Review of the Cleveland OHS Convention 2009

By Glenda Sutton with photos by Mark Quarmby (with some photos used by permission from Trevor Dodd).

Glenda Sutton is well known to subscribers of the Internet organ chat lists for her amusing writings.  A native of Florida and an attorney by profession, she freelances as a church musician and writes murder/mystery novels (available through Amazon) which usually involve the murder of an organist with lots of references to organ and church music. Since the death of Malcolm Wechsler, who reviewed all the organ conventions and competitions so brilliantly online, Glenda was coerced into writing a review of this year’s OHS convention.  This she has done in her usual whimsical and light-hearted manner and she has graciously agreed to allow it to be published on the Organ Music Society of Sydney website.  Many of the names mentioned will be well known to members of the various organ chat lists.

Glenda adds: "You might ought to warn the Aussies that many of the personal and other allusions are things the chat members would recognize and understand, and I apologize for any obscurity or confusion. Most of this was written under the effects of sleep deprivation, and you will see places where verbs and subjects do not agree (I change my mind a lot as I am writing). There are also several bobbles and mistakes which I did not correct, because once I start editing . . . . Mark tried to substitute British spellings in lieu of American ones, but there will be spots where there is no British equivalent for the Southern USofA dialect."

Saturday 4^th July

I have made no secret of the fact that I was to be in Cleveland for OHS this year. I planned all my murders for Albuquerque and New Brunswick so that I would have an alibi. I prayed for this solo trip to be without mishap.

Mother has been in the nursing home for over a week, and I think she is adjusting well, which means that her mind is further gone than I feared.  When I went to say goodbye, she was actually – get this – carrying on conversation with two fellow residents!  So I felt much better about leaving town for the week, even if I had to entrust the Beamer to my husband, Rick.

I developed laryngitis last week, which made for interesting telephone emergency hearings.  Rick was ecstatic that I could make no sound whatsoever for two days.  I was still sounding like a frog, but could now hold my own.  What a combination - thick Southern accent and hoarse voice!

I bought plane tickets through Expedia, showed up at the airport, and looked for the Northwest ticket booth.  I may not know the names of the current cabinet members, but try to keep up with the business news.  No booth.  I accosted an airport employee, and asked him.  He told me there was no Northwest ticket booth, that it didn’t fly to Pensacola anymore.  I panicked, not seeing the twinkle in his eye.

Flew two CRJs up here – man, are my arms tired!  I spent one flight trying to read my first novel again, to see what I had forgotten, whether I had resurrected any dead people in the sequel (glad I didn’t decapitate anyone).  Had to run a marathon in Memphis, down one entire concourse through the hub and halfway down another to get to the next plane.  That was just a warm-up to the evening’s activities.  The second plane had no air conditioning; the homicidal ideation had to be beaten down with a stick.

I retrieved my bag and met Paul Anderson waiting for the RTS [airport train] to the hotel.  He had flown in from Hattiesburg.  We had a lovely conversation and of course found we had several common acquaintances and friends.  Together we searched out the Marriott, a nice hotel (so far, except for the internet service which was very expensive). I was famished, having eaten nothing all day.  So I called Mark Quarmby and dragged him down to the restaurant downstairs, called David’s.  He didn’t tell me he had been banned from the restaurant earlier in the day for starting a fight with a ketchup bottle.  It was quite a brawl, and the bottle won, adding to the décor of the room. The staff stayed out of arms’ length of him, but let him in after I vouched for him.

We met several attendees, and the only name I can remember at this moment is Will Headlee (comes from not writing them down – I’m horrible with names until I have taken that step).  Mark ran into a fellow Aussie, who was imbibing with three guys, one from Florida and two Ohioans, all great guys (again, all I can remember is that the names of three of them started with “J” – I will rectify this).  So they took us on a walking jaunt to see the July 4 fireworks, in the very refreshing night air (a nice change from the Florida heat).

And what a walk it was!  I think I saw the Browns’ Stadium from every vantage, and we must have walked around it seven times (but had no trumpets to blow it down).  That is an exaggeration, of course.  The Ohioans were debating the best vantage from which to view the show. We ended up at a park east (I think - now how is a woman to know east from west?) of the stadium, from where we viewed the fireworks at the Indians’ game, some way across the river, and the ones we came to see.  So we had a good show, a three-fer-one.

I excused myself once back at the hotel.  I was supposed to iron my rumpled clothes, but instead Skyped with Rick and Facebooked with another friend on his way here.  I finally climbed into bed for a few hours.

It’s now Sunday morning, and I’m looking forward to church this morning, then registration, followed by two recitals this evening.  No sterilized orange juice in the room – guess I will muddle through somehow.  I may actually talk about music next time.

 

Sunday 5^th July

The sex was intoxicatingly phenomenal!  All the waves cascading . . . oops, this is the organ list, isn't it?  Sorry - went to the Bahamas for a minute.  Whew!  Had to tear myself away.

Do you know how invigorating a shower can be?  I was rejuvenated and ready to face  …well, a lot.  “I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed.”  Oops, that’s not my blood.  Dang, another victim.  Have no idea whether I’ve killed another organist or not.  And there’s no clothes hamper to stuff him in.  That’s a mess to clean up.  Hate to leave that for the housekeeping staff.  Maybe I’ll take him to church with us.

I did my ironing, as if anyone will notice 10 minutes after I wear the stuff.  Glad my hair turned blonde again – was afraid that red stuff – anyway, we got to Trinity Episcopal  Cathedral after some wait for a cab. Cleveland is deader than a doornail on Sunday mornings.  I accompanied Mark Quarmby and Alistair Nelson, another Aussie organist chap currently doing his thing in Long Island.  We had not one, but TWO Flentrops: one in the front, one in the back.  We were greeted at the front door by a grand piano.  No doubt it was trying to escape.

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Oh, no, it was just the creative setup for the services, in a round, which always scares me and makes me clutch my cross a little tighter (I’m not going to have to hold hands and sing Kumbaya, am I?).  The choir flanked either side of the piano, and people sat around the centre where the Eucharist was to be celebrated.  Front and centre was the small front Flentrop of 2 manuals and straight pedal board.  It faced out into the congregation, and blocked the chancel.  We went around to admire it and try to figure out where its normal niche was.

But the gem was the back gallery Flentrop in stunning warm glowing African mahogany with discreet gold trim.  There was a little iron circular staircase leading to it.  No, I didn’t climb the stairs; I’m waiting for the movie version.  We will hear this organ later this afternoon, and it was not unappealing at all.

Today we had music in stereo, because the organs played in tandem. No, it wasn’t quite as tight as ‘Rocky Mountain Way’, because when the front organ accompanied the hymn verses the organist ran away from us.  The choir (of mostly folks borrowed from OHS, I believe, and Aussie friend Jeremy Fletcher, one of the three “J”s, joined them; one of our Saturday Ohioan guides is a regular in the choir, but I didn’t write his name down) did a fine job, singing a Billings anthem and a version of Ave Verum Corpus.  This cathedral is tiny as cathedrals go; but of course, you must realize that the last several cathedrals I have visited were large specimens.  The barrel ceiling was very dark wood, and the walls were very grey.

I hate when they mess with the words of the liturgy.  Yes, God is really a woman, but it is a big secret, so let’s use the masculine pronouns.  Anyway, I will skip the summary of the sermon, which referenced “Drop-kick me, Jesus, through the goal posts of life”.

We grabbed a fairly good lunch at a place called the Cadillac Ranch. But it was dark and I could find no Jamesons.  We registered officially, and I ran into J.O. Love, my old friend from the Pensacola AGO Chapter.  We chatted a few minutes several times during the evening.

Later we boarded buses and headed – right back to Trinity - for a recital by Alison Luedecke, who on the last piece was joined by Horst Buchholz, the Cathedral Organist, for a rousing duelling organ rendition.  Program:

 

Hymn:  O beautiful for spacious skies

Praeludium in E minor – Bruhns

Variations on "Freu dich sehr . . ." – Pachelbel

Prelude and Fugue in A minor – Bach

Irish Jig for the Feet – Mary Beth Bennett

Doppel Fugue über “Heil dir im Siegeskranz” – Paine

 

I saw the gallery organ at closer vantage today, sitting nearer it with Jeremy Fletcher and Mark Quarmby.  The organ boasts some lovely unusual scrollwork of wood with gilt highlights.  I steeled myself for the worst, knowing that listening to lots of pre-Bach would aggravate my TMJ, and I would grind (or is it gnash?) my teeth.

However, I was pleasantly surprised.  The sounds were warm and smooth.  Luedecke was consummate in technique and registration, at least for most of the recital.  Bruhns was Buxtehude-ish but warmer in tone, the flutes and other 4’ were nicely bright, just so.  One problem with those multiple movement in one piece by Buxtehude and Bruhns: one is never quite sure when they are over.

The Pachelbel boasted some nice colorations, and sported the first tremolo I could move in and live with, very subtle in nature. Registering the organ is a bear (you know the adjective I really mean), and Jeremy commented that the drawstops are long, about 15 cm, I think he said.

The Bach was difficult to hold together, but she did well, although the competing voices blended a little too well.  The second movement was of course dolce and minimalist, and stirred some pleasant memory of when I first heard it.  The melody did not always shine through on the last movement, but then I may have been too close to the organ.

The Bennett was lively, with all melody played in the pedal, and that was quite a feat.  The first variation had a slight drone accompaniment, very interesting.  And she found a nice little faggotto somewhere, and one note badly out of tune.

She inserted a medley of three old short pieces for tandem organs – nice.  And the ending was rousing – Paine blending his Bach with American know-how on ‘America’, which was extremely stirring and diverting.  Who could ask for anything else?

On the way out of the cathedral, I ran into Bill Van Pelt and Bruce Stevens, and we made plans to grab a bite together before the next event.  Outside on the way to the buses I glimpsed David Krohne, my Mormon significant other, and Steve Lawson, Tim and David (who by the way introduced me to Will Headlee and others the previous evening) and several others I knew.

Dinner was a grab at the buffet at the hotel restaurant, and we had a fun discussion about my books, CDs put out by Raven, organs in Columbus, Richmond, courtroom anecdotes and a host of other topics.

Then it was on to the Masonic and Performance Arts Centre, to hear the old Austin in its 90th year anniversary glory, or what was left of it.  Peter Conte presided, and said it was remarkably like that of his home church in Philly.  This was a combined event with ATOS.

