Who am I?

Schools of music are re-discovering the importance of sacred music to their organ curriculum. Many undergraduate curricula include at least a course in service playing. Many undergraduate and graduate curricula include a handsome overview of liturgy, sacred music literature, materials, and methods. Some organ teachers prefer not to “deal” in sacred music. And some organ teachers revel in their sacred music component.

I deliberately stand somewhere in the middle, while leaning toward the organ performance component. I recognize the importance of all organists being able to play for church/synagogue, but my teaching addresses those practical skills as equally important to developing a reliable technique for organ repertoire. As for early technique – well, that’s nice to learn, and I enjoy using it and teaching it. But it lies behind legato and hymn/anthem accompaniment for usefulness in establishing a career for the vast majority of graduating organists. Those who are drawn to a daily diet of early music know who they are, and they will have my support. I will teach all students early technique and when to use it, but I will not push anyone nor insist they specialize in anything, especially at the undergraduate level. And let’s not forget that most graduating organists will not be playing copies of Silbermanns and Hildebrandts at their church jobs.

As for myself, I have "specialized" in being able to do lots of things and pass on that ability to others. (My music-to-learn list is noticeably longer in the French Symphonic column, but I keep things balanced.) We all probably define ourselves differently from how others define us. I am Joby Bell, teacher/mentor, concert organist, service player, and recording artist, in that order. I am also collegial workmate, court jester, and all-around good guy. But every now and then, I am recognized in public as that guy who does the Halloween thing and the Messiah Singalong. And when I appear in the Statesville, N.C., Record & Landmark newspaper, I am the son of Donald and Judi Bell first and musician second. To some, I am still that little kid with the curly hair who played piano in the Baptist church (it has been TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS since I last did that). Upon my return after a number of months away at graduate school, I was horrifyingly re-introduced to my home church as “our home missionary to the Episcopals [sic] of Houston, Texas.”

That was an unfortunate Big Bang for my progress toward self-definition. But I did start thinking more about it, and I realized that an artist’s self-definition changes with the wind. Nowadays, I am introduced as “Dr. Bell, our sacred music coordinator. He also teaches organ.” Well, that’s better than being someone’s 'home missionary to Episcopals,' but there is still some image defining to be done here. While I have plenty experience in sacred music and have plenty to offer others in that field, my performing and applied teaching are my forte, and so far, I haven’t wavered in wanting to keep that so. That's not so bad, is it?

Not bad for a 19-year-old, huh!

Too often we decide something is wonderful just because it’s familiar. We think our family member should have gotten that job no matter what. We think no girl/boy is good enough for our precious little Billy/Suzy. We visit a huge city for the second time, and we want to go back to the same two restaurants we visited during the first trip. Regardless how well they did in medical school, doctors sometimes come highly recommended because they pray with patients. A dentist once came highly recommended to me because “he is such a nice man.” (And sure enough, as I endured my first visit with him, I discovered that he really is a nice man – and a terrible dentist.)

We start looking for our six degrees of separation right away. I lived in Houston for 14 years, and a stranger wanted to know if I knew their nephew, who lives 30 miles out of town. (Not likely to know him, no.) We also try to box something huge into our own limited understanding, such as thinking an entire state revolves around one city. During my years in Houston, a casual conversation with a Presbyterian stranger would usually go something like this:

“So, Joby, where are you from?”

“I’m from Statesville, North Carolina.”

“Oh, is that near Asheville???”

“Well, it’s 100 miles east of Asheville on I-40.”

“Oh, we have a house in Montreat [all Presbyterians do], and we just love Asheville. Where did you go to college?”

“Appalachian State University, Boone, North Carolina.”

“Oh, is that near Asheville???”

…and so it would go. The remaining questions had to do with snow skiing and other things an organ student would be ill-advised to attempt.

In the music world, talent can be overlooked in preference to the familiar, bigger name. It is sort of the artistic equivalent of the rich getting richer. The famous get more famous while the talented keep struggling to be heard (not to slight here the famous who are also talented). This is borne out by the enormous amount of drivel we hear in pop music today, which is also another example, I confess, of the familiar being “better.” (I prefer 80s rock/pop over anything I hear in today’s music.)

As artists, we are charged with responsibility for our own publicity and press. That is a half-time job, and few people will do it for us without taking all our profits. But as audience members, we are charged with the responsibility of listening to others' work and deciding for ourselves how wonderful it really is. You kind of have to ignore some of the press sometimes -- "renowned" is not that informative a word.

I once heard a fine(?) example of local, homegrown, trite love ballad songwriting. The emcee exclaimed during the rapturous applause, “Not bad for a 19-year-old, huh!” I couldn't help my inner response: “Neither was Julius Reubke.”

Other careers I haven’t pursued (yet)

Divine providence? Predestination? “You always end up where you belong”? Perhaps. But there are also lucky breaks and the phenomenon of "it’s who you know." And since my gut was divinely created, then gut instinct is also divinely inspired.

Up until the fifth grade, I was going to be a fireman, probably because I like red and the word "fireman" feels good to say. By the fifth grade, I was going to be a movie star. Soon after that, music kept coming up, and the prophet in his own land did enjoy a bit of success for five more years. Then the chance came along to attend high school with other developing artists. During that time, music remained a career option, even though I knew that pianists were a dime a dozen. But I had the added advantage of playing for church, and that kept doors open. Meanwhile, the pipe organ kept beckoning as a source of mechanical fascination, artistic satisfaction, and income potential.

I "broke up" with the piano gently, moving from a piano concentration in high school, to a double major in piano and organ in college, to all-organ performance in grad school. Throughout all this, although the question of "making it" at the keyboard without another day job was always nearby, I never questioned the fact that music was going to be a part of my life each week.

After grad school, I kept training -- this time in airplane cockpits. I quickly learned that flying was just as fascinating as I thought it would be. I also discovered that flying would have been a fun career. Hmm, a fallback plan!

A few months later, I was still searching for what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had the application form filled out and the finances arranged to attend funeral directing/embalming school. The very day I was planning to mail in the application and fee, I received a call from a former professor, now a Dean, asking if I could see my way clear to fill a sabbatical vacancy for a year, teaching organ and sacred music. My answer of Yes was calm and considered, but inside, I was jumping for joy. Plans changed immediately -- no funeral directing school required now. Eight years later, I’m still pursuing the teaching career I had wanted since beginning graduate school.

"Did he really say funeral directing school?" Yes, I did. Lifelong fascination with it. And it's not too late, you know.

And rangering in Big Bend National Park just might be part of my retirement package.

I also would have made an excellent surgeon.

Or veterinarian.

Or math teacher.

Or truck driver.

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!