|
|
|
|
 |
|
Jean Boyer on Organbuilding today
By Hellmuth Wolff
A free-wheeling conversation during a train ride with French organist
Jean Boyer on the state of organbuilding in our times, from ISO Yearbook
1993 [1]. Mr. Boyer died in 2004, but his ideas remain eminently true.
The following pages were distilled from this exchange of ideas.
H.W.: For starters, I was thinking of telling
you a little anecdote concerning Xavier Darasse, the master with whom
you studied the organ. This took place eight or nine years ago at the
time M. Darasse was visiting us in Montreal. I was showing him some photos
of my instruments, among them the most recent one, a studio organ for
an American university with a case in contemporary style. The remark made
by an avant-garde musician and composer of the stature of Darasse had
all the makings of a major surprise. He said to me, without any irony
whatsoever, "Ah? So somebody's still making modern cases nowadays?"
I think this remark very well points up the problem that we organbuilders
have with you musicians. We make organs for a clientele which is rarely
aware of architectural matters. As long as we make handsome mouldings,
nicely-sculpted pipescreens... Indeed, in the interview that Bernard Hédin
did with you, I noticed that when you point out the importance of good
proportions in a case, you shirk the question in order to come back onto
the safe ground of the tonal structure. You don't deal much with architecture!
Modern Architecture
J.B.: There's no doubt that this is a most delicate
subject, and Xavier Darasse's quip well reflects what is presently happening
in France, where most builders have opted for "neobaroque" cases.
Contemporary music is being made, but no cases coming close to present-day
architectural preoccupations. This paradox has long existed and I often
spoke with Xavier about it. His theory was that everything that has been
attempted in this direction has been so ugly that it seemed pointless
to hope to accomplish something good in a contemporary style. And yet,
who would suspect Xavier Darasse of being stick-in-the-mud when it came
to art and, by extension, to modern architecture? "Let us therefore
copy what our forefathers did, since they did it so well," he would
say concerning organ cases.
I once was on a consulting committee for whose approval designs for new
organs were submitted in order to decide about the granting of government
subsidies. There I often found myself in Xavier's presence and from time
to time we saw modern case designs devoid of any aesthetic interest whatsoever,
some of them even looking like they had been lifted from some comic strip!
Nothing really convincing, at any rate.
I found myself more taken by innovations in the Scandinavian countries,
the Danish in particular, whose innovations in the area of organ case
designs were interesting during a certain span of time in the 1960s.
In France today, I often regret the way stylistic elements are mixed together.
Disparate old-style components are used for case construction: in the
same organ you can find pointed towers, flats à la Silbermann,
a Norman-style dorsal positive, medieval-inspired pinnacles, etc. These
cases might just as well come from Disneyland. Even if the ensemble were
harmonious, there would always be something bothersome about the hodge-podge
aspect of such a realisation. Similarly, it always annoys me to find a
Spanish-style organ in Germany, or an Italian case in England, although
I do understand the necessity, in our day, for more "European"
organs. It seems to me that the organ has always been the architectural
and cultural reflection of a given place.
H.W.: Yes, I'll go along with that, but when a
buffet is made that so well represents its area, it isn't enough to make
round towers and attractive sculptures for a French organ, for example,
in order for the case to be an excellent one! Plenty of ponderous cases
have been made, and even a Clicquot case I'm thinking of Poitiers can
be highly overbearing.
J.B.: Yes, that's true.
H.W.: What is missing in Poitiers is that there
are no smaller pipes in the facade. I feel that a case is rarely successful
if "the little ones" are not represented in the facade. In an
old setting, I can go along with making a buffet in an early style or
at the least in a "compatible" style, but this is assuming it
is well done. When working in a modern hall, certain questions have to
be raised. What's to be done?
Architect
J.B.: When an architect is called in, the result is
rarely satisfactory because the project is not very convincing from the
aesthetic point of view, or else the strictures imposed on the builders
are so great that the instrument cannot be coherent. Organ designs usually
obey the principle of symmetry. It is possible to render them asymmetrical
to a small extent, but the structure, the inner structure of the organ
must in my opinion remain compact and symmetrical. I think that this is
one of the major obstacles lying in the way of modern cases as well as
of architects' cases.
