Consoles and cockpits

Organ consoles are often compared to cockpits (or flight decks, for my more euphemistically-minded readers). The questions tend to be “How do you operate all that?” “How do you keep up with all that?” “What do all those buttons do?” I love those questions. They are perfect segues for me to show just how cool the organ console is. And I gently inform my listener that all that gadgetry is there for convenience, not for compulsory operation at all times. There are gadgets on the two organs I play every day that I have never used. Not every console has every gadget I think it ought to have, and many consoles have far too many. But the next organist just might find a console to be perfect. We’re all different, and so are consoles.

The most expensive gift I ever gave anyone was a graduation gift. It was a private pilot license, given from me to me for my doctoral graduation. Being able to fly one’s self around is a joy and a privilege, which, incidentally, has come under increasing scrutiny since 9/11. That privilege is now in constant danger of being taxed into oblivion and should never be taken for granted.

Throughout every moment of my flight training, I pondered the difference between that training and my graduate organ training. My graduate work was a productive, eye-opening experience for me as a musician, as an organist, as a student, and as a future teacher. The exacting standards and methods I was taught transformed my playing and my teaching, and I am a believer in practical application and in being given the time to master something before moving on. That is crucial to success.

In contrast, my flight training was the most haphazard training I have ever seen. The flight school was following the FAA rules of material covered, but the techniques used to cover it were not at all thought through or progressive. Every lesson was an island and had little to do with the preceding or following lesson. I never really got used to one thing before I was being commanded to do something else.

Having a regimen for teaching should not be confused with having a regimen for learning. Learning the material is compulsory, no matter how it is taught. Ultimately, that is up to the student. But with organ playing, flying, and probably nearly any other practice-based activity, I believe in the step-by-step application in the teaching and in the implementation. Since grad school, I have sworn by Gleason, Crozier, and Holloway. And it is working for my students, too.

Someday, I might like to be a flight instructor and try out my teaching in that field. But that would be another expensive gift that I’m not yet willing to give myself.

Advent I-IV? Or Christmas I-IV?

Last Sunday was Advent I. I’ll bet that whether they wanted to or not, many organists were playing Christmas carols in church that day, just because it was Advent I. And I’ll bet that many MORE organists will be playing Christmas carols NEXT Sunday, just because December will have arrived. Liturgically, those are poor excuses to drag out the Christmas music. Even worse, some churches will bring out the Advent wreaths, light the first candle with the proper reading – and then launch into Christmas carols.

But there are still many “holdout” churches and organists and directors of music, who will bring out the Christmas carols on Christmas Eve and keep them cranking until January 6. But there is yet another “holdout” level – those churches who follow the liturgical calendar to the letter by withholding Christmas carols until midnight on Christmas morning. (Christmas Eve is unfortunately named -- it is simply the day before Christmas. It is part of Advent.)

Yes, I have heard (and contributed to) all the grumbling of being saturated in Christmas carols throughout December. My gripe with it is not of a liturgical nature; rather, I have found that the carols are just not exciting on Christmas Eve when I have been playing them all month already. The best I can do is withhold the Willcocks arrangements until Christmas Eve – that becomes about the only excitement left to enjoy. But then there have been those years when I was not employed by a church and could church-hop on Christmas Eve. That is the ultimate fun at Christmas for me, and I look forward to doing that again this year.

Let’s be honest, folks: the liturgical calendar is completely man-made, and when “other” churches deviate from it, what’s the worst that can happen? Will lightning strike just because a Christmas carol is sung in church before Christmas? Will the organist grumble? About the only compelling reason to keep advocating for “liturgical correctness” is in the name of congregational education. Many churches have never heard of Advent. Many other churches have heard of it but mix it up with Christmas throughout December. Many others know all about it but just can’t stand not to be singing Christmas carols all month. The commercial pressure exerted all around us sometimes wins in our churches, and we have to decide year after year just how faithful we will be to a man-made standard. But the admonition to take a month to prepare for (not celebrate) the birth each year is compelling, and there is plenty of wonderful, applicable music to enjoy in church. Should we wish for more Christmas music, then we can attend any number of “holiday concerts” or shop at any number of retail stores and listen to their muzak. There is also Sirius and our own recordings of Christmas music. Church really CAN afford to hold out on Christmas music until it is time.