Michael Barone was master of ceremonies, and finally explained what the purple thingee in the packet was – a CD opener!  Hell’s bells. Conte wowed us, although he is not as handsome with long hair, and the big screen projection of his hands kept flickering like 1950s television reception or a fading picture tube (my dad was a TV repairman).  The Austin was not wonderful, but Peter made it sound pretty good, and probably better than it should, given its condition. Thanks to Tim and David who spent time with it as late as Saturday morning to help pull it into shape.


Photo: Trevor Dodd

 

Program:

Overture to Candide – Bernstein, arr. Conte

Marche Religieuse (“Lift up your heads”) – Guilmant

Pastorale and Mattheus-Final from ‘Bach’s Memento’ – trans. Widor

Variations on a Theme of Archangelo Corelli – Kreisler, trans. Conte

Fantasy on Nursery Rhymes – Elmore

Final – Franck

 

Candide was fast and furious, but not my favourite piece of the evening.  The Guilmant was played largely on lower registrations, but it made for interesting comparisons with the ways I’ve heard it previously.  The 4’ was used sparingly on the fugal section, and he created a lovely bridge building to the Final.  This piece was first played by Guilmant at the St. Louis Exposition on what was to become part of the Wanamaker organ.

The Memento selections were just heavenly.  I heard these long ago on a recording, and then could not get my hands on the music.  I need to check the OHS store for that.

The Kreisler transcription required quite a reach in the second variation, and a lot of quick jumps from manual to manual in the third, making for interesting echoes and canons.

Elmore’s piece was as always delightful, with Clarence Schneider’s phone number scattered throughout, and I counted at least five nursery rhyme songs featured in the whimsical setting.  The Franck – well, I must say this was the best Final I had ever heard.  Peter threw away the stuffy academic renderings of this piece and substituted a fast whirlwind spicy spin.  I never liked this particular Franck before, but decided I could rethink my position.

Back at the hotel I engaged in lively conversation with several (whose identities are protected) about ways to stuff dead organists in 32’ pipes, all research for a future book, of course.  I really need to start on that long list of ministers people have given me.  All this literary killing really takes something out of someone.

The evening concluded with drinks, catching up with Steve Lawson, David Krohne, J.O., Tim, and several others (you know, my memory isn’t what it used to be, and furthermore, if I don’t write down a name of a new acquaintance it is forgotten) and a perusal of the OHS store.  I picked up my waiting copy of Stephen Schnurr’s ‘Pipe Organs of Chicago’, autographed of course.  Fortified with sterilized orange juice and my purchase, I repaired to my room to gear up for the next day.

 

 

Monday 6^th July

He stared at her, his face registering shock before slackening into lifelessness as he crumpled naked to the floor.  She was oblivious, gazing at the object in her hand pulled out of the gaping wound in his chest.

“Damn, this is a fine letter opener,” she admired the silver-coloured stainless utensil.  “I think I’ll take two.”

Oh, sorry.  My mind was elsewhere.  Now where were we?

Started out on a bus for an almost hour-long ride to the first event. Met up with Will Scarboro, who is still in Tallahassee, and David McPeak and Norm Sutphin.  I tried out editing on the MacBook during the trip in true Malcolm Wechsler fashion.  We discussed how sad it was that when I finally made the trip to an OHS convention, Malcolm was gone.  I miss him and his posts, and no one can ever take his place.

We finally made it to St. Martin of Tours out in the middle of rural America surrounded by soybean and corn fields.  At one point I thought we had taken a wrong turn and landed in Pennsylvania!  This was a lovely church that barely fit us all.  And in fact it was now only a chapel, because the congregation had built a new sanctuary (nothing was said about an organ there).

 

 

The reredos boasted a full relief figure of a centurion over a kneeling St. Martin, very lovely, surrounded by much wooden scrolled detail work.  The Holy Family were features of the side altars.  The main altar was graced by an arrangement of large white flowers, too large for carnations, and on closer look not snowball bushes.  Must be peonies!  The side altar flowers resembled gardenias, judging from the greenery.  Sorry – it is the gardener in me that relates these matters.  It is said that this organ is the only extant true Odenbrett & Abler organ, and that is a shame.  Andrew Scanlon presided, and it was delicious.  Program:

 

March Romaine – Gounod

Priere, 24 Pieces: Elevation, Suite medievale – Langlais

Prelude in C minor – Mendelssohn

Folk Tune from Five Short Pieces – Whitlock

Hymn:  Christ the Lord is Risen Again

Regina Coeli – Titcomb

Fugue in E-Flat (St. Anne) – Bach

 

Bill van Pelt and I agreed later in the day that this was a wonderful little event and organ.  Scanlon did a competent and confident job, and his final product sparkled.  The Gounod showed off a clear and bright principal, and it was majestically and classically Gounod.  I would love to have this, and would play it.  In fact, I would play anything he did today; our tastes converged.

The Priere was very palatable Langlais, and sported a few very pleasant solo sounds.  ‘Adoro devote’ rang through, and the sounds were crisp and clean, nothing subtle, but nothing unpleasant either. He took the Mendelssohn at a fast and confident clip, and it sounded good except for some tuning in the high registers.  The Whitlock (who cannot love him?) sported some quieter stops, and he used the swell to great effect in building up to a climactic point.

The hymn was to a setting I had not heard before, and the mostly men congregational choir was very moving.  The men outnumbered the women probably 8:1 (my guess).  Titcomb and St. Anne were also nicely done, although he sounded nervous during the Bach.  I was so caught up in the ending that I fully expected him to do my flourish at the end! Don’t you all play it that way?

Back we trooped to the buses to St. Adelbert in Berea, a pretty building with a small organ which may actually be older than the Votteler alleged beginnings. The congregation has been there since about 1873, and it is the first Polish RC parish in Ohio.  Even though the original church was replaced, the organ was kept.

There I met Bruce and Claudia Dersch, sitting in front of me.  Program by Dennis Northway and Adam Gruber included:

 

Ciacona in D minor – Pachelbel

Three Trios by Rheinberger

Hymn:  Come, labour on (maybe one of the best things T. Tertius did)

Something inserted – I think he called it “In a quiet mood”

Toccata in D minor – Nevin

 

Mr. Gruber is 16, and very accomplished.  It was a pleasure to hear him.  And the hymn is one of my favourites, making me want to push Northway off the console and play it myself.

The dome ceiling depicted the risen Lord with the words “Christus regnat; Christus imperat”, recalling my Easter Sunday Vigil at St. Paul’s K Street, Washington DC, with the resounding voices of a full congregation singing out in unison.

I’m of course giving less detail here, because there is so much ground to cover.

Lunch was served, and we heard the organ at the Lakewood Masonic Temple.  The organ was a typical small turn of the century instrument, sounding at times almost like a calliope.  The organist was William Aylesworth, who did a fine job with several period pieces:

 

Masonic March – Theo Bonheur

Prelude – Frederick Archer

Motivo – Archer

Summer Fancies – Rossetter Cole

Coral Hymn – William Spark

Melodie – Guilmant

Under the Double Eagle – Josef Franz Wagner

 

From there we travelled to Trinity Evangelical Lutheran Church, where Joan Lippincott played an all-Bach program for us:

 

Hymn:  Nun danket

Leipzig chorales:  Nun danket and Schmucke dich

Prelude and Fugue in C major

Trio Sonata No. 1

Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor

 

Photo: Trevor Dodd

This is a 1957 von Beckerath [the first to be built in the USA], and I received various opinions about the program and the organ.  I must weigh in and say that I loved the program.  I had heard lots of pretty fluffy treacle all day, and was ready for some stern stuff.  I did not find the organ overbearing or screechy in the least, and I do believe it was the best I have ever heard her play.  She proved a consummate expert artisan at work, and developed strong and meaty but clear registrations.

This church is in terrible shape, with peeling plaster.  However, the congregation is growing and work is underway to keep the parish moving upward.

We sang the first verse of the hymn in German, and no one died as a result of my attempting German, always a good thing.  At least it wasn’t in French!  I could only imagine the attendees shrieking and running in terror if they heard this Southern drawl spewing French.

The Schmücke dich actually brought tears to my eyes, and I thought again that this is a worthy piece for anyone calling himself/herself an organist to learn.  I was not as familiar with the C major P&F, but it has been resurrected by several artists recently, and this was the best performance of it I have heard.  It was STURDY, clarity defined. With a piece as unfamiliar as this one, one does not need to pussyfoot around, and the performance needs to be assured and the registration sturdy.  Lippincott did not disappoint.

The trio sonata was done with clear no-nonsense registration, and the last movement was just fantastic.  Same with the Passacaglia.  You know Johnny may not have been my first love, but he is my best love.  I would share my last high test whiskey with him, which is a test of true love.

I am skimming off my notes, because I wrote much more about the selections, but realize it’s too much for anyone to wade through.

More later.

 

Monday 6^th July  in Cleveland, part 2

She watched the body slip quietly under the surface of the water, the feet tied to rope attached to cement blocks.  She thought, now that's what I call a 'corpus delicti' dilemma. But by golly, the man shouldn't steal more building materials than he can swim with.

Sorry, I was just reminiscing about an old case of mine.

After the recital (you know, whichever one I stopped with in the last episode), we made it back to the hotel for a lecture by John Ferguson on the life of Walter Holtkamp.  However, I was parched by the time we walked into the hotel.  I had heard the good recital, and was ready to drink the good drink.  You are aware that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and I fully intended to sit in the bar and type up my notes.  However, instead I was joined by several good friends, who happily distracted me from accomplishing that goal.  Before I knew it, I had missed the lecture, I had tucked away some much needed afternoon self-medication, and it was time for dinner.

Dinner was also a fun event, at a large table with a group of friends and acquaintances.  I was able to chat with Will Headlee and Tommy Lee Whitlock, and met Grant Edwards, who is to give a recital on Thursday. From there we made our way to St. John the Evangelist Roman Catholic Cathedral, two blocks up the road.  Ken Cowan presided at the Holtkamp there:

Overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream – Mendelssohn, trans. Warren

Stimmen der Nacht – Karg-Elert

Okna Fenster:  Windows, after Marc Chagall (blue, green, red, and gold) – Petr Eben

Introduction and Passacaglia in F minor – Reger

Elegy in B-flat major – Thalben-Ball

An inserted piece with the trumpet

Hymn:  I vow to thee, my country

Variations on ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ – Buck

 

He did not program the Bossi Etude Symphonique which he promised the next time we met, but of course he didn’t know I had made it to OHS convention.