H.W.: You say that good examples of contemporary architecture
may be found in the Scandinavian countries. What is remarkable in the
case of the Danish builders is the way they succeeded in making contemporary
cases using historical models as a starting point. You can see considerable
influence from old organs. They didn't make a modern style completely
different from what had existed previously, nor did they attempt to break
with the past, but rather to retain the link with History. I think that
this can go a long way toward explaining why these organs are models of
architecture and craft. For us, making organs in the old style has the
extra motivation of a challenge to us as craftsmen. Succeeding in making
a round tower, or one with a cul-de-lampe is more engaging than a case
made up of stacked-up boxes. In my work I often realize that we have practically
no problems with the architects, yet I like to have dealings with people
who have something to say. I don't like it very much when our drawings
are too readily accepted. Our clients are the parishes, after all, yet
the organist is the only professional person we are expected to satisfy,
and this is on the musical/functional level.
J.B.: You organbuilders carry heavy responsibility in
the conception of cases. Be that as it may, to me the consultant's role
remains a very difficult one. I find that the important thing is for the
case to "speak," and speak immediately. That is to say that
when looking at it, one ought to be able to imagine that the organ sounds
in such and such a way. Sometimes there is a perfect correspondence between
the organ's case and its sound. Those are the instruments I like, provided
they are successful.
H.W.: This symbiosis between the organ's timbre and its
architecture is unquestionably a valid criterion. Often our peers are
our best judges, but the evaluation of case designs among colleagues does
not always coincide with those of our clients... In Europe, much frustration
exists as well on the part of organbuilders who would like to create contemporary
cases, whereas the authorities stipulate traditional styles, even in a
modern environment where, in my opinion, a modern mode of expression should
be sought for the realization of the case.
Let's change the subject. I'm fond of what you have already said in the
interview with Bernard Hédin mentioned above, concerning the musician's
relationship with his instrument.[2] You take the example of the violinist
who treats his instrument with immense care. When you say that you hate
organs with consoles separated by twenty meters, I understand. At the
same time, the rare times when I have made a console detached, not by
twenty but only by two or three meters, I found that the work of tonal
finishing from the console was greatly facilitated. You hear better what
is happening, and if the action is successful, I think it is yet possible
to have good contact with the instrument.
Action
J.B.: I'm perfectly willing to believe that. In
fact, I know of a few rare success stories in this category. But I find
that one always has to find a balance between mechanical perfection and
taking one's distance. First comes the question of the balances such as
we perceive them from the console. Often whatever is gained on one hand
is lost on the other. Given a reasonable distance whereby the player is
still close to the instrument, you have a homogenous, over-all view instead
of an unbalanced, partial one. But you also run the risk of losing the
physical contact under the fingers. If there isn't too great a loss of
such contact, I couldn't be more amenable to the idea. The size of the
instrument enters the picture as well. It is with large, vertical-disposition
instruments such as in Holland that you can suffer from not hearing at
a certain distance. While playing, you cannot profit from the instrument
at all because the Bovenwerk is way up at the top, as is even the Hooftwerk.
You're always in a kind of haze. That's a shame, but I can hardly imagine
how such a problem could have been solved.
H.W.: That also depends on the layout of the divisions.
When you have a two-manual organ with Great and Positif with the pedal
at either side, you can very well have a balance and hear the sounds indirectly.
But in the case of a Brustwerk, when the other sounds are coming from
a Positif or an Oberwerk, it becomes more difficult to hear oneself play.
J.B.: That is often the case, precisely with a Brustwerk.
I do not much like such divisions, quite aggressive for the performer.
You always have to be "imagining" how perfect it must be ...
"down there."
H.W.: Historically speaking, the Brustwerk isn't
all that common for a two-manual organ. The Brustwerk comes in as a third
division, after the Positif. Its recessed position yielded echo effects
and was eminently capable of meeting the needs of choral accompaniment.