My Advent I this year was spent at St. Thomas Church, New York. Places like that serve as the choral standard to which many churches aspire. And many churches in this country get close. But many others can only press their faces up to the window of doing things the “English way,” but they just don’t have the resources, the boy voices, the administrative/clergy support, or the congregational education to pull it off. You can join the Royal School of Church Music, where you take an oath to do things here the way they do them in England (yet another man-made standard). In any event, it is hard work (St. Thomas requires three fulltime organists and two offices of administrative support), and if you don’t have the support, it is even harder, nigh unto impossible. Children’s choirs in this country have been utterly crippled by soccer, gymnastics, Karate lessons, praise bands, the youth minister’s cultish appeal, and a general disenchantment with church by millions of people.

Perhaps finding the occasional pocket of excellence in a sea of the cheap and commercial makes it that much more precious and worth fighting for. But if everyone did their church music the same wonderful way, would we get complacent? And then would we get bored and start wishing for simpler approaches?

Well, that's for another blogger to answer in full, but the answer is Yes, we would. And we already have.

Recruiting, Part 6: A church organist's hidden agenda

Wanted: Organist with an agenda

Must play for services. Must be on time. Must do all the other usual, expected, predictable things. Must also be open to doing the following:

-- Write and publish a brochure about the church's organ(s). Place copies in the narthex and throughout the building. Include history, specs, photos, and a standing invitation for people to come visit the organ with you – and to bring their CHILDREN. Make sure that every word in the brochure is spelled correctly and every sentence is true.

-- Leave the organ up and running for a few minutes after a Sunday postlude, in case you get some visitors. Invite people in the bulletin. Then welcome them and encourage them to come back sometime with friends and CHILDREN.

-- Play a short, post-Sunday-service recital from time to time. Advertise it. Have a theme for a given program.

-- Publish some short program notes about the prelude and postlude, whether in the bulletin or in the weekly newsletter. Might be good for the choir director to do the same for the anthems. Of course, all this would necessitate some advance planning.

-- Have a time of console cleaning after children’s choir rehearsal. Invite kids to come and help with dusting, Dirt Devil-ing under the pedalboard, removing clutter, etc.

-- Take pride in the organ you play. Even if you hate it, it is your congregation’s instrument, and they have entrusted you with the task of taking care of it. You may find that a clean console may engender increased pride and focus for you and therefore enhanced worship for all.

-- Unlock the console and throw away the key. Leave the roll top up and unlocked. Refuse to invoke the “don’t touch” rule. Consoles are too beautiful to lock up in towers. And their seduction potential is too great not to explore with as many people as we can. If you're concerned about damage, post some house rules on the music rack and expect people to be as respectful as you would be with their instruments.

-- Invent your own, additional ways beyond these to keep the organ a viable part of your congregation's life. Playing it well, taking care of it, and providing opportunities for future organists to enjoy it will be the undergirding elements of your devious, hidden agenda.

Recruiting, Part 5: The damage of 9/11

Churches have become fortresses.

The threats of pedophilia, arson, vandalism, and vendettas have always been with churches. But once the threat of terrorism came to the table, some churches retreated behind locked doors during the week and haven’t come out since.

As a kid, I met with very few barriers to walking into a church, asking to play the organ, and enjoying some time there, usually unsupervised. As a professional, I now meet with constant barriers to doing that. (Maybe my reputation precedes me.) Even if I try to make contact in advance, I am usually met with all manner of hemming and hawing. I can hear the hushed conversation on the other end of the intercom at the door: “There’s an organist asking to get in and play the organ. What do we do?”

There is a general panic abroad, one that does not befit the presumed openness of a church.

One organist was shut out of his 24/7 access to the sanctuary when the alarm system was replaced and the sanctuary was no longer zoned on its own. Repeated requests not to allow this were ignored or overruled.