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Where does one begin?  The opening fantasia held a hint of the evening to come, then the full organ hit us.  He was flying so fast that the sound was almost muddied, and a lot of detail was lost in some places in the room.  Of course Mendelssohn was virtuosic, which is what we’ve come to expect from Ken.  And he champions opera overtures, Karg-Elert and Reger. And as if on cue, the Karg-Elert assaulted us with seductive ethereal un-organic colours washing through the room.  Truly waves were cascading, and his control over the swell as well as the rest of the instrument was uncanny.  He was having major problems with the organ, particularly the combination computer system which was freezing, I believe someone said, but most were totally unaware.  It’s scary what he can do, particularly under adversity.

The Eben was with a trumpeter, of four movements.  I really enjoyed blue, green was good, red was OK, but damn that gold!  Stop already. The Blue again consisted of some unearthly music, defying description.  The Green actually was reminiscent of Hitchcock movie music, and it boggled my mind that such sound was possible, but after all, it is the King of Instruments.  There were tiny fragments of Debussy interspersed in the music.  The Red again contained bits of Debussyism, with strips of strident trumpet and staccato repeated notes.

This was not music for the faint at heart, and awfully ambitious for an OHS crowd, but utterly fascinating and well suited for this instrument and this room.  Oh, yeah, the Gold.  The repeating motif by the organ recalled the Tchaikovsky (I can never feel that I’ve gotten that spelling right) 1812 Overture; and it so bothered me that I had no idea what that trumpeter was doing.  But I realized that the list of murder victims had to be enlarged, from just organists and ministers, to include trumpeters.  It's an old prejudice.

Don’t get me wrong: the trumpeter did a fabulous job, I think.  Don’t quote me on that.

I must chime in about post-modern and freight train music.  The composers really need to do their part to prevent as much suicidal and homicidal ideation in the world as possible.  These compositions should not consist of more than three movements.  All ‘variations’ pieces should contain no more than six variations.  The mind is a terrible thing, as a dain-bramaged client sitting in jail once told me.  And trumpeters are made to run under the wheels of my 325xi.  All wheel drive can be a terrible thing as well, depending on your viewpoint.

We had an intermission, then Ken served up the Reger.  Geez, that made up for the gold window.  I put away my Louisville Slugger.  I think I heard him do this somewhere else before, but can’t recall.  But I fell in love, and took back the legal terms spouted during the Eben gold window thingee.  This would beat dead cow with asparagus, chocolate cake, and maybe even Jameson’s, any day.

The Elegy was of course his quiet course, and done very well.  He inserted another trumpet piece, and I think David, sitting beside me, had quietly disposed of the baseball bat, because I could no longer find it at that time, and was rummaging in my purse for the bow and arrows, the fold-up Beretta, and the frying pan.  There was in the Tomasi a hint of Bernstein harmonization, so I was still somewhat in my right mind (that is a controversial issue).  Other people loved it - go figure.

Dudley Buck would have liked Ken’s presentation, which was more romantic than is generally played.  But having visited Buck’s old church in Brooklyn Heights, I could somehow picture his tearing loose in a similar vein to Ken.  The pedal part was a blur, his feet moving so fast.  The Aussies in the pew in front of us were frantically searching the hymnal for the words, because we ended the piece by standing and singing it rousingly.

The encore was – disappointingly – yet another trumpet piece.  But by now we were sliding into home plate, and sterilized orange juice awaited back at the hotel.

I ran upstairs to give Sand Lawn a call, telling him how sorry I was he missed it.  I joined the party downstairs, and was able to chat with several, including my old friend Michael Fox, J.O., Wayne Simpson, and the always amiable and charming Nathan Laube.  We started planning how to build a Nichols & Simpson organ in Northwest Florida just for Nathan.

Toledo awaits.

 

 

Tuesday 7^th July in Cleveland, hopefully one of only two parts

He asked her concernedly, "How do you feel?"

She responded groggily, "Like I've been run over by a Mack truck, and it is backing over me to see what it hit."

I am editing this on Wednesday morning after a huge day Tuesday.  So forgive my delirium while recounting events that do not jive with others' views.  The above clip was from Book #1, which is copyrighted, so I have to give myself permission to use it and acknowledge it.  I must also pay myself royalties (I hate having to drink all that extra Jamesons in satisfaction of that debt), or I will sue myself.

We were still agog from the Ken Cowan recital the night before and wondered if anything could top it.  Undaunted, we pressed on.  We loaded up for Pilgrim Congregational UCC to hear a Farrand-Votey organ in a lovely church with a curved semi-wraparound gallery.  Another lovely vista of a church awaited us, with a stained glass rotunda and an interesting asymmetry. The program was provided by Stephen Schnurr and Micah Raebel, with tenor solo by a young man named Nathan Leath.

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Photo: Trevor Dodd

I’m typing this on the bus without my notes, so am trying to remember what happened three hours ago.  The organ was far from in-your-face, very faint at times.  The program:

 

Hymn – All hail the power of Jesus’ name

Prelude, Fugue and Variation – Franck (organ and piano)

Berceuse – James H. Rogers

Theme and Variations, Second Suite – Rogers

Two offertory songs – Rogers

Toccata, from Dix Pieces – Eugene Gigout

 

I owned this version of Franck but never used it.  It was pretty, but I never understood why one would take a solo organ piece and divide it up.  Oh, well, it gave some budding young musicians a chance at public performance.  The piano seemed a bit tinny, but it could be a function of acoustic or the instrumentalist.  It’s just that I didn’t really come this far to hear students (that's what JSB said about me once just before I popped him in the head with an inkwell, but that's another story), but the focus is on the instruments, remember?  I didn’t really care so much for the instrument, even though the stencilling was appealing.  The performers did fairly well trying to convince me, but you don't send in a musician to fight an attorney's battle. Persuaded I wasn't.

Three groupings of music by James Rogers were featured, and I found the organ to be a little faint. If you have met me at the convention, you are painfully aware that I am not faint; I am more the Mack truck variety.  In one of the offertory songs, the composer attempted a poor Gounod imitation.  However, the young organist completed the Gigout with a bit of bombastic flourish - always like that ending.  This instrument could really play a wide spectrum of repertoire, but I’m a bombastic person, and this organ didn’t hit me upside on the head.  I picked up a brochure on the architectural features of the building before heading out.

From there we headed to a church called St. Procop’s, which is already slated to be closed August 30, along with about 50 other churches in the parish.  This was once a thriving Bohemian community and a rich parish, evidenced by the once opulent interior of this building.  The windows and marble altars were gorgeous and evidence of happier days gone by, and one could feel the once splendour of this church.  However, it is fading fast, and the organ must find a new home.  This organ is not faint.  Thanks again to David and Tim for their efforts to get the instrument up to speed for this recital; yet it was still in need of TLC.

The program, performed by Randy Bourne, was:

 

Friedensmarsch from Rienzi – Wagner

Minuet in G – Beethoven

Melodie in E-flat major – Tchaikovsky

Hymn – Sing praise to God, our highest good (tune Mit freuden zart)

Sonata in C minor (no. 2) – Mendelssohn

 

The Wagner was a strong piece and showed forth the capabilities of this instrument.  The Tchaikovsky turned out very pretty, and made me want to dust off my copy from a long time ago.  The hymn was the most stirring yet, the men’s voices filling the acoustic in a way that church may have never heard before.  It was sad to think we had filled this building with song so soon before its demise.

This was a perfect organ for Mendelssohn, and Bourne did a nice piece of work with the Sonata No. 2 in C minor.  There was a bit of trouble with the instrument prior to this and during this, but he managed to plough through admirably well.  I would have loved to have seen and heard this church organ in its heyday.

We travelled by bus to Sandusky, a rather long trip.  I got to catch up a bit with Steve Lawson, whom I’ve known since 1996.  I am ever mindful that I owe him big time for not abandoning me at Carnegie Hall after I embarrassed him.  Lucas Foss got over it, honey.  Life goes on.  We sat in the front of the bus, a new experience for me, because  I am not generally well-behaved enough to sit in the front.  Anyone who appeared with me on this trip was immediately dubbed a ‘reprobate’.

We ended up at Holy Angels Roman Catholic Church, a light airy stone church with a pretty little organ in the back gallery, with tasteful stencilling on the pipes.  This organ just sounded forth recently after being silent for ten years!  We sang two hymns:  The Church’s One Foundation (let's see if I remember my hymn tune names - Aurelia?) and Holy, Holy, Holy (Nicaea of course).  The organ, small as it is, surprisingly matched the building well when it was not full.

Lunch was served, a plethora of sandwiches and salads served by the church ladies.  Oh, my! They were out to beat the Southern Baptist and Lutheran ladies, and by golly, they did.  They begged us to have seconds, particularly the myriads of desserts.  Oh, that macaroni salad - and I don't even like macaroni salad!

A few blocks down the road we came to First Congregational Church UCC, where Christopher Marks was waiting for us.  Wow!  He put the old Johnson through its paces.  I immediately loved him, because he chose Arthur Foote, Horatio Parker and Dudley Buck as subjects for the all-American recital.

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Photo: Trevor Dodd

The program:

 

Spring Greeting – Nathan Hale Allen

Night:  A Meditation – Foote

Hymn – Now on land and sea descending

Vesper Hymn – Samuel B. Whitney

Scherzino – Parker

Allegro vivace non troppo from Second Sonata – Buck

 

No faintness here.  I cannot say wow enough over this recital, for Mr. Marks dazzled us with virtuosic shows of the various colours and dynamics of this gem of a turn-of-the-century instrument.  The Whitney, which I had never before heard, was supremely energetic.  Our mouths fell open and remained so throughout the recital.  He was very   accomplished, and at one point was playing the melody in the pedal while layering the arpeggios with the hands.  An almost flawless execution made the composers proud.  I’m so glad that these works are now again in print.  A pedal solo got faster and faster without sacrificing any clarity of tone or precision.

People were still whispering about how stunning the Whitney was, and without pause or preamble he launched into a caprice by Horatio.  The glissandi and arpeggios on the soft stops were as smooth and clear as a stream.  Hot damn!

I had noted that he had recorded the works on Seth Bingham on the Raven label, and was thinking that Bill should record him doing the three Americans as well.  He had the technique down and the talent to burn.  Today he drew a line in the sand and divided the men from the boys.  The ending cadenza was breathtaking.  Give that man a drink.

The trip to Toledo was quite picturesque, with lots of water views of Sandusky Bay and smaller lake bodies attached to Lake Erie.  Water, water everywhere, and lush green fields and orchards. Where were the cows, hogs, chickens?  Ohioans’ corn was only about three feet high right now, whereas Floridians who planted around Valentine’s Day have already enjoyed their first crop.  This leg of the journey was a refreshing change from the views of a beleaguered city on the cusp of hard times.

