Widor vs. Joby: Introduction

My arguments with Charles-Marie Widor have been numerous and intense. He demands much of the fingers and feet, but he always demands so much more of the brain, the ears, and the soul. He always wins the arguments, as should any composer. But I also win because I learn so much.

I recorded all ten of Widor’s solo organ Symphonies, plus his later works Suite Latine, Bach’s Memento, and the Trois Nouvelles Pièces. That makes me a Widor expert, right? Well, it certainly makes me more fortunate than I ever thought I’d be. I never thought I’d be learning my way through all those works, many of which had previously just sat in my growing score collection for many years. I never thought I’d experience this transcendent music rendered even more transcendent on the organs I chose to record them on. So NOW I’m an expert, right? Sure.

For this music, I have already written about the recording sessions and the organs I recorded on. In the present series I’ll be offering the many tiny refinements I made for myself to what’s on Widor’s pages, much as I did with Franck a few years ago. I’ll address my approaches to them all, one opus at a time, until they’re done. Meanwhile, here are some general comments and methods:

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In his Bach edition co-edited with Albert Schweitzer, Widor constantly admonished the organist to make their own decisions, indeed to search out their own path to decisions. Widor was careful to remind that his editorial was truly editorial and not absolute. He also allowed similar freedom in his own music, depending on the organ; not every gadget existed on very organ, and not every note could be played the same way on every organ. And let’s not forget that the organ Widor was used to was an anomalous, whopping five-manual monster, whereas his given registrations are for the more conventional three-manual organ.

In much French Symphonic organ music, coupler indications are not included with the registration directives at the top. Rather, you have to look into the score for coupler hints. “G.P.R.” in the manual staves indicates, “Play on the Great, and couple the other two manuals to it.” “P.R.” means, “Play on the Positif with the Récit coupled to it.” “G” means, “play on the Great with nothing coupled to it.” And so forth. For all movements in all the Widor works, I scribbled coupler indications among the stop registrations. That saves a few seconds when registering on the next organ.

Friend, Manual I/II Transfer is your friend. And in my book, “friend” is anything that helps makes manual changes smoother. “Thumbing” among manuals is a thing, even back to Bach and earlier. In the English or American configuration, where the Great manual is in the middle, it is possible to “thumb” to either of the other manuals. But Widor's Great was on the bottom, and so he was able to thumb from the Positif in either direction, but from the Great only up to the Positif. But not so fast – he couldn’t even do THAT, as it turns out, because he had, for lack of more room to explain it here, TWO Great manuals, which means that his Positif was the THIRD manual up, and his Récit was the FOURTH manual up. So virtually all thumbing I do in Widor is just because I can and not at all because Widor necessarily could.

Therefore, whenever I am compelled by a small, inner voice to make a change to venerable music, such as the slight alterations I'll be sharing in this series, I do so by first considering how the composer might have played a certain passage, given the instrument they played regularly. Once I have done that and have determined that I can make use of a slightly different method or technology on another organ, then I make the change and the notation, exclusively in the interest of clarity of voices or of manual change convenience. (I don't re-compose the piece.) I make a very great number of little changes, none of which should be felonious but all of which add a little more polish to things.

A few additional thoughts:

1) Widor was not exhaustively researched until John R. Near came along. Do yourself a favor and get Near’s two books on Widor's life and thoughts on organ playing, plus Near's editions of the Symphonies (A-R Editions), and the Bach’s Memento (Crescendo Music Publications). You won’t be disappointed; you will be overcome in equal parts by Widor’s genius as well as Near’s exhaustive care in reporting.

2) Recordings of the Symphonies abound and are still being made, and I haven’t found a bad one yet. Pick one. Or four.