Another organist cannot get in to practice at her church when the security force is not on campus. And Security is not present when there’s nothing on the church schedule. And one organist needing to practice is not sufficient grounds for being open for business. So this organist is out of luck outside of bankers’ hours. This means no Easter practice on Holy Saturday, no practicing between Christmas Eve and Christmas I, and no Saturday practice if there are no weddings. Repeated requests for access have been ignored or overruled. That organist has another fulltime job and can’t necessarily get to the church during bankers' hours. Without advance notice, security scheduling, escorting, air conditioning, and exact sign in/out procedures being followed, no one can be in the building when Security is not present.

At a former church of mine, at which I sub once or twice a year, in order to practice I have to be scheduled in advance. Upon arrival, I have to sign in and be escorted to the now-locked sanctuary. Once in a while, I am sent down the hall unescorted, only to discover that the sanctuary is locked.

You get the idea. The tail of Security is wagging a big dog in our churches. This is cutting off blood supply to all manner of hospitality, not to mention what it's doing to many organists’ philosophy of sharing the organs as much as possible. Perhaps we organists should get more involved in a compassionate way. Let us help our church administrators establish a better balance between protection and hospitality. It seems to me that a fellow in a suit, with music and shoes in a briefcase, is not a security threat. I doubt that any large-scale terrorist attack is going to occur at a church, especially during the week when there are only a few people there. And a kid showing up with his mother and asking to play the organ can be the best news a properly trained receptionist hears all week. (Hint: Organists, train your receptionists.)

We can’t allow 9/11 to choke off everything. A balance does exist, and each church should find its own. When in doubt, fling wide the door; unbar the gate.

A few thoughts on teaching

To seek or not to seek training: Of all musical instruments, perhaps the organ possesses the easiest method of tone production -- the mere pressing of a key produces sound, no matter how that key is pressed. Such an easily obtained satisfaction often eclipses a sense of responsibility to improve one’s technique to play the organ well, practice it carefully, or listen to it critically. That is not to say that everyone who plays the organ owes it their full academic attention, for the organ is indeed an important source of delight and fulfillment for thousands of amateur players and their listeners.

The ‘professional’ student: For the enrolled student, a certain ‘inversion’ exists. Thanks to weekly church work, the organ student might arguably ‘perform’ the most often of all music students. Additionally, that student leads or accompanies at least one choral rehearsal each week. The student is already doing and making money at what she is training to do, and he very well might have been doing so for a number of years before even arriving for college. As the teacher, I am presented from the very beginning a student’s career to help develop and promote.

Stay in your cocoon during your transformation: I ask students not to go home and play recitals until we have reached a certain point in their training. Extra-curricular underclassman recitals accomplish little more than taking time and energy away from our work together. Although many people back home will claim that they can “hear a difference” in the student’s playing after only a few lessons, that difference does not exist at that point, and I have far more work to do with the student beyond impressing the home folks.

All performing is potentially inspirational: What we might consider a sub-par performance (especially from a performer who ought to know better) can actually serve as an inspiration to do better ourselves. Yes, a fine performance can inspire one to strive more. However, a really fine performance can sometimes discourage a student into thinking that s/he would never be able to attain that level. Enter teaching: students receive tools from me, and they hone their skills over time with increasing independence. It is this constant, increasing attention to detail that will bring them to the next level. When they reach that point, hearing a fine performance becomes exciting, not discouraging. But the most exciting part is that the students then have the vocabulary to explain what made a performance great -- or terrible.

Live with the little problems: Common annoyances you will always have with you: broken air conditioners, cantankerous console mechanisms, bright spot lights, dim console lights, ciphers, dead notes, crying babies, poor sightlines to the conductor, last-minute music changes, un-adjustable benches and ill-prepared collaborators. A student’s ability to function in top form, no matter the situation, goes a long way and gets noticed by others. Problem-solving and “damage-control” skills become increasingly important as students begin performing away from the home base. Social graces and grace under pressure are paramount to the establishment of a good reputation in one’s career.