I had noticed (even I, oblivious to the routes we were taking) that the drivers drove around in circles a lot.  This made me nervous, certain that there was an evil plot to confuse me, lock me into a closet and leave me somewhere so that I could not find my way back to the hotel.  I started dropping bits of Langlais out the window on the way, certain that the ordinary person on the street would not pick them up, so that I could have a trail to follow back. I am not certain whether we accidentally saw Canada on this very long trip.  There are certain blocks of Ohio with which I'm now intimately familiar.

Our first stop was the Toledo Museum of Art.  Firstly there was a demonstration of the player organ feature on the E. M. Skinner instrument, and we were treated to a roll of “My heart at thy sweet voice” by Saint-Saens, very beautifully recorded by someone named “Mr. Snow”.  The chambers on either side of the stage were lit, and we could see the roomy chambers through the grill, and the action of the swell shades during the playing.

During that discussion, my cell phone kept insistently buzzing, and I noted the number was the nursing home.  So I excused myself to try to call back, and never could get the home.  The message said something about their calling the doctor about my mother for some reason, and I was concerned, but way in Toledo and helpless to do anything.  So at the break I called my husband to get him to track down the news, which he did and allayed my fears somewhat.

I have no idea how much 'bandwidth' has been taken up so far, so will pause for station identification.

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Tuesday 7^th July,  Part 2

I got back in the auditorium before the beginning of Tharp’s program:

 

Overture to St. Paul – Mendelssohn

Symphony VIII – Adagio – Widor

Larghetto, Serenade for Strings – Elgar

Fantasia and Fugue on “How brightly shines the Morning Star” – Reger

 

Let me take a minute and describe the room.  It was a round auditorium surrounded by columns like the Roman forum.  The seats looked nothing like auditorium seats, and were roomy.  There was plenty of leg room. The organ was sitting front and centre on the stage, and as I said, boasted a player mechanism.

The Mendelssohn foot action was so smooth, and it was pure joy to watch his feet on the pedals.  The advent of the reed was somewhat enthralling to me after the fantasia-like introduction.  The best part of the whole program was his non-stop pedal action, so sure and smooth, like a ballet.

The Widor I had not heard before, or at least I don’t remember it.  It had an unusual beginning and consisted of a smooth chromatic colours constantly seeking a resolution, which when it came added a 32’, always a nice ending.

The Elgar was not difficult music, but coloration was everything, and the individual colours of this organ were pretty.  There was general dissatisfaction with the cumulative effect expressed by others, but I was interested in the solo sounds and how he coloured the canvas. Besides, I am ignorant and my tastes run differently from the crowd. His technique was flawless, and the crescendo was buttery smooth.  He showed us every quiet sound that could be made on that instrument.

And . . . I have grown up in an area where the number, as well as the quality, of organs has been seriously lacking.  In fact, I hated organ music until I was about 30 years old and heard Bach P&Fs live for the first time.  So I'm just not going to utterly bash an instrument, because I'm proud for any congregation that has one (although angry at any congregation that has the means to better their lot and insists on keeping a piece of sh - , well, you get my drift, and I'm not talking about instruments worth preserving for historical value).  Besides, I think a true artist can take lemons and make glorious lemonade, which we have certainly seen this week.  The functions of the instrument, the room and the artist must gel into one, and a performance of most anything (almost) can be palatable, even enjoyable when that occurs.

Reger – ah, Reger.  I always hated Reger, and Ken Cowan has persisted until he has converted me to Regerism.  So I looked forward to the beginning roar in the chambers of the music wanting to get out, followed by the moment of quiet before another roar.  I’m a fan of heavy bass, and Tharp made more than judicious use of the bass – good stuff.  The first appearance of the chorale was so sweet, and it was so amazing to watch the pedal part done.  Tharp was a master of legato, and whether or not one liked the organ or the room one could not deny his consummate musicianship, and the fabulously full ending he proffered.

There was discussion among others about the differences in the two Skinners we heard, this one versus the cathedral.  Most preferred the lushness of sound produced by the cathedral organ.  I might if the organ to me didn’t sound so muddy and distant.  I still believe (I persist in my ignorance) that the placement of the chambers speaking across the chancel presents a challenge to the listener in the nave.  Although I am a liberal, I am only moderately liberal. Similarly, I am a romantic, but only moderately romantic.  I can only take small doses of slush and Shelley and melodrama and sentimentality.

We loaded into buses and rode to the Holy Rosary Cathedral for our dinner, which was an interesting and tasty combination.  A talk was given about raising money to preserve organs (because we were seriously behind schedule, this should have been cut, because there was a good number of attendees from the community present for the recital - I was surrounded by locals there to hear Todd - who did not need to be subjected to a 30+ minute discussion of fundraising), and finally we arrived at the moment.

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Todd Wilson

(Nanette Canfield, soprano)

 

Program:

Cortege et Litanie – Dupre

Voluntary in F – Stanley

Tuba Tune in D – Lang

Londonderry Air – Lemare

Choral in E – Franck

Intermission

Variations on Ora Labora – Hancock

Hymn:  Ora labora

Les Angelus:  Au matin, A midi, Au soir – Vierne (with soprano)

Prelude on “Iam sol recedit” – Simonds

Symphonie V, Allegro vivace – Widor

 

This is an E.M. Skinner from 1931, and a favourite among the convention goers.  We were told how special this instrument was, and the rector was given the citation.

The Dupre began quietly and solemnly, and I loved the definite bass of this organ. There were more mixtures and upperwork in this instrument than on the museum organ, so it was less tubby.  However, I still found the full sound mushy and largely distant.  But I noticed a couple of techniques that Todd utilized.

He played very quietly and unassumingly, which forced the audience to be silent and listen closely.  He built to glorious sound, but still to my mind’s ear it was not of the clarity I generally desire (and I can tell you everyone else rhapsodised about the sound; again sentimentality is not my thing).  The ending was underpinned with wonderful bass and the reverberation was warm and fuzzy.

Stanley was a bit too romantic for me, but he did some really exciting things with the typical Stanley echoes.  He broke into a bit of crispness here and there, and the solo stops were glorious.

The Lang, always lively, still seemed muddy to me (guess my ears just haven’t acclimatized to the quintessential EM Skinner sound), but having heard Wilson before I was always impressed with his phrasing and attention to detail, even if I couldn’t always apprehend it here. As an aside, there was agreement after the recital about his utter mastery at the console, and how this was the favourite recital of the convention so far.  I must say unequivocally that Todd’s Durufle is the quintessential CD to own, the definitive recording of Durufle’s works.  I told him that in Salt Lake City after he dedicated the Shoenstein at the Conference Centre.  That is my number 1 ‘desert island’ recording.

The Londonderry Air was so understatedly elegant and dolce, soaked in feeling.  The lushness of this organ and the Lemare were a perfect fit.  The second favourite technique of Wilson is to retire stops manually at the end, one by one, to fade the piece into silence.  And he used that to great effect on this piece.  Therefore, the last chord lasted a LONG time.

The Franck chorales are some of my very favourite music, and Todd made this one sing, and brought some clarity to it.  The tremolo was very nice (and you know it took a lot for me to say that, given my antipathy toward tremolo).  You also know how much I love Franck, and I will put up with a lot of slush if the music is played right, and you know Todd Wilson is going to do ‘er up proud.  And he did.  The sudden forte was as heart-stopping as always, and the bass was to die for.  Rafters shook, and I was happy.

It was only fitting that Gerry Hancock of St. Thomas fame would write variations of T. Tertius Noble’s great hymn, and Todd made it shimmer with reverberation.  The second variation was crisp and light, very different from what we had heretofore heard.  The fourth variation was ethereal in nature, and the toccata was Gerry Hancock in freight train mode.  But Wilson can play a hymn, some of the best we’ve heard this week.

The Vierne brought back nostalgia to me, of a time when Albinas brought a wonderful soprano from New Orleans to sing that delicious bit of music.  Those were happier times.  How on earth did he play that on St. Agatha’s organ?  He made a way, honey, and the secret is like the Colonel’s secret recipe – safe.

I had actually forgotten that recital until I heard this music.  All the more reason, dears, to embrace those moments, your blessings and the friends around you while you can, because you have not the promise that any will last, and only the probability that they will fade never to return.  The one constant in life is change.  "The grass withereth . . . ."

‘Au soir’ touches me in a way that the other movements do not, and reminds me that Vierne is also a great love of mine.

I had never heard the Simonds, and it was quiet and meditative. Widor was wonderfully played, and grew and grew to a big ending just as I like.

The ride back to Cleveland was long, but we got a bit rowdy on the bus, laughing and carrying on.  Again, I cannot remember the names of my new companions except one, Randy Busby.  So we ended the trip merry and cheerful, and I went to the second floor for my sterilized orange juice and a copy of the Lemare, before collapsing about 1 am in my room.

 

 

Wednesday 8^th July

I had a dream.  I ran into my physician in the lobby, and he looked disapprovingly at the spicy hot Bloody Mary in my hand, and began excoriating me.  "You know what those things will do to you," he reproved me.

"Well, part of that is the reason I drink," I retorted.  Waving my hand around the bar, I continued, "Why do you think all those boys are belly up to the bar?"

His abuse continued, and he started using lurid and very intimate language with me, much of which I cannot now remember, but the seductive (NOT) words 'endoscopy' and 'colonoscopy' were bandied about in a manner unbecoming an organist convention.  Or is it?

Anyway, I died, and did not stir until the “alarm clock’s warning, took the 8:15 into the city . . . “.  Sorry, a stream of consciousness thing – bet no one in this crowd remembers from what rock song those words come.

Sebastian Gluck will never appreciate the deep love and respect I have for him, and my gratefulness for his kindness to me on my last trip to NYC.  I only dragged my warmed-over carcass out of bed to hear his lecture out of love.  There was no expectation that I could stay awake or apprehend his talk about the history of romantic organs in Jewish synagogues.

His lecture was peppered, as are his posts, with his dry wit and lots of information, and I found myself taking about four pages of notes.  Strangely, he didn’t mention Ravel or egg salad at all.

I also realized by this time that I was in dire need of my thesaurus.  My mind’s cylinders were not all firing, and I was left with ‘lovely’, ‘beautiful’, ‘wonderful’, ‘pretty’ as adjectives of stuff I liked.  I hate to use ‘nice’, because it has little meaning for me; it is the term I use when I have no opinion on the matter.