3) Widor’s music “translates” differently when recorded vs. performed live. Many live performances offer excerpted movements only, whether to allow more time on a program for other composers or because the performer doesn’t like all movements of an opus. I have gone the excerpt route only twice. Now I’m a believer in all or nothing. I like to perform the Bach’s Memento and Symphonies 3, 5, 6, 8, and Romane in recital. I’ll be working to get No. 7 and Gothique planned on future programs. The others (1, 2, 4) are no less wonderful, but they have a harder time “fitting” into my programming.

4) For what it’s worth, I’m entitled to a least favorite, am I not? Number 4.

5) My favorite? It’s a tie between Romane and Number 8.

Is the Widor Toccata finally slipping?

Organists get this all the time, from all directions:

“Do you play the Widor Toccata?”

“We had the Widor Toccata played at our wedding.”

“Oh, we just love the Widor.”

“Yeah, ah really lak thayuht Wide-Oar TAHK-uh-TAH.” (true story)

“My ordination is next June. Could you play the Widor Toccata for it?”

“My mother is coming to visit. If we were to drop in during your practice time, do you think you could play the Widor Toccata for her birthday?”

“I think the Widor would be so beautiful at Christmas time.”

“We want the Widor played during our wedding prelude so we can hear it.”

"All of us want the Widor for our funerals."

“My wife and I are having our fourth child baptized in church on December 9, and we want to hear the Widor Toccata that day for the postlude. We had that piece at our wedding, but due to his health, your predecessor was always unable to play it for the baptisms of our first three children, and we’re hoping that we can hear it at least one more time before our children grow up and use that piece at their weddings.” (tragically true story)

Now, this enthusiasm has come from individuals and probably always will. But I have sensed a difference among the community at large. In the past couple years, I have played the entire 5th Symphony in recital several times. And every time, of course, I tell audiences beforehand that this Symphony contains THE piece. I have taken a quick poll each time: “How many of you had the Widor Toccata played at your weddings or other event?” And the hands go up. 

But I have noticed that not as many hands go up as used to. Even in the past couple years, the number of hands has dwindled. And I know that the mean age of my audiences has not dropped. Whatever is going on, I’m thinking I’ll never ask again. I’m even thinking of removing mention of the Toccata’s popularity from my program notes and just letting the piece be a piece, as it was before.

The younger generation has no idea what a Widor Toccata is, and a few don’t want to know. Below are some written reviews of the piece from non-music-major essays that recently came my way. I’m quoting only from the haters, who were in the minority. But their hatred is so eloquent that it bears quoting: 

“I dislike the Toccata style and found the piece too ‘busy’ to follow along with the clashing melodies.”

“It all seemed to blend together into one indistinct mess.”

“…not very enjoyable to me at all. The way the notes were put together did not sound right to me for some reason. The organ as an instrument just sounds like noise to me sometimes, and that was especially true during this piece. The melodies and harmonies were each complex and interesting on their own, but when they were put together it seemed like too much. The whole thing sounded disorganized…I listened to several other recordings of the piece to see if I would like those better. I think I ended up hating this piece more after my doing that.”

“…very jarring to hear after the movement that came before it, and I hated it. It sounded messy and loud, even worse than the first piece of the recital was for me. I don’t know why anyone would want this played at their wedding. It was just ugly sounding to me. I listened to so many recordings of this movement trying to find just one thing I liked about it, but the only positive thing I could say was that it ended. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a visceral hatred for a piece of music that wasn’t by a Soundcloud rapper. Messy, obnoxious, and repetitive are the only words that come to mind when I think of this.”

“The unrelenting nature of the piece was not a fit for me. I enjoy using music as a catalyst to the stream of my consciousness, and often time I meditate while listening to music. The rhythmic repetition of the piece, while impressive from a performing standpoint, was just adding to my earache.”

The organ, of course, is not familiar to increasing numbers of young people. And this style of music might have a harder time reaching ears these days, let alone hearts. That is what it is. A little education goes a long way, and I’ll not give up that particular fight.

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P.S.: For the record: I try not to play the Toccata anymore for Easter or weddings or any other event unless specifically requested by someone who knows that there were more than only two organ pieces ever written.