Solve the real problems: Mundane issues such as equipment failure or missing personnel are one thing, but the philosophical issues facing us today require an expansion of our compassion and our educational vocabulary. Examples: “How do you respond when someone says, …?” “How do you respond when someone requests X for their wedding?” “How do you reconcile ministry of music with being a professional musician?” “Might that particular liturgical practice you abhor have significant historical roots, after all?”

More to come.

Recruiting, Part 4: The Care and Feeding of an Organ Console

Dear Organist,

This is your console speaking. I am the coolest thing many young people have ever seen, and I am one of the most respectable things grownups will ever see or use. I am the ultimate seducer for prospective organists. I am your faithful servant, but I belong to your congregation. I must no longer look like your garage or attic. Therefore, I have formulated the following new rules for you:

Keep your hands clean. Have your serviceman do the same.

No hand lotion.

No street shoes nor bare feet. Play in organ shoes or socks/stockings.

No dangly bracelets, necklaces, and big rings. My keys are chipped.

No long fingernails. My keys are dug out.

Place nothing on my bench except your fully clothed hiney. And watch the jeans rivets, cellphones, and other attachments on your person.

Stop pounding my pedals as if you were squashing cockroaches.

Stop pounding my manuals as if you had to overcome 50 feet of tracker travel with five manuals coupled together.

Be kinder to my drawknobs. They are not ventilation knobs on a vintage Ford LTD.

Never, ever, stand on my pedals. Something just might break or loosen, and it is otherwise simply a bad example for others.

Place a rug next to me. Wipe your shoes on it.

My cabinet top may look suspiciously like a table, but it is not. Likewise my bench and the area below my stop jambs. I am tired of being a repository for key rings, old bulletins, paper clips, highlight markers, ink pens, ashtrays(!), soda cans, tissues, dead watches, coffee cups, jewelry, Post-Its, scotch tape, masking tape, duct tape, permanent markers, and eraser crumbs. I am currently sporting scratches, soda can rings, coffee cup rings, black marks from rubber-soled shoes, sticky finger residue, and cigarette burn marks(!). Both I and my piano friend over there are routinely used for desks, filing cabinets, conductor music stands, drink coasters, flower vases, and lost-and-found centers. Correction of all this must start with you. And when you must ask someone to follow suit, you could try the direct approach, such as, “Please don’t put that there.” That won’t work for long, so try these ‘pickup lines’ next: “My, but you have expensive taste in tables,” and, “You’re doing something to my instrument that you probably don’t want me doing to yours.”

Pick up all those pencils and paper clips from underneath my pedalboard. Matter of fact, remove my pedalboard periodically and vacuum the entire area.

Remove the masking tape from my dead drawknobs. Remove the Doxology and Gloria Patri that have been taped to my music rack. The last fellow who played on me from memory was distracted by those.

Be in attendance every time I am moved around.

Keep your housekeeping crew away. The last time they were here, they swiped me with that same oily rag with which they had just finished polishing the pulpit and pews. My keys were slimy and wet with pools of standing furniture polish. They also sprayed my plexiglass music rack with window cleaner, which also sprayed the woodwork and left spots.

The better I look, the more respect I get. And the more respect I get, the more attractive I become to others.

Sincerely.

Being a pianist vs. playing the piano

I am and always have been a pianist. It's where I started. When I took up the organ, I became a pianist who also played the organ. Only after the requisite formal training did I become an organist AND a pianist. Although I spend far more time on organ benches now, the two instruments are of equal interest to me, and I enjoy roughly equal ability at both. Many organists do, and people are usually pleasantly surprised when they discover that. "Oh, you play the piano too!" "Oh, you play the piano so well, so sensitively. You don't sound like an organist playing the piano." (True story.)

Don't forget that many of the great composer-pianists were also organists, and vice-versa: Brahms, Schumann, Mendelssohn, Bach, Franck, Widor, Saint-Saëns, Mozart. The list goes on. More recent "crossover" artists include Wilhelm Kempf, Jean Guillou, and Justin Bischof. I would love to cross over, if I had the time, but there is so much organ music I want to learn!