I had finished my notes from Tuesday night on the bus from Toledo to Cleveland the night before, then around midnight had my now customary breakfast of sterilized orange juice.  I was and am convinced that the vitamin C was keeping me alive.  I couldn’t even remember that clockwise movement of the hips . . .  oh, we won’t go there. I only cursorily reviewed my notes this morning before posting them, because, well, this is today (Thursday, by the way), and my mental, if not physical, stamina is waning.  I’m hoping to relay the highlights of the wonderful Wednesday.

I had met so many people on the trip, but because of the mental defect could not remember their names unless I was fortunate enough at that moment to write them down.  So I realize that I probably made a mistake in naming some and not others, because those not named will be miffed, and the only difference was whether I had the wherewithal to write down the names when I was talking to them.  Nothing personal.

We rode through Cleveland Heights, with its nice homes, manicured lawns and neat flower gardens.  I noted several varieties of flora that I could recognize:  hostas, echinacia, dogwood, oak leaf and regular variety of hydrangea, snowball bush, maples.  There was a plethora of trees strangely kin to mimosas, but no one could tell me the name.

We arrived at St. James Anglican Catholic Church, where John Ferguson played the Holtkamp and we sang some hymns.  This was the church I almost attended on Sunday.  But I didn’t want to experience any higher church than St. Paul’s K Street and Ascension & St. Agnes, and didn’t want to get lost in Cleveland looking for this place.

Because we were already behind schedule, some of the program was cut.  I knew there were organists there that had more presence of mind than I did, and could read and follow directions of when to sit and when to stand to sing.  I for one graduated out of the Baptist tradition of sitting to sing, and now think it anathema.

We boarded buses again, and betook ourselves to Plymouth Church UCC at Shaker Heights. Bruce Stevens presided over the George Stevens organ of 1844 in a program including:

Partita on ‘Was Gott tut das ist wohlgetan’ – Pachelbel

Hymn on ‘Was Gott tut’

‘O Clemens! O pia’ from Five Invocations – Henri Dallier

Toccata – Dubois

 

This really was a delightful instrument in a pretty but austere room.  When I first saw the instrument sitting up in the small high gallery, I thought I was looking at a Tannenbaum.  The room was actually a chapel, because the church has built a larger sanctuary.  The façade pipes were a sky blue.  The walls were cream coloured, and there was federal-style trim around the ceiling.  The large rounded windows were trimmed in a carved rope-style trim.  The stops of the organ were controlled by drawstops in single file on either side of the console.  (You notice I jump from describing the room, to the organ, back to the room?  I’m neck deep in stream of consciousness at this point; the fatigue is setting in.)

The Pachelbel variations showed off the surprising and charming colours of this gem, and Bruce was quick and sure-footed.  In places the organ sounds took us back to more ancient times.  The Dallier I really liked; it was off the beaten path of early 20th century music, and refreshing.  The Dubois was – well, Dubois, nicely done.

We were transported back to the hotel for lunch and the annual meeting, which was thankfully succinct. 

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Then we walked over to the public auditorium to see the E.M. Skinner in danger of destruction, along with the building.  This was an impressive place, with basically three theatres.  The auditorium was gorgeous at one time, and the large room seated about 20,000, I believe we were told.  Some of the stops were so very quiet I wondered if those in the back of the auditorium could hear them.  The 32’ pipes were a beauty to behold, a testimony to the glorious history of the organ




.

At this point I escaped for a few minutes to my room, and shortly thereafter, we were on our way to St. Stanislaus.  Now, this was a room I so wanted to see.  The photos of this church on the OHS website helped make the decision for me to trek to Cleveland in the first place.  Wow!  The church was so ornate and busy with beauty.  It was a feast for the eyes, with stencilling EVERYWHERE on the walls, full figure icons on each column, vivid windows.  The surround windows over the reredos were breathtaking, and the barrel-ceiling windows were an unusual shade of blue.  One of the eye-catching features of the windows were the touches of vivid red that caught and held the eye.

Rhonda Edgington played a program on the William Schuelke Organ, rebuilt by Holtkamp:

 

I and IV of Four Sketches for Pedal Piano – Schumann

Choral Improvisations by Karg-Elert:

Aus tiefer Not

O dab ich tausend Zungen hatte

Cantilene – Daniel Fleuret

Fugue in E minor – Mendelssohn

Hymn:  Holy God, we praise thy name

 

This was a strong program and capably played.  I really enjoyed this organ and the music.  Ken Cowan converted me to Karg-Elert as well as Reger, and I love to hear it well played.  Ms. Edgington played it beautifully, but it lacked the ethereal spin Ken always puts on it.  The second K-E selection possessed the definitive chromaticism with a hint of reed-like splash of aftershave.  Like I said, I’m into the solid stuff, and she was solid.

The Fleuret I had not heard, but liked it.  In one place it sounded Mendelssohn-like, and it really didn’t match my usual idea of a cantilene.  The Mendelssohn was again strong, and jerked me up by the suspenders, figuratively speaking.  The hymn was one of the best played so far in this convention, and brought back days of Father Fowler and Trinity Sunday at St. A’s when we paraded out this hymn.

I realize that I have not been giving much detail about the artist, the organ's stoplist or  origins, or even the opus and full names of the musical selections and composers, respectively or not.  It has been such a challenge just to keep up with the events without stopping to fill in those blanks, and I guessed that convention handbooks or atlases would be for sale after this event to members.

Yippee!  Dinner time.  Dead cow. Pale ale.  Frat boys to come. [Fade out strains of 'Foggy Mountain Breakdown''.]

 

 

Wednesday evening 8^th July in Cleveland

As I said, we were free for dinner, and I had made it clear that I had to have some dead cow or else.  So we walked down to the Cleveland Chophouse.  The microbrews were good.

But now I know why there must not be many cows in Cleveland.  They’ve all moved away, because they’re rode hard and put up wet here.  The steak was tough and hard to cut and a challenge to chew.  The potato was good, but how does one mess up a baked potato?  I can manage that.  Oh well, somewhere, somehow, I will get some good steak, even if I have to return to Florida for it.

We loaded up and travelled to First Methodist Church to hear young Mr. Laube perform.  This sanctuary was probably wider than it was long, with a high tower-like cupola.  I was in the centre section about the fourth row from the front.  The whole front was gilded, with the chambers front and centre where the Baptists would put their baptistery.

I told someone that the Southern Baptists (as well as other Southern churches) could take some lessons in how to decorate the worship space as a beautiful and fitting area for worship for the Almighty.  How we can keep taking and taking of the bounty and not provide him a space halfway worthy of praise to him is beyond me.  Even God likes beauty – look back to the detail given in design of the space and furnishings for the Tabernacle in the wilderness and the Temple.  We have seen some breathtaking venues this week, marvels of architecture and design.

Nathan is a charming young man, and can play the pants off anything with a keyboard on it.  You can tell he has spent many hours working on a piano, practicing and playing that repertoire, because it showed in his organ playing.  He was calm and confident and pulled off the most difficult passages with ease, playing the entire program from memory.

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Photo: Trevor Dodd

His program:

 

Overture to Die Fledermaus – Strauss

Choral on ‘Jesu, meine Freude – Karg-Elert

Hymn:  Jesus, priceless treasure

Intermission

Moderato, Symphonie Gothique – Widor

The 94th Psalm – Reubke

Encore: Andante, Symphonie Gothique

 

The Strauss was absolutely wonderful, and I knew we had another Ken Cowan on our hands, another artist who spends a lot of time at the piano, evidenced by ease of fingering, control, arpeggios and glissandi and quick scales.  Anyway, the cadenza at the end of the overture was stunning, his fingers just flying.

The organ has terraced rows of drawknobs, and a sequencer, which has no ‘back’ button.  This proved to be a problem, which we will get to momentarily.

The Karg-Elert – well, now, this has to be one of my favourite suites based on one of my favourite hymn settings.  Nathan showed his mastery over dynamics, colouring and fingering, and made the organ sing.  He allowed the bass to roar, and provided the fire and ice that I expect from a superlative recitalist.  The swell shutters could be seen opening and shutting like lightning, and the pedal passages flew.

The Canzona deserves its own paragraph.  This has to be some of the loveliest organ music ever written.  I have used it alone in service, but to hear it done right with feeling was surprising.  Nathan showed an exceptional maturity for his age – who knows what he can do as he gains more life experiences?

The last two pages are some of the loveliest crash and burn music you could hope for, something that makes a good short postlude, and certainly a fitting end to a wonderful piece of music.  The bass rocked my world.

OK, enough.  After intermission it was announced that today was Nathan’s 21st birthday.  He was now legal, and received a cake and a sung “Happy Birthday” from the OHS attendees.  He was gracious in his thanks.

The Widor movement is something not much heard in recital.  It was played transparently and seductively simple (we know it ain’t so).  It was clarity defined, even if classified romantic.  The strong bass of course made my heart glad.

Now we come to the Reubke.  I did not like this work for a while, then had my mind changed, and I now love to hear it.  It reminds me of the God of thunder, retribution, hell fire and brimstone from my childhood.  And Nathan rained down a little of that, the sound boiling from the belly of the beast of this organ.

About a third of the way through the sequencer blipped, and he lost his settings.  We all know what a nightmare that can be, and he was of course frustrated.  However, after a minute or two he was able to locate a place where he could resume, and he picked up in the middle of a phrase as though nothing had happened.  That is the mark of good practice and concentration.  The bass rolled up the scale, and the decrescendo into the adagio was smooth.  Again the adagio section is some extremely lovely and moving music, heart-rending.

Nathan started speeding up during the last allegro.  He kept trying to check that speed, and it was slower than the recording on his web site, but it broke free like a horse from hell.  It amazed me how he can play so lightning fast and hold the reins of control.  I had to keep shifting to see past the big-haired woman in front of me who kept blocking my view, and I might have muttered a legal term or two in church.

All in all, it was a terrific performance of some of my favourite music by a most gifted and gracious young man.

During the recital I met some more interesting people, sitting beside Bob Frisby and Mark Hutchinson, the latter from my neck of the woods, Birmingham, Alabama.  We had a lively discussion of Karg-Elert during the intermission.

I floated back to the hotel, and ended up at the bar for my early/late breakfast.  On the way down from my room in the elevator, a very good-looking young man struck up my acquaintance.  He asked why was I there.  I thought, I’ll bite.  I told him, assuming he was an OHS attendee as well.  But no, he was an officer of the national fraternity association, which was having a meeting/convention.  My heart fluttered.  Hot damn, a frat party right here in Cleveland!  For about thirty seconds I dropped 25 years.  No, we didn’t exchange phone numbers, but I did think it was nice to have the possibility of seeing . . . no, I'm not finishing that sentence, because someone would be offended.