P.P.S.: Also for the record: I certainly don’t play it on an organ that has only buzzy reeds or has as many mixture ranks as foundations. I feign a broken arm when those come along.

P.P.P.S.: And also for the record: I play it at quarter note = 100, just the way Widor marked it. Read about that here. Speed kills.

Another new day

I've had four recitals, an orchestra appearance, a weeklong conference, and a musical cancelled for the coronavirus. Next up is September. We'll hold our breath.

I am on day 4 of my state's governor-ordered 30-day stay-at-home period. I am teaching four courses and four organists online. I am loath to check the news each day. I am disallowed from going to my office to work or to play on Clara Belle. My friends and fellow human beings are suffering with virus cases, overwork in essential services, and unemployment. I have reflected profoundly on which crisis affect which professions, how my friends are doing, how my enemies are doing, and how glad I am not to have a job in upper administration of ANYTHING.

And on the other side: My house is now the cleanest in Christendom. My courses are the most organized and fleshed out they will ever be. I am trying out some really nice recipes. Spring is springing. I am saving huge amounts of money on gas and restaurants. I am reaching out to some folks I haven't spoken with in years. I'm seeing the light dawn on some folks who realize how much cleaner the air is right now, how important we are to each other, and how much of a stupid game politics has evolved into. And thanks to quarantine and my Lenten veganism, I have lost ten pounds; only 25 to go. But I might have to go get a case of Corona as a gesture of support and as a test to find out where the stupid people are around me.

This is truly a new day, and no reader needs me to point that out. I can't remember a weirder time since 9/11. I look forward to the end of this particular tunnel, even as I know the end is nowhere in sight. I wish all who read this some moment of joy, cheer, closure, forward momentum, or just a good ol' temper tantrum. Health to all.

A new day

Whew! I've been a little tied up. But I haven't forgotten my kind and faithful readers. 

Sometimes I feel triumphant, usually after a major report has been submitted or I have just played a memorized recital. As I've said before, I just sound better when things are memorized. And my writing is as daily as my practicing, so the feeling of creative completion is near-daily when writing. And so here I sit.

Other times I feel pressed upon from every direction and feel I may never dig out. Deadlines loom, notes go unmemorized, reports go unwritten. I have had a very hard time keeping up with my first-ever Honors course in music for non-majors this semester. Those guys are on the ball! And the paperwork involved with teaching, especially in a state institution, is enough to crush any Luke Cage.

Well, all this to say that although my silence on this blog is inexcusable, I now have new inspiration! I'm going to post a multi-part series on playing the Widor Symphonies. Having just finished recording them all, those magnificent notes continue to swirl in my head, as do all the adjustments I made in registering them on various organs. Otherwise, it occurs to me that lessons and videos on helping young people play the organ are legion, but there is precious little out there to help the professionals. While I won't presume that the professionals (such as myself) need my help, I do feel it will be fun to produce some comments on each and every Widor movement, much as I did with the complete Franck works.

So get ready. Teacher Joby is coming down the hall. I can't promise that this will begin tomorrow. But maybe the next day.

Congregating

Today, I said goodbye to one of the smarter congregations I have had the privilege to serve as organist. For two years, the people of St. Luke's Episcopal Church in Boone, NC, have sung heartily for me, laughed uproariously with me, and served their community with single-minded determination. May they ever prosper, and may my successor Marc Longlois enjoy success after success as their new organist. I thank the Rev. Cynthia "Cyndi" Banks for her quiet leadership and commitment to both good liturgy and to people. She is the embodiment of the fact that it is possible to serve God with dignity and meet people where they are at the same time.

Several years ago, I posted a list of the congregations I had served. Since then, I have added two more; this one, and the First Presbyterian Church of Statesville, NC, where I served as Interim Organist for two years.