My piano music is still housed in the same filing cabinets as my organ music. And when my organ music threatens to outgrow its allotted space, the piano music stays right where it is, and the overflow organ music has to find another place. I want to keep the piano music just within reach of the piano in my office. Several times each week, I will take a break from the computer, close the door, reach into my piano music, and pull something out to read. (Incidentally, sightreading is the best way to learn how to sightread. Just do it.) Since I no longer perform on the piano except for accompanying, I tend to restrict my piano reading to the standards I no longer get to study with a teacher: Beethoven Sonatas, Brahms solo and chamber music, Mendelssohn, Chopin, Scriabin, Rachmaninoff, Schumann, Schubert. (My leaning is obviously toward Romantic.)

The piano also figures heavily into choir rehearsals for most organists. And I have made a bit of a side career out of teaching and guest lecturing on choral accompanying at the piano. I have enjoyed making the piano sound like an organ or an orchestra when accompanying.

As for technique, the common notion is that piano playing informs organ playing. This is common most likely because piano lessons usually precede organ lessons. The piano did help me get ahead on understanding scales and tonal harmony structure, and I was way ahead of the game on sightreading. But in grad school, I discovered that my organ training actually re-informed my piano playing much more than the piano did the organ. Today, I use some organ technique at the piano, but I use no piano technique at the organ. Go figure.

One of these days, I would like to play a piano recital again. I have even chosen the repertoire. It would be fun to make a temporary jump from playing the piano in my office to being a pianist once again.

Well, these have been the ramblings of an organist who loves the organ and who is currently making an organ recording, even as this post is being uploaded. And yet the piano is on his mind this week. Go figure.

Making a recording

I'm making a recording next week.

Recordings tend to sound perfect. Does that mean the recording sessions were perfect? If a performer sounds a certain way on a recording, does that mean s/he sounded that way in the raw footage? Or can the performer just play and let the editor fix anything that's not right?

Well, of course we know it's the latter. But who decides what's "right?" In a few cases, I have heard a thrillingly hair-raising recording and then heard the performer live and was deeply disappointed. And in very few cases, I have heard live performances that sounded like recording quality.

Athletes get one shot to win the race or the game. Assassins get one shot (literally). Performers get one shot on stage for each gig. Why, then, don't recording artists do it in one take? I suppose because of the "replay factor" -- if it isn't right, it will still get played over and over by hundreds of listeners. But some people would argue that you lose a little more "edge" in your performance with every additional take. One of my teachers was convinced of this, and so he made his first recording in single takes. For subsequent recordings, he decided that multiple takes were OK, but he wasn't going to allow piecing together of tiny bits, so he would re-record entire sections or entire movements, just to fix one note or one errant phrase. That is a high work ethic, indeed, and the procedures for steeling yourself in preparation for those recording sessions are mind-boggling. Maybe that's why I haven't recorded much.

So why do people record? If they don't sound that way on stage, then why bother? If they have plenty of publicity already, why bother? Well, perhaps some people want to promote themselves. Some want to promote a new instrument. Some want to promote the builder or the institution or raise charity funds. Some just have a lot of music in their fingers, and they want to get it recorded. Some want to celebrate the complete works of X. Some just have something to say, and they say it well on recordings.

Why am I recording? In this case, to celebrate a great city of great organs, and to say something I've been saying on stage with these pieces. But I am determined to sound as good in those sessions as I possibly can, so that when I play live for any recording listeners, I will sound the same. This is the sonic version of keeping one's publicity photo updated -- you want to look like your photo so people can identify you when they pick you up at the airport!

I have found that the more the recording sessions look like a recital, the better I play. If I can play a group of pieces before stopping, I play better. I am more "on" that way, like I am on stage. I once made a full recording in two takes. (Then I decided not to use any of it. We are usually our own worst critics that way. And I am the worst.)

Steps to preparing for a recording:

1. Practice every note, every movement, every glance at the score, every piston.

2. Do all the other legwork, and good luck with it all: venue management, graphics, scheduling, paying for it, etc.

3. The best way to prepare for recording sessions is to record yourself, plain and simple. Listen back, mark problems, fix things, re-record. You'll save a lot of time, and the sessions themselves won't be so foreign or intimidating.