The PipeChat IRC attendees all congregated at the bar, and we held a meeting of great importance, calling two venerable members by cell phone (Michele McCartney and Sand Lawn) in order to make a quorum for the weighty business discussed.  Nathan, his family, and a bunch of OHS persons also congregated, and it was discovered that the young man almost instantly developed a taste for single-malt scotch.  Well, no one is perfect.

I finally tore myself away, because several of the crowd began flirting with disaster, and I decided I couldn’t be a witness to mayhem and represent the miscreants too.  So I repaired to my room and collapsed.

 

 

Thursday 9^th July, you know where, part 1 of 2

Honey, I'm tired.  I can't think of any cutesy openings right now.  All I can think about is having to pack and get to the airport and catch a flight.  So forgive me.

The alarm screamed at 6:00, bringing me to a grand epiphany – I couldn’t move.  So I reset the alarm for 6:30.  It screamed again, only seconds later, or so it seemed.  So I reset it for 7:00.

I realized that there was no way in Iowa City I was going to make it to the panel discussion first thing this morning.  I dragged myself to the shower.

I did make it downstairs in time to board a bus for the rest of the morning programs.  On the way I sat with Dr. Paul Hesselink, and we had the most delightful discussion about various topics.

The first recital was given by Anne Wilson at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Elyria.  Her program:

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Photo: Trevor Dodd

Hymn – Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee

Sortie – Lefebure Wely

Schmucke dich – Brahms

The Musical Snuffbox – Liadov

Impromptu from Pieces de Fantaisie – Vierne

Irish Air from County Derry – Lemare

Overture to William Tell – Rossini

 

At this point I don’t give a darn (you know the legal term I really mean) about punctuation or anything else.  I’m living off Vitamin C and adrenalin.  So don't write correcting me, or I'll mail my Louisville Slugger to someone in your city.

The church was built circa 1872, with additions 1917.  It was rather small and tight for this group.  We could not see the console or the performer, but she came out at the beginning and introduced her program.  Her speech was engaging and humorous, and she was very personable.

We started with the hymn, sang to the tune ‘Ode to Joy’ distilled from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.  She took the hymn way too fast, staying a beat ahead of the congregation.

The Sortie was played well, but of course sounded very differently on this little Aeolian-Skinner than on a larger instrument.  Her rhythms were very rubato, and a little erratic.  The Brahms was pretty, featuring the four-foot stops.

The Snuffbox was another whimsical piece, but what was neat was how she simulated a music box twice during the piece – how did she do that?  It was so cool.

The Vierne was interesting also, quite a little fancy (used as a noun here, just because I want to).  I don’t remember hearing it that often, and thought it was a tasty (avoiding ‘nice’ and ‘interesting’) choice for this organ.  The Lemare was also interesting, when I realized that I mostly hear this on much larger, more lush instruments.  She made the most of the sound and absence of mixtures to create solo voices by her technique.  The harps were very sweet at the end.

The Rossini was another piece that would have worked better on a larger organ, but she played the heck out of it.

We walked across the street to St. Mary’s Roman Catholic Church.  The church was rather devoid of decoration.  It possessed sky blue vaulted ceiling, with gold vaulting over the altar.  It did have bright windows, but the stations of the cross were rather plain framed pictures.  It kind of killed my argument for making these churches role models for Southern churches in designing worship spaces.

The recitalist was Yun Kyong Kim.  Her program was:

 

Prelude from Trois Pieces – Pierne

Hymn – I heard the voice of Jesus say

Partita, Ach wie nichtig, ach wie fluchtig – Bohm

Home, Sweet Home – Dudley Buck

Etude in D minor – Whiting

 

Something new – she provided her registrations.  On the Pierne, there was no real building of tension and volume at the climactic point of what I call the ‘first verse’.  It is hard to perform those handfuls of chords leading up to the end, and she did pretty well.

The hymn – well, this was quite wonderful.  It was a tune I did not recall at first, and was moving and slow.  There is nothing quite like hearing this group sing hymns, and Ms. Kim accompanied us very well, perhaps the best part of the whole program.

The Bohm was done well, with a rousing ending.  The Buck showed that this Johnson was a worthwhile instrument with good sounds.  The tremolo sounded a little turn of the century, and the piece ended in a whistle.  The Whiting was bold and brash, with sort of a faux-Spanish flavour to it.  However, the registration did not resemble anything Spanish.  I would term this turn-of-the-century ‘escapist’ literature.

Lunch was a box lunch, and I was able to visit a few minutes with Tommy Lee Whitlock.

We travelled to Wellington, where Grant Edwards performed on the organ at First Congregational there.  This happened to be Randy Wagner’s childhood home church.

Grant’s program:

 

Voluntary in G major – Stanley

Recit, Suite du premier ton – Denis Bedard

Andante from Mendelssohn Sonata No. 1 – Mendelssohn

Hymn: God whose giving knows no ending

Schmucke dich – Brahms

Canzonetta – Foote

Partita on ‘Simple Gifts’ – Goemanne

 

He played the Stanley with great energy, and the fugue was very fast.  The Bedard was a really lovely piece that I would like to own, but couldn’t get into the store tonight to see if it was there.  The organ was hand pumped by the church organist for the Mendelssohn, and he changed stops every phrase to exhibit the colours of the organ.  The Foote is always an interesting musical selection, and he did a great job.   I noticed that he had to hand register everything, which he did himself fairly smoothly.

I could tell from other people’s faces that they were as tired as I was.  It was a lethargic crowd.  But the church was a lovely gem, and had a stained glass cupola/dome in it as well.

We betook ourselves to the Oberlin campus where we heard an organ by Gober (it is 12:30 a.m. at this time, and I cannot remember his first name to save my life), at the First Church UCC, played by Jack Mitchener, lately having moved there from the Carolinas.  The room boasted a wraparound gallery with the organ at the head of the gallery overlooking the pulpit area.  His program:

Three pieces – Frank Bridge

Fantaisie in D-flat major – Saint-Saens

Spring Song – Harry Rowe Shelley

Hymn:  All my hope on God is founded

Sonata No. 1 in F minor – last two movements – Mendelssohn

 

I love the Bridge; my teacher Ken Karadin turned me on to this music over 10 years ago, and I have used it several times.  Mitchener played it very deliberately, with attention to detail and a nice full ending.  However, this organ lacked the warmth necessary to bring it off to perfection.  Mitchener did an admirably smooth crescendo and decrescendo during the middle Adagio.  The last movement was stirring and sturdy.

After the Saint-Saens I wanted to excuse myself and call overseas to see if Camille’s grave looked disturbed.  I have used the term several times already, so I will make it the theme of my diatribe.  I think this rendition was a bit sturdier than S-S meant his music to be, a function of the instrument and/or room and not necessarily the player. The third movement was fantastic, but still did not convince me that this was the organ or room for it.

It was slowly heating up in the gallery.  The Spring Song was very pretty.

One has never heard hymn-singing like this unless one has been to a convention.  It was nearly always breath-taking to hear a room shimmering full of voices.

The Mendelssohn always goes well with everything, and so it went over well on this organ as well.  The registration was just right.

I did not go to hear the Brombaugh organ at the Fairchild Chapel next door.  I overheard one person saying that he could not get the sound of the mean meantone out of his head, and I didn’t want to experience that. 

I wanted instead to spend some time at the conservatory.  So we walked across the green to view all the organ practice rooms on the first and third floors.  There were, if I can recall the numbers correctly, 4 identical Flentrops II/6, 3 Holtkamps, all just alike except one had a schalmei and another a wood gedeckt, 2 Noacks, and 1 Fritts.  There was a pedal piano (not the Schumann variety), a harpsichord or two, and a little green one-manual something or other.  We were also able to see inside the performance hall, where the Flentrop, similar to the one we heard at Trinity Cathedral, was wrapped in bisqueen while some continuing work was being done.

The evening's finale will be next after these messages.

 

 

Thursday 9^th July, part 2

"The primal screams were delicious, so cathartic," she purred.  "I never realized one could do that . . . .  And the harpoon was an especially nice touch.  Could we try it again?"

Sorry, where were we?  Oh yeah, we had dinner in a tent in Oberlin, Ohio.  This was perhaps the least favourite of all the meals, because OHS did a pretty good job in this regard.

I jinxed the people on every bus I rode.  Will Scarboro did not believe me until the last evening, when I proved it to him.  We walked to the first bus and sat in the first row, and ended up being the last ones to the place.  And his pet peeve was that at every venue there was more than one door, but we all had to go through just one, all 500 of us.  At every stop he would make the comment, "There's more than one door."  It became a mantra, and I grew to expect him to say it.

Oh, an aside.  I met Will several years ago, just before he came to school at FSU, and before he became a Biggs fellow.  We had corresponded, and when David Scribner and I took our Pensacola AGO chapter to Tallahassee to organ crawl, Will was a student at FSU and joined our group.  I had not seen him in a little while, and we met up here.  I did not realize how much time had passed since those days, because in my mind he was still a kid of 20 (of course, when I met the frat boys here at the hotel, I thought I was 20 again).  Time flies whether we have fun or not.  But he is still in Tallahassee, and we got to catch up on our acquaintance.

Anyway, we made our way to Finney Chapel to hear Diane Belcher play the large Fisk.  This was my first chance to hear her live.  This was a lovely hall, with panelled wood surrounding the stage and the organ taking up the wall on the stage.  The program:

Three Preludes and Fugues (C minor, G major, D minor) – Mendelssohn

Elevation ou communion en la mineur – Lefebure-Wely

Pifferari – LW

Priere en fa majeur – Guilmant

Piece jubilaire – Gigout

Intermission (guess you notice a lot of recitalists played this piece)

Suite – Durufle

 

Oh, man.  The points I want to make are in stream of consciousness mode.  The C-minor was fast, and played like a house afire.  She bobbed her head up and down a lot.  Her feet were very graceful, like a ballet.  The G-major, always sweet, made me wonder what the Skinner-ites would say about the instrument.  To me it was not unpleasant at all, but very warm.

The instrument was impressive, and had colour to burn, as well as good looks. (Those kind of men are arrogant and supercilious.)  Mendelssohn would have been so proud.  The D-minor was loud with huge bass, with a tone-down to moderate, and quite a foot workout.  Felix favoured fugal components (I couldn't think of a fourth 'f' word that conveyed what I wanted).  She made the organ sing the parts, and her fingers flew so fast it was hard to delineate individual notes.  When the bombard came on in the pedal, I started grinning foolishly.  Guess you have figured out by now I am a fan of sturdy music, and this was rock solid.  I began to think how nice it would be to take the organ home with me and Diane to play it, because I have no cows to scare away.

