When in doubt, don’t screw up. In other words, don’t screw up.

If you’re recruiting a page turner for yourself, be sure you know the music and are able to carry on if the page turner implodes. Get someone who reads music and is not ADHD. They may also need long arms. If the console is not hidden, try to get a page turner who is dressed appropriately. Get someone who is not freaked out by the idea of turning pages for music they have never seen. Ideally, get someone on the young side so that they can write home about the opportunity to be standing over an organ console being used in battle.

Feel free to "train" your page turner as much as you like. And thank them at the end, even if they screwed it up. After all, you could have memorized it.