There probably won't be a blog post next week. If you're wondering why, see the first line of this one.

Learning it the hard way

I am a quick study. Once it's learned, it's learned. And it won't be un-learned unless a brick comes in contact with my head in the process. I have learned countless social and emotional lessons the hard way. But when it comes to teaching, I'm happy to report that the number of lessons learned the hard way is ONE. Or so I can remember on this rainy Monday morning:

I once heard a young high school whippersnapper play a very nice public recital. Afterwards, I approached him and told him to let me know if he ever needed anything. You know, the benign sort of stuff that old people say to young people all the time. Well, several days later, he was in touch, asking for organ lessons. I was friends with and had the highest respect for his teacher, and so I told the student that he needed to discuss this with the teacher. LESSON LEARNED: he should discuss this with the teacher before we speak ANY FURTHER.

Well, he did speak with the teacher, but not that day, and I was slow to contact the teacher myself, not knowing what to expect as I made my first journey down that particular path as a teacher. LESSON LEARNED: contact the teacher IMMEDIATELY after student contacts you, no matter what. By the time the teacher and I talked, the teacher felt conspired against and was beyond livid, to the point of threatening suit. I had never seen such anger coming out of such a mild-mannered person before or since. It was profound.

I believe all this was further complicated by something I had said in passing a few days before but meant nothing by, except to fill some awkward silence: "He needs pedal work." LESSON LEARNED: DON'T SAY THAT. But in my defense, I had just played a recital for a bunch of discriminating organists, and my mind was nowhere to be found in the vicinity of my mouth.

That rift is probably permanent. At least it seems so after many years and two letters of apology.

Well, the long story short is that I am still sorry, dear Teacher. I am sorry for my comments and for not knowing what to do. Although I learned this lesson and learned it well, I am sorry that it was learned at the expense of your friendship and trust.

This has remained with me and troubled me for years. (Some would diagnose this as being a Pisces.) But a blog might be a good way to get this off my chest, even though the other party will surely not read it. If it helps another Reader avoid a similar lesson in Hard Knocks, then it was worth it. If it helps me get past the stonewalling, then I'll take it!

Weddings! Part 3: No charge

I don’t charge for wedding rehearsals, simply because I will not be there. Reasons, in no particular order:

My role at a wedding rehearsal is not in line with my role in the professional world, and I have never reconciled those two roles. Chalk it up to not enjoying playing when no one is listening. Going to a wedding rehearsal opens me up to unnecessary scrutiny. In the name of it’s-their-wedding-they-should-have-it-the-way-they-want-it, I have been critiqued and asked to play faster, slower, more detached, softer, and louder. I may be a world-class organist, but not at a wedding rehearsal. At a wedding rehearsal, I’m a vendor with a customizable product. I am not Dr. Bell; I’m not even Joby. I’m usually “the organist,” and in one case, I was addressed by the visiting clergy as Mr. Organ Player, while he pantomimed air-typing.

Wedding rehearsals are logistical, not musical. They exist to give the uninitiated a chance to find their way.

Wedding cues are visual, not aural. It is much more efficient for the musicians to watch what’s going on and provide the correct music than it is for a wedding coordinator in a noisy narthex to listen for musical cues.

Mothers and grandmothers do not need to rehearse walking down an aisle and taking a seat. I’ll say that again: Mothers and grandmothers do not need to rehearse walking down an aisle and taking a seat.

No one needs to rehearse “walking with the music.” That is known as marching, and it has no place in a wedding. If the power goes out and takes the organ with it, the walking can continue, and the place of arrival will not move.

At the rehearsal, while the wedding coordinator is trying to instruct the wedding party, usually from the other end of the room, music on top of that just adds to the confusion.

No one walks on Saturday the same way they did on Friday. So why bother rehearsing with music?

In addition to my day job, I play Sunday mornings. A wedding gets an additional chunk of my Saturday. It’s not getting my Friday evening, too. Enough already.

And finally, I don’t need to rehearse; I’ve done this before.

Glad that’s off my chest.