The L-W Elevation was really gorgeous music, and certainly not heard much.  The Pifferari made use of the ‘effet d’orage’, or thunder pedal.  It started with a type of drone in the left hand with berceuse-like variations in the right hand and a lovely ending.

Now here was a piece I had not heard – the Gigout.  It started out as another ‘quiet piece’, then used some telling baritone, building to an extremely loud finish.  She certainly gave them something to complain about, but it was a good hurt, ya know?  This music was really good, and the instrument filled the room commandingly.

During intermission some complained about Diane playing THREE Mendelssohn P&Fs.  My God, I retorted, she is a college professor, and you know they play the whole thing (I actually used stronger language), and don’t leave anything out.  I would not have missed the D minor for anything.  And two of our list members who are generally Fisk-haters actually liked it!  Go figure.  I have preserved their identities from disclosure, in case they were in actuality smoking weed at the time these disclosures were made.  But their initials are David and Mack.  I was so taken aback I didn’t even think of demanding an immediate urinalysis from them.

Before both halves of the recital Michael Barone came on stage waxing nostalgic, reminiscing about his Oberlin days and all the who’s who in his class.  Now I was convinced the shop next to our dinner tent carried something stronger than ice cream bars.

Anyway, on to the show.  The Durufle has to be one of my all-time favourite musical experiences, but Diane had some stiff competition here.  I didn’t think anyone could beat Todd Wilson or Chelsea Chen.  It started out auspicious enough, the rumble of the pedal making me wax nostalgic as well (hey, don’t bogart that joint, boys).  However she started more loudly than I certainly would have liked, and ended up with nowhere to go but PAINFULLY loud in the prelude, and I thought I heard something out of tune (but who could really tell, because I was gritting my teeth?).  She played impeccably, but the melody had trouble floating on top, being crowded out.

The sicilienne was much improved, quieter and with floating melodies, oh my, very nice.  The toccata’s opening registration left something to be desired or retired, I’m not sure.  Diane played flawlessly and with verve, but her constant movement at the keyboard was a distraction, and somehow the piece hung together.  Again, even though we didn't need convincing that the Fisk could reduce someone to quivering submission, we were given another example.  She was so busy and moving so fast that I was fatigued!

And fatigued I was.  The OHS store was wall-to-wall people, so I could not check to see if the two pieces I wanted were available.  I downed one too hot Bloody Mary and marched myself to bed.  I was drunk, and it wasn't booze.  Only one more day, and I didn’t know whether to be sad or relieved.  No sex for me, thanks.  I’m trying to cut down.  A little quickie in my room?  Sure, I’ll take the bacon cheeseburger. . . .

One more day.  One more day.  The mantra is running in my head.

 

Friday the Tenth and a Fifth (give or take) of Cleveland, part 1

Shall I compare thee to an arrest report?  Thou are more colourful, not to mention more guilty (because of what the police don't know).  Thou hast a better chance of not turning into an indictment.

Morning has broken . . . .  I am broken.  Adrenaline is a terrible thing.  Stop that Mack truck, quick!

We travelled to Temple Tifereth Israel to hear Justin Hartz perform.  Program:

A Song of the Sea – Matthews

Caressing Butterfly – Barthelemy, trans. Swinnen

Forgotten Melody – Gus Kah and Jesse Crawford, arr. Rosa Rio

The Whistler and His Dog – Pryor

Trees – Rasbach

Hymn: May he who kept us

Piece heroique – Franck

 

This was a 1924 Kimball 3-manual with floating solo division.  It needed some work, but some work had been done for this recital.  The room was large and grey concrete.  The theatre seats were uncomfortable.  But Justin did an admirable job at entertaining us, playing with competence and aplomb.  The organ was lush and warm without sacrificing clearness of tone.  The console and most of the organ were located above the dais, and sounded directly into the room.  It was more than serviceable for theatre organ music, classical music, and that in between.  And even in the loud sections it was never ‘in your face’.

‘Song of the Sea’ was a terribly interesting piece of music which I had not heard.  The Barthelemy was a colour tour of the solo stops.  The next three were short theatre organ music selections, and boasted delightful little endings.  I think no one could find fault with the instrument or the instrumentalist.  The organ exhibited a smooth sound, and who knew Justin was such a romantic, or so versatile at various styles?

The hymn was of course very good, and the Franck was pretty convincing.  We left with new-found respect for Justin’s capabilities with a varied repertoire.

Photo: Trevor Dodd

After that, we trooped back to Cleveland Heights to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, where David Schrader presided over not one but three organs:  Holtkamp, Hradetzky and Slajch.  The program:

 

Fiori musicali – Frescobaldi (Slajch)

Variations on the Marseillaise and Ca Ira – Balbastre (Hradetzky)

Hymn:  God of our fathers, whose almighty hand (Holtkamp)

Trois Danses – Alain (Holtkamp)

 

I must admit I’m not overly crazy about Frescobaldi, but the organist put the little organ through its paces, and it was totally worthwhile.  He was masterful in execution, and the little organ was perfectly matched to the weird room.

Perhaps on that note I should describe the room.  It was a bit asymmetrical.  The best feature of the room was a beautiful carved wooden rood screen depicting the twelve apostles.  The Holtkamp sat over the altar area (the console sitting in the back behind the altar and screen with the choir), the little organ was in a corner to the side of the nave, and the Hradetzky was in the back gallery.

I was sitting next to a member of the church, and she told me a little about the church.  When it was built, the architect was trying to decide what to do with the ceiling.  There was acoustical tile, and he had it painted in a teal square design that matched his tie on that particular day!  She said that this ceiling is about to be replaced, the choir is about to be moved out from behind the screen English-style, and the screen will be vertical instead of all the way across.  The screen actually comes apart in panels, an unusual feature.

The Balbastre was pretty good, and the gallery organ was warmer than I had imagined, but not romantic.  The tremulant was extremely smooth.  It was weird (new favourite word?) to hear a French tune on an Italian organ, and the Balbastre is a bit boring.  But Schrader inserted some relief with bird calls in one variation, and the thunder/roar effect for two variations.  The flourish was virtuosic, and followed by a neat pedal scale.  Of course, a zimbelstern effect was also employed at one time.

The hymn was my childhood favourite hymn.  However, we had a non-church musician accompanying the congregation, and his interlude before the final verse was way over the top.  He gave us no hint of when to come in, and therefore we came in at the wrong time.  Furthermore, there was no indication from his playing until we were halfway through the verse that we were in the wrong spot.  The final analysis was that it defeated the whole purpose of encouraging congregational participation in worship.

I would like to say that was the end of my dissatisfaction at this venue, but I would be lying.  The Alain was and is a long, arduous something posing as music.  I had suffered through it before.  It was played very well.  But I was not moved in any positive sense, even by the impressively done ‘flight of the bumblebee’ section.  There is something about Alain’s works that aggravates me.  Messiaen I just passively don’t like, but Alain causes in me a more active antipathy, an irritation, a violent desire to snap someone’s head off, buy some agent orange.  I couldn’t sleep through it, because of the growing homicidal ideation in my head.  The guy next to me had brought a paperback novel, and I envied him his ability to shut out the awful noise and read.

The problem with the Alain of course was complicated by the fact that it goes on FOREVER.  After a while I kept praying that this was the end, and wanted to raid the secret stash of sacramental wine.  Tolerating this would take more than a bit of sterilized orange juice; this was triple martini stuff.  I tried to close my eyes and think of something pleasant.  I wanted to shout, “Please stop – here’s my wallet.  Take it all.  Just don’t kill me here in Cleveland.”  All I could imagine were the gates of hell yawning wide open.  My punishment was more than I could bear.

It got louder, and I thought, Good, maybe that means it will be over soon.  After the recital I told someone that we in Florida killed people who dared to play Alain; it was a capital crime.  I knew that I might have another allergic reaction tonight when Tom Murray plays Hindemith.

We were transported to the Church of the Covenant where we sang the hymn “All creatures of our God and King” very slowly, so that the organist Jonathan Moyer could show off the organ, an Aeolian Skinner from hell.  It did sound good in the room, except that it grew rather loud, and the singing ended up just an accompaniment to the organ.

A recording can be heard by going to http://www.covenantweb.org/audio/OHS%20Hymn.mp3

32' reed lying down in the side gallery!

After that we were provided a box lunch and invited to eat outdoors on the green while John Gouwens performed on the carillon.  Several of us sat on the steps of Guildford Hall at Case Western University next door to the church and listened while eating lunch.

Afterward, some sauntered back to the church for open console.  We stayed there a little while, but it seemed everyone at the console was trying out the loudest, most bombastic sounds.  So we boarded a bus and made our way to the museum of art.

Will Scarboro and I toured the art exhibits while Gregory Crowell played the little Holtkamp portative and accompanied Kathryn Stieler, soprano.  There were no Kandinskys, but there were a Pollock, a couple Gaugins, some Picassos, some Dali and Van Gogh.  There were also a couple of Sargents, van Dycks, Monets, Degas.  Actually, I was surprised at the collection the Cleveland museum owned, including an impressive grouping of Rodin sculptures.

Photo: Trevor Dodd

I met Justin Hartz at the museum, and we got to talk.  I had to laugh, but felt sorry for Will.  Justin asked if we were ‘partners’.  Yeah, in my dreams.  I’d like to think I’m not old enough to be Will’s mother.  We won’t go there (I can't count that high; that's why I'm an attorney), but I was flattered.

We also ran into some others at the armour display and exchanged gossip and pleasantries.  Then we made it back to the hotel.

The rest of Friday coming up, smothered, covered and scattered.

 

 

 

Friday evening 10^th July - the end is in sight

He imprisoned her in the chair, his hands gripping the arms of the chair.  He brought his face close to hers, so close she could feel the anger radiating from him.

"Just what else have you lied to me about?" he hissed.

At this point I had several possible dates for dinner, and we were supposed to meet downstairs at the lobby.  But no one showed, even though I drank a Jameson’s to ease the stress of steeling myself against the impending Hindemith.  It was just as well, because as I stood up, my phone went off, and I ended up back in my room on a conference call.  I saw after about an hour that I was not getting away for dinner at a restaurant, so finished my business while doing internet and wolfing down a bite of room service at the same time.