I guess two years is the magic number for my service in churches. But under the hood is the fact that I have to come to terms with my inability to provide the continuity I would like to. With my traveling and other craziness that comes with being a professor and professional musician, I have to admit defeat. My hat is off to my colleagues worldwide, who juggle teaching and performing and church-ing. I don't know how they do it (assistant organists, perhaps?). Well, I have learned my lesson. But I have enjoyed the support of many congregations who understand, and I depart with their blessing and good wishes.

Since St. Luke's is within walking distance of my house, I'll certainly see them again. They are worth seeing.

Taking a Longview of things

My latest recording, an all-British program, is about to come out on the Centaur label. Here are some thoughts that didn’t fit in the allocated space in the liner notes:

Say “Longview” to most any organist, and their eyes will glaze over in a semi-trance of ecstasy. Any organ nerd who has read this far now knows where this recording was made, assuming they didn’t infer it from the title of the post.

Churches are interesting to different people for different reasons. Architects, pastors, Christians, and organists take their own pleasure out of exploring these monuments constructed to the Almighty. And if there is a fine pipe organ to be found within, then the organist is in an even deeper nirvana. The First Baptist Church of Longview, Texas, is an example. The drive up to the building is awesome enough, with its towering roofline and all-brick construction in what some might call “Modern Gothic” (not Gothic Revival). Upon entrance into the narthex and into the center aisle, one is greeted by the airiest, most resplendent space of light, lightness, and weightiness in all the right places. It is an astounding space for worship, fellowship, and unplugged sound. The architecture never gets old. I have stepped into that space countless times, and it takes my breath away every time, even after something so mundane as a bathroom break. And it’s all accomplished with brick and stained glass. Perhaps the one thing the room could have benefitted even more from would be exposed pipework.

Chances are that organists might not know about the room if not for Aeolian-Skinner Op. 1174 housed within it. A G. Donald Harrison signature, unaltered, it is its own monument to Harrison, to American organ building, and to that magnificent heyday that church music enjoyed a generation ago. The space and its resident instrument are perfect. The sense of history an organist feels in a space like that is perhaps completely foreign to any other observer. We organists understand that churches cannot live on organ and acoustics alone. But we continue to owe it to ourselves and our students to understand the accomplishment reflected in this organ and its sisters nationwide. To that end, the East Texas Pipe Organ Festival, headquartered in nearby Kilgore, Texas, celebrates each year this and other landmark instruments, the products of the perfect storm of America’s leading organ building firm Aeolian-Skinner, that firm’s president and tonal director G. Donald Harrison, and regional representative and extraordinary designer and voicer Roy Perry. To the casual worshipper, the First Baptist Church of Longview represents a quiet miracle in many lives. But to organists, it represents one of the most heralded miracles in our history.

For more tidbits on this organ and my friendship with it, search "Longview" on this website. And see the liner notes when the recording comes out.

Nerding out

Organists worldwide are resting easy this week, having just completed their grueling Christmas service playing duties. I myself played four Eucharist celebrations in two churches in 20 hours’ time. While it recovers, my tired, feeble mind has noticed that many things I talk about fit under the umbrella of nerdspeak:

1. I am reminded of a previous post about what some people might think if they overheard a bunch of organists in conversation.

2. I nerdily (and smugly?) explained to my girlfriend that her tabletop Christmas tree will have to be taken down and packed up on January 5, no earlier, no later, and that the liturgical police will be watching. She saluted appropriately and went about her business.

3. I nerdily noticed this Christmas that Mathias wrote eighth-note ties rather than quarter notes in A Babe Is Born. I nerdily assert that he did this to show the compound meter, rather than allow the near-constant hemiolas to take over the counting. (How’s THAT for some nerdspeak!)

4. The Gleason nerd in me is desperate to be able to talk to Clyde Holloway once again, this time to tell him about this student of mine who has nailed the technique and the memorization regimen this semester without complaint and without error. My jaw dropped regularly in lessons this semester.

5. I nerd out regularly on Facebook, posting about organs that I call “handsome things.” A few of my friends say that they don’t understand those posts but that they love them and love commenting and reading comments.