We were speaking of the layout of the divisions, the interior arrangement,
the action, the consolecould you elaborate on what you appreciate in an
action.
J.B.: That is always something difficult to define, since
it's a matter of tactile impressions that I'd be hard put to quantify.
I believe that what is important for an organ action, let us say in baroque
style, is precisely this proximity one has between the touch and the sound.
It is above all important for an action to be the complement of the voicing.
You can't put just any kind of action with just any kind of voicing. I've
had the experience of playing organs with heavy French influence in the
Flemish area or in southern Holland, organs with specifications and even
voicing that are nearly French. Yet these organs have actions with horizontal
instead of vertical movements in the French manner, and you notice when
playing that the sound is not "fabricated" in the same matter
as in a French organ, even though the voicing is rather similar. It's
a most curious phenomenon! There are actions that form an extension of
the pipe, and others which are no more than a connection between the key
and a valve, devoid of any action on the pipe. This often occurs when
you have prefabricated voicing, that is, pipes having exaggerated attack
characteristics, or else an action that is not at all sensitive to key
release. The timbre is straitjacketed and you get the impression that,
if you set three organists before the instrument, each playing differently,
it would still sound quite the same. A good action ought to allow the
three organists to leave behind a different auditory impression, to have
their personal sounds.
As for me, one of the mechanical components that means the most to me
is the key release. I think that it is thereinperhaps in an artificial,
basically illusory way that one has room to manoeuvre. The first thing
I require of an action is to be the extension of the sound. The second
thing is for it to be precise. But, in this realm, we've perhaps gone
a bit too far in the last twenty years or so. We became confident that
the efficiency of a given action was a function of its lightness. But
beware of excessive lightness: it can hamper the organist and render him
or her a disservice. Playing on an action-that-doesn't-let-anything-by,
on which the slightest grazing of a key becomes a catastrophe, is a veritable
torture! Instead of refining your playing, you are thinking above all
about playing "cleanly" and limiting the damage!...
Nonetheless, it goes without saying that an organ with heavy action, such
that the organist can't even play properly at all without bringing
to bear the arms or even the torso, is a bad organ.
H.W.: Do you feel that a distinction should be made according
to whether the action is being made for a teaching organ, a church organ
or a concert hall? Shouldn't conservatory students be expected to be able
to play on a very sensitive action? For a church or a concert hall, shouldn't
it be feasible to make the action somewhat stiffer? For instance, I was
astonished to hear the comment of a seasoned organist on tour who found
the action of the organ in a concert hall to be a "banana peel action".
For an organ meant to serve as a recital instrument, wouldn't it be possible
to make a "safer" action?
J.B.: No, I am against standardized actions, and that
is precisely what the word "safe" connotes for me. You know,
the kind of organ where it's enough to get there two hours before the
recital for everything to go fine, without any surprises. After all, I
expect quite a bit more out of an organ! If there is total congruity between
the action and the voicing, that of course implies a few risks being taken.
It's a question of limits. Any time you're not at ease in playing, you
can't express much; you have to take things as they come along...
H.W.: In wondering whether a church organ ought to have
a safer action, I didn't mean to suggest thereby that it would have to
be a less sensitive action. It would repeat just as well, but there would
be a broader security margin than I would put into an instrument intended
for teaching.
J.B.: I suppose so. In any case, I am absolutely sure
of one thing today, namely that the essential quality of an action is
not its lightness. It is much more a matter of plasticity.