I was so looking forward to seeing Severance Hall.  I was a big fan of the Cleveland Symphony and George Szell, even though he didn’t like the organ.  And I was interested in the major hall renovation and in hearing this organ, thrilled that it was restored to some of its former grandeur.  And who better than Tom Murray?

His program:

 

Toccata in F major – Bach

Sonata I – Hindemith

Regina Pacis from Symphony I on Gregorian Themes – Guy Weitz

And die Musik (as our ‘hymn’ for the night) – Schubert

Intermission

Mouvement – Berveiller

Symphony in D minor – Franck

 

I had heard him play the Franck before in 1996 at the AGO Centennial in NYC, at St. Bart’s.  However, I remembered little of the music from then.  And back then I was not into French romantic music; that was an acquired taste.  The only thing I remembered was that I had been told how beautiful the church was, but they didn’t even bother to turn the lights on, so it was hard to see for myself.

When we walked into the place, I was agog.  My God, this has to be heaven.  What a breathtaking room, all gilded and glowing.  The shell was stunning.  At that point I didn’t care if Tom played 467 variations of Chopsticks; I was glad I was there.  This was the most beautiful room I had ever seen.  I walked out into the lobby, and was utterly entranced at the marble surrounded staircases, the brass lined glass doors, the lamps and décor.  If I could find a closet there to live, I would stay in Cleveland.  Pictures do not do it justice.  Todd Wilson happens to be the curator.

The Bach actually started quite softly and sparkly, then built, then returned to soft and sparkly after the pedal solo.  He made clear what might otherwise have been mushy.  I began to relax – I could sit through Hindemith in this room.  Not sure about Alain, but yes to Hindemith.

I have been told that Hindemith is quite popular as recital fare this season, and ‘I wonder why’, as Neil Young once sang.  It was apparently a staple in Murray’s current season, because it has been endured - I mean heard - in several venues across the continent, probably more than is called for in decent society.

Seriously, it was OK in small doses, unlike the Alain.  I think a martini would have helped it go down smoother, but I learned my lesson about doing martinis before heading to a major concert hall, because I have been known to declaim, accidentally loudly, about how much certain music sucked, as I did about the music of Lucas Foss, with him present, on my first visit to Carnegie Hall, incidentally to hear James Levine and the Boston Symphony.

I found with the Hindemith my mind was still free to wander, unlike with the Alain, where my ire knows no bounds.  I survived the first movement.  The second movement was not too bad either, and I could at least appreciate the mastery that went into Tom’s performance and the features of the organ.  I really liked this Skinner better than the cathedral, and felt there was more definition of tone.

The third movement was well done for freight-train music, but the train got really loud when it pulled into the station.  I do like some freight train music.  Although the last movement was maybe my least favourite, I was mellowing – home plate was now in sight.

I have known from personal experience that it is Murray’s penchant to transcribe orchestral music, many times ‘out there’ music, for the organ.  He seems to enjoy Elgar a lot.  He generally plays with the score before him.

The Guy Weitz was not bad freight train music, was tuneful and very virtuosic.  It became loud, and the feet had to move very fast.

The ‘hymn’ tonight was the Schubert song, and was not the most successful of the audience singing this week.

During intermission, we took a few pictures, and I ran into David Hill.  He stopped me and asked me if I was an attorney.  I thought, oh, no, someone is about to ask me for free legal advice right here in Severance Hall.  I replied affirmatively.  Then he replied that he thought I was one of the funniest people he had ever heard, and that he enjoyed the crazy carrying on on the bus from the Toledo cathedral a few nights before.  I was happy that I had made someone laugh.  We were all stir crazy, and had a good time.

The Berveiller pedal part contains something like 468 notes to play in the space of 2-3 minutes.  I like this piece, and had not heard it in a year or two.  I enjoyed watching Murray jog during the whole thing.

The Franck – hmmm.  Of course the first movement was full of Franckisms, and Tom kept the expression pedals busy, and registered a lot by hand for subtle colouring.  The canon/fugal section was typically Franck as well.  At one point the music became very soft, but was distinguishable.

I wondered if any orchestras actually perform the Franck?

This music varied from wonderfully full to tapering so softly it was almost felt rather than heard.  So it was great music.  There were lovely calm solos and roaring beasts.

The second movement started out with a motif reminiscent of that found in the Brahms Requiem, and he used a myriad of the organ’s voices, ending with a harp.

The third movement sounded more like maybe Lefebure-Wely or Gigout, and less enjoyable than the previous ones.  There was a chromatic building of tension that I loved, but otherwise Franck just didn’t stop soon enough in composing it.

All in all, it was a memorable evening, and I won’t forget it any time soon.  We got a picture of a group of us at the staircase in the lobby.

An aside.  Throughout the posts I have used the pronoun ‘we’.  Sometimes that referred to the all-inclusive we, and sometimes just to whomever I was with at the time.  There was never the same group at any time.  Thankfully, although I am not the life of the party, I do not need a hand-holder, and drifted from place to place, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends, and sometimes with people I had just met.  I tried to spend a lot of time with my Aussie friend Mark Quarmby (and I was so glad he responded to the arm-twisting and came to OHS), and with Will Scarboro, and with my PipeChat IRC buddies.  But one finds one’s fun where one can, and this was largely a gregarious group.

The rest of the evening was full of goodbyes, a drink or two, meeting a few new people, and packing.  Well, maybe another pleasant episode or three.

There were several other things I was going to mention, but my mind just would not hold on to them long enough to get them down in writing.

The end is coming - rejoice!

 

 

Saturday 11^th July

Friday night I met up with more frat boys at the hotel.  They weren’t like the frat boys I remembered from college and law school.  They were so well-mannered, charming and chatty, as well as being cute. They didn’t party down at the bar with the OHSers.  Their conference ended Saturday.  Damn – should have stayed another day.

The day dawned overcast, and the clouds became rain.  I took the RTA to the airport, because I have ridden in millions of cabs but have done few trains in my lifetime.

People last night kept asking which was the best venue/recital? I really could not pick one.  I found something to enjoy about almost every organ.  There were only about two that were historic and preserved more for their historical value than because of any real beauty of sound.  The great thing about organs is that they are individuals, each with their own beauties, voices and quirks.

However, in my mind the most poignant organs were the two most in danger of destruction, that at St. Procop in the once gorgeous room slated for closure, and the other the Skinner in the public auditorium with the impressive 32’ pipes.  I could not wipe the pictures of those two rooms out of my head, and hope that the efforts of others to save the organs bear fruit.

I finished up roughing up my notes into typewritten form at the airport before the time the flight was called.  I was somewhat looking forward to home.  I wanted to see Rick and the babies [cats], but knew that I had to assume the stressful responsibilities from which I had enjoyed a small reprieve.  I enjoyed the OHS crowd, and will make another trip with them some time.

The plane out was delayed because of severe weather, and I worried about making my Memphis connection.  Once en route, I am not one to want to dawdle or loiter in an airport.

We made the pilot speed up so that we could make it to Memphis and not miss our connections.  I had to run about a mile in 10 minutes – if you’ve seen me, you know how difficult (and probably funny) that was.  And it was complicated by the fact I could barely walk after sitting on the plane that long.  For the last 4-5 months my right Achilles tendon has been giving me fits, and I limp badly for the first few minutes after sitting for any length of time.  I haven’t bothered to see a doctor because, well, it’s so hard for doctors and lawyers to develop a long-term meaningful relationship that doesn’t end in blows.  And I was so sleepy I could barely hold my eyes open or pick up my feet.  So I almost tripped on my own feet about five times during that trek, but I was darned (you know the synonym) if I was going to miss that flight and be stuck in Memphis, Tennessee, for the night.

Once at the Pensacola airport, where was Rick?  Where, more importantly, was my Beamer?  He had only one task all day, and that was to be at the airport at 4:00.  But I waited outside in the Florida heat for 25 minutes for his sorry – um, for him to show up.  He knew I was not a happy camper when he pulled up, and we said nothing for about thirty minutes while homicidal ideation boiled in my brain.

Home was achieved around 7:00.  The cats acted like they vaguely remembered me from some time in the distant past.  The bag was unpacked, and clothes were piled in the middle of the bedroom floor, to be laundered tomorrow.  Rick presented me with a gift that didn’t make it in time for the trip, a really nice Flip Video.  I was surprised and excited – had never really seen or played with one of these.  That would have been great on the trip.  Oh, well.

When I pulled up my e-mail, there were some very nice comments about my posts and my new book, and Stephen Best had written a glowing review on Piporg-L.  What great friends!  I was happy to meet so many old and new ones at the convention.  It was fabulous compensation for the soul-crushing stress that settled back on me the minute the wheels of that plane touched the tarmac in Pensacola.  I shall remember it fondly in the next months as I try cases on some scumbags that badly need it.

And the trip was good for my health.  No gastrointestinal episodes or anxiety attacks the whole week, and I brought no pain medication, and needed none, the whole week.  There were those that wished me under the influence of something more calming.  I still sounded like a frog, but a Southern frog, and I still had the intermittent cough which would act up if I got hot or once it got dark.

And I broke the doctor’s orders.  The girls at the cash bar would see me coming and have the sterilized orange juice ready before I pulled out my wallet.  I kept the guys downstairs guessing what I’d order next, never the same thing twice in a row.  Those Bloody Marys were rather hot, and my doctor’s words rang in my ears as I downed two or three during the trip.  If it hadn’t been for the Achilles tendon problem, I would have felt like I shed the 15 years I put on in the last 4.  Wish the weight could come off that easily.  I even had good dead fish in Cleveland, but not good dead cow.  But I didn’t try out the famous seafood restaurant; I mean, being from the Gulf Coast where seafood is plentiful, I could not imagine Clevelanders knowing fresh seafood if it bit them on the . . . well, I mean, hell, you know what I mean.

There was precious little air conditioning, both on all the flights and in the churches of Cleveland.  I kept my room just above meat-hanging temperature.  Cleveland was largely wonderfully balmy, very different from Florida’s 100-degree daily highs.  But packing all those bodies into these churches raised the temps a bit.  So once I got into the Beamer with its heavenly AC, I actually felt cold for the first time in a week.

Thanks to Joe McCabe and the OHS team for all the work required to organize a good OHS convention, for me the first but not the last. Gotta go – heading to Destin to find a cow and maybe a shrimp or two. Ooh, that’s not asparagus.

 

THE END

 

Some of the young people, including several Biggs Fellows.




PipeChat group shot taken in the foyer of Severance Hall

Back row (L - R) David Scribner, Tim Bovard, Tommy Lee Whitlock, Steve Lawson
Front row (L - R) Will Scarboro, Glenda Sutton, Mark Quarmby