6. Want to read some nerdspeak about the two handsome things I played this Christmas? Of course you do:

a. The organ at St. Luke’s Episcopal in Boone, NC, is a thirteen-stop Kney from 1995. The Great is 84Naz2Mix. The expressive Swell is 842Trc8. The Pedal is 1688. This handsome thing is in a perfectly stunning acoustical space. The floor is hardwood, and the pews are not upholstered. High, airy ceiling with wood trusses. Windows on all four walls, offering mountain views. The setting could not be more perfect for Holy Eucharist, especially with snow on the ground. But sometimes the organist nerd in me longs for an 8-foot Principal, a full Swell, and a bit more 16-foot tone. But that’s okay.

b. The 2014 Lively-Fulcher at St. Mary of the Hills Episcopal in Blowing Rock, NC, is the biggest two-manual organ Lively-Fulcher has put into such a small space. The room seats only about 150. The choir is only about 20 strong, but they make quite a seasoned, trained sound to overcome the acoustics. The room, though long and uncarpeted, is too low to have any resonance. The sound one hears is beautiful, even if it isn’t consistent throughout the space. The organ is a sumptuous treat to play. The Swell is 1688888844,Nas,2,Trc,M,16888. The Great borrows and duplexes a few things from that but adds its own 16888442M. The Pedal is nearly fully borrowed and duplexed but adds its own nice rumbly 16’ flue. And nerds, just look at all those 8-foots on the Swell!

7. Nerds, how many of us can sit down at an organ we haven’t played in a while but we still know where everything is on it? At St. Mary’s in Blowing Rock, I have to remember that toe stud Generals 7 and 8 have been mislabeled as 8 and 7, which has not been corrected because there would be wood glue removal involved. I also have to re-learn each time where the toe reversible for Great to Pedal is in comparison to Sequencer Next. Those are dangerously close together but on different rows on the bolster. Even now, sitting in an auto mechanic’s waiting room while writing this, I still can’t remember which is which. How’s THAT for some nerd-speak!

Thoughts on organ pedagogy

Here are some scattered excerpts from my in-house textbook for my organ lit class:

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Many organ teachers don’t bother with a method. They skip over the how-to-play stage with students and go right into music, where they depend on the real-world issues of the music to help the student develop technique. I have always felt that is a lazy and irresponsible way to teach a student. I still think that, but given that I have only four years to “transform” a student from freshman into organist, I am often put in the position of doing things the same way. I used to take lots of time to get a student’s technique just so, and then let them dive into music. Nowadays, I pile on the repertoire like other teachers do, using the usual formula of two pieces per lesson credit hour. It is what it is. A good solution I have come up with, though, is to teach freshmen twice per week for the first semester or two.

As Clyde Holloway said to me many times, "Good teaching renders the teacher gradually dispensable." Just as I was trained, I’m training my students what to do with any given piece in an established style, how to fend for themselves more and more as time goes by. Any student still needing the teacher to attend to every detail of, say, the senior recital is either not paying attention or has been taught to depend on the teacher too much. I am trying to make them conversant in many styles, so that they can go and do likewise, going into all the world to play well and correctly.

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So what makes a teacher great? I suppose if you could answer that, then you could answer what makes the world go ’round. Academia likes to think it can identify and reward good teachers, but it really can’t. We have our tenure and promotion systems, and we have teaching awards. But ultimately, there is no accreditation agency that stamps a teacher as good, great, or otherwise. There are only the students to demonstrate success and tell their stories. If that is so, then Russell Saunders, Robert Glasgow, Alexander McCurdy, and David Craighead must have been legendarily wonderful teachers in their day. And that must mean that modern hotshots like Ken Cowan, David Higgs, and Christopher Young are nearly legendary today.

I’d call my teacher Clyde Holloway legendary because he took me step by step toward a near-flawless technique and a fully flawless practice ethic. And he did it without cutting corners or making assumptions. I’d call my other teacher Max Smith equally legendary because he was always there for his students. I have my teaching job because Max Smith advocated for me. I know how to do that job because of Clyde Holloway’s pedagogy. Therefore, based on my own experiences, I consider the two greatest qualities in a teacher: 1) being there for the students, and 2) teaching by example and not just by lecture.

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I have met a lot of teachers and have heard them play, but I have no idea how effective they are as teachers. Only their students know that, and the market can only infer teacher effectiveness based on student success or where the teacher teaches, neither of which is a completely accurate measurement.

The history of organ pedagogy is usually told anecdotally, rather than scholarly. (Someone ought to write a book.) I offer quotes and tell my stories about Max Smith and Clyde Holloway. They in turn told me stories about their teachers Mildred Andrews, Carl Weinrich, Robert Baker, and Catharine Crozier. And my students are already telling stories about me. Many people I talk to at AGO conventions mention a teacher or a mentor, and we all either have a good laugh at the story, or we all pause in honor or in memory of our great teachers.

The most colorful stories I have heard tend to be from students of Russell Saunders and David Craighead. I also hear reverent, worshipful stories of Alexander McCurdy, Arthur Poister, Robert Anderson, Robert Glasgow, and Mildred Andrews. Nowadays, Christopher Young, Marilyn Keiser, Janette Fishell, David Higgs, and Marilyn Mason are the subjects of fond narratives. It’s easy to talk about a teacher from whom you have learned. Indeed we are defined by those with whom we studied. Thank goodness for that – otherwise, we wouldn’t know much about our pedigrees in this business.

But all one usually hears are anecdotes, which are usually about something funny or dirty the teacher said, rather than about his/her teaching. One evening, following a long period of cackling hysterically with a friend over Saunders and Holloway stories, I planted my tongue in my cheek and asked, "Did Saunders ever teach, or did he just say dirty things all the time?" For the first time all night, my friend actually began to stutter and hem and haw. He was looking for a way to describe Saunders' teaching. All of us might have the same trouble categorizing our teachers, after all the pithy or off-color sayings are laid out on the table.

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Caution: Studying with someone – anyone – does not guarantee success. I have heard miserable performances by people who studied with one of the greats, and I have seen people continue to capitalize on the fact that they studied with a great teacher 30, 40, 50 years ago. But when I hear them play, I shudder on behalf of that poor, dead teacher. That’s just how it is sometimes.

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Never say ‘pedagogy’ or ‘pedagogue’ to anyone unless they’re a teacher. Non-teachers will hear the word ‘pedophile,’ and chaos ensues. It has happened to me.

No more pencils, no more books

... No more producer’s dirty looks.

The crew and I have just recorded the final sessions of the complete Widor project. We could not be more pleased (and I could not be more relieved).

Our final works were Symphonies IV and VII and the Bach’s Memento, recorded May 21-24 on the former Kennedy Center Aeolian-Skinner, Op. 1472, now lovingly housed in Providence United Methodist Church, Charlotte. Adam Ward and Andrew Pester were our most agreeable hosts, thereby completing our perfect batting average for gracious hosts and venues for the series. Apparently, the way to discover the best of organists serving organists is to record Widor Symphonies on Aeolian-Skinners. Thank you, Adam and Andrew, for everything. Andrew was also a willing note-holder while I bashed (is that the right word?) a few notes into tune and back into speech. And Adam served as page turner a couple times. In addition, choir members Anne and Nancy were willing page turners for the project. They were fascinated by how this kind of thing works, and I suppose one would be – it’s not every day you get to watch organ recordings being made.

The building is of traditional Georgian architecture, with a wide-open nave opening into equally wide-open transepts. The organ is necessarily powerful in the chancel but nicely homogenized out in the room. There is plenty of foundation, and the mixtures are just right in the room, even if they are necessarily a bit boisterous at the bench. And there are reeds upon reeds to choose from.

This organ’s current incarnation is as a mighty service playing instrument. But as it was throughout our recording adventures, my mind was always churning over historical matters. How did this organ sound in the Kennedy Center? How did that diapason carry in that room? (Probably not very well.) When might they have used this or that stop in orchestral literature? And how did Phil Parkey manage to get this stop straightened out during the rebuild to Providence?

Our batting average was also perfected in matching this rep to this organ. The organ purred and roared appropriately. The Harmonic Flute on the Solo (formerly on the Great) sang like a bird in all the right places. The Vox Humana on its own tremulant served well in the only movement Widor calls for what he called a nanny goat stop. The party horns, a Fanfare Trumpet and a State Trumpet, did not find a place in the rep this time (in contrast to a couple cameos at St. Mark’s in Shreveport for the Sixth Symphony and for the Gothique in Independence, Mo.)

Our biggest challenge this time was traffic noise out on Providence Road, and we were limited in the times of day we could record. We had to take and re-take and re-take. We even resorted to using the playback sequencer for some things, and the boys sent me to rest while they played back the sequencer during relatively quieter times of the day. Producer Keith Weber, aviation nut that he is, used the term “noise abatement” throughout the project. We recorded loud movements during rush hour and quiet movements just before and after lunch hours. We roll with the punches.

Engineers Ryan Edwards and Shannon Smith have been tireless in their pursuit of all things excellent, and it has been a pleasure to work with them. I have no further recording projects in mind, but all it takes is an idea, some cash, and a phone call to Keith Weber, and we’re on. Meanwhile, it’s on to edit and master all these Widor recordings, and they’ll be out on Centaur when the time comes.

Now, I get to go back to memorizing and performing. Excuse me, please.

Too good to be true?

It may be too good to be true, but if my luck holds just once more, then this complete Widor recording series will probably go down as the lowest-maintenance project ever tackled.

I’m just back from recording the next installment of the complete Widor organ works, this time on Aeolian-Skinner Op. 1309 in The Auditorium, Community of Christ International Headquarters in Independence, Missouri.

To bring my readers up to date on how that went, I could just cut and paste from previous posts about first-class hospitality, 24/7 access, epic instruments that have not been heard on commercial recordings, new friends, landmark music on landmark organs, and rep perfectly matched to instrument. In other words, this felt like another triumph for the organs and hopefully for Widor. No horror stories of broken air conditioners or funerals or noisy children running in the hallways. No emergencies. No tuning issues. And only two loose reed tongues, one of which afforded me an interesting trip into the upper parts of the room. We recorded seventeen movements in about as many hours spread luxuriously across three days. This was the easiest work we had done so far, albeit with two of the most colossal Symphonies Widor wrote. The most difficult part was playing all the notes.

My recording projects marinate me in breathtaking rooms with iconic architecture and equally iconic organs in them: St. Philip Presbyterian, Houston (Fritts); St. Mark’s Cathedral, Shreveport (Aeolian-Skinner); First Presbyterian, Houston (Aeolian-Skinner); First Presbyterian, Wilmington, N.C. (E. M. Skinner); Providence Methodist, Charlotte (Aeolian-Skinner). But the two rooms that stop my heart every time I enter them are the Community of Christ Auditorium (Aeolian-Skinner) and First Baptist, Longview, Texas (Aeolian-Skinner). Even something as mundane as a bathroom break is always followed by a stunned hush when I re-enter a space like that and take it all in again. Surely I’m not the only one who basks so readily and gratefully in these spaces; I know I’m not crazy. But if you are of the age (like me), where you missed the heyday of places like The Auditorium, then you crane your proverbial neck to get a glimpse of the history that must have taken place there. Imagine all those broadcasts, all those recitals, all those services. Imagine being there when Catharine Crozier played the inaugural recital in 1959 to a crowd of about 7000 in a room that seats 5800. Imagine filling rooms like that again for organ recitals. And if you are like me, then you can imagine me walking all over the building late at night and poking my head into the other wonderful spaces such as the cafeteria and auditorium downstairs and walking up and down the endless stacks of lobby ramps that take the place of staircases, and in discovering how the organ looks different and stunning from any door one enters (see photos below). Well, I could go on and on. Let’s do dinner sometime, and I’ll keep going.

Our rep this time was Symphonies VIII and IX (Gothique) and the later Trois Nouvelles Pièces. The Eighth is enormous, the most epic organ music composed up to that point: seven movements, 68 pages, about an hour. Then the Gothique represents a brand new capturing of Widor’s imagination, reducing the sheer size of the music to hover around chant melodies, embracing a neo-Baroque style, in four movements at about 35 minutes. Then the three later pieces are beautiful, questioning miniatures – what was Widor trying to say with them, after all he had composed up to that point?

I executed my usual registrational supplements, adding the Swell 8' Geigen to the celeste, and choosing freely between the Cromorne and the Krummhorn here and there. I forsook some of Widor’s coupling instructions in the second movement of the Eighth. And I certainly hope he will forgive me for developing a clearer registration in the Variations movement; I’m sure it sounds splendid in St-Sulpice the way he asks, but I needed more clarity than that here at home! We also re-inserted the extra movement, a Prelude to the Variations, that Widor had removed in later revisions. Admittedly, it doesn’t add much unless you really know what you’re listening for: it is a “melody chorale” based on the Variations theme – completely different meter and tempo but a rather startling segue into the Variations proper. It needs to be there, and history allows us to reinstate it.

Surely the “Scherzo” from the Eighth is the nastiest, most unforgiving thing Widor ever wrote. It nearly did me in. We started the recording session with that one, just to get it out of the way. My producer Keith Weber appreciates the lists I provide him with movements in descending order of difficulty. And he really appreciates some of the colorful words I use to describe those movements, especially the harder ones.

The Symphonie gothique fast became one of my favorite pieces. I just might have to keep that one at the ready from now on for recitals. The Prelude is a grand arch, aching for repose and never quite getting it. The second movement, the ravishing andante sostenuto, sounds completely different when played within the context of its sister movements, rather than excerpted in recital as a slow filler piece (guilty). Oh, but just wait until you hear it – I registered it in ‘surround sound,’ using flutes from the front and antiphonal organs. It swirls all around the room. The third movement, a rather boisterous fugue, is lots of fun; I’m loving it more and more. Then the epic Finale demonstrates the organ best. There are many colors to choose from and lots of wonderful places in this movement to show them off. The grand climax, with the Puer natus chant in pedal octaves, adds the en chamade from the back of the room. Breathtaking. I got to climb up there just before recording sessions to help Chris Emerson from Quimby tighten a loose tongue. Yeah, I took a photo:

Keith Weber, Ryan Edwards, and Shannon Smith were their usual professional selves at work and their usual fun-loving friends otherwise. We all feel that we have hit on something truly beautiful and special with this series, and we all allow our hearts to skip a beat at those times when we hear what this music says on these organs. My friend Patrick Pope, Director of Music at the Church of the Holy Comforter, Charlotte, made the trip during his sabbatical to turn pages and punch an inordinate number of pistons. I hope he had fun. Cara Casey at Community of Christ is the angel of the day. Thanks to her loving attention to all details and patient understanding of what we needed, we emerged victorious and not one bit under duress. Then there is my friend Jan Kraybill, whose support exudes so beautifully from her affirming presence among us. We enjoyed lunch with her on our very last day in town, and I got to play for her the final part of the Gothique while she sat in her favorite seat in the Auditorium and wept. She remembers the heyday years and yearns for them to return. I do, too, and we should all be ready to help when that day approaches.

One more of these, and we'll call it a series. Last up to bat this coming May is the former Kennedy Center Aeolian-Skinner, now lovingly housed in Providence United Methodist Church, Charlotte, where we have already been promised gracious hospitality by Adam Ward and Andrew Pester.