H.W.: If we consult Dom Bedos for the action design,
we are told to attach the action to the middle of the key. That gives
us very little travel for the pallet, and the pallet goes through very
little movement at the key release. In addition, such a short movement
affects the adjustment more, since it amplifies the dimensional changes
that can occur between the key and the pallet. In my opinion we are better
off with the model of the Clicquot at Souvigny, in which the action is
attached at three-fifths the distance from the key pivot point, yielding
a slightly greater movement at the pallet and, in turn, in the action's
release phase, thereby increasing the security margin.[3]
J.B.: Yes, to me the Souvigny organ is exemplary. Be
that as it may, that action is in the service of a French organ with a
particular type of voicing, whereas the same action on an organ of the
Schnitger type would not necessarily be appropriate. You don't make the
sound in the same way. For example, the sound of the principals in Dutch
organs "blooms" as it goes along. There, you need a totally
different articulation from the one appropriate to a French montre, in
which the sound is, let us say ... full-grown right from the attack. Do
you see what I mean?
H.W.: Yes indeed, we're talking about precisely the difference
in voicing. The French montre is winded with an air flow quantity already
regulated at the toe hole; the cutups are lower, the scaling a bit wider
than those of a Dutch or German principal, in which the volume is regulated
at the mouth. The attack occurs in a totally different way, and it takes
more effort for a German principal to initiate the sound, so that the
action ought to correspond to this type of voicing. But I am sure that
if the French succeeded so well with their actions, it is because they
made do with a single pattern. They refined the action paths over several
centuries, while the Germans varied the organ types and the action setups.
The Germans as well made organs with one-armed keys, but the actions went
through detours; the Hauptwerk pallet box was to the rear, which already
lends more flexibility to the attack.
J.B.: One should also go into the question of key
length which varies from country to country during the 18th century. In
the Northern countries, you often have longer keys than in France. A proper
balance must be sought in this matter. In mechanical action, short keys
have a beneficial effect on touch. On the other hand, it becomes a problem
to extend the fingers or to play in distant keys. While that isn't of
such great consequence for French classical repertoire, it's already another
story when you want to play Bach. If we are talking about an organ meant
to play an even broader repertoire yet, while still opting for a suspended
action, it is very important to make sure not to shorten the front-to-back
depth of the keys to an exaggerated extent. I don't know how this is done
in your country, but in France, it's not an easy matter to discuss these
problems.
Norms
H.W.: I think the problem has to do with the fact that
you're asking for trouble the minute you set out to modify the action
design, which is so well established in France. We really ought to hold
to the norms that correspond to the requirements of the repertoire.
J.B.: Without returning to the norms established
in the 19th century at the Malines Conference, it would not seem to me
out of place to come up with new ones, taking into account recent insights
into early interpretation techniques as well as techniques that are more...well...traditional.
Many organbuilders (or consultants!) think that the organist ought to
be able to adapt each time to such different norms. This is possible,
to be sure, but to the detriment of a "well-worked-out" performance.
I can assure you that for us it's terribly downgrading.
H.W.: While we're on this subject, we might speak as
well of the pedalboard in relation to the manuals. In America we have
the AGO standard. In my opinion, this standard was set up so that the
organist could be comfortable at the console.
J.B.: Wearing slippers!
H.W.: This configuration really isn't for the sake of
performance. Rather, it is to be able to hold out through an entire service.
The pedalboard is pushed too far forward, so that you are not seated at
the edge of the bench enabling you to enjoy full freedom of leg movement,
nor can you have a good position of the back enabling you to be in balance
and play at your best.
J.B.: On the other hand, in France the near-systematic
revival of an opposite arrangement, inspired of old measures, often puts
us into an uncomfortable and unstable position. Here as well, I think
that it would be well to redefine our requirements in keeping with our
new technique.
H.W.: All the more if we take into account that 18th-century
people were smaller than those of today. An incident that perhaps can
illustrate this problem happened in 1981 at the McGill University symposium,
when Peter Williams faulted me for having made too many compromises and
for not having followed the dimensions of old consoles enough. So I told
him that I had polled organists who play on different types of mechanical
organs in order to find out how they felt at their console. I'm not the
one to be telling them how they should sit, but in doing the McGill organ
I took the dimensions that were appropriate for them, then published them.
I think that this is a way for us to progress. Just saying that we haven't
gone far enough in historical authenticity leads nowhere in itself.
Pedalboard
J.B.: Exactly. To come back to the pedalboard, I find
that the most balanced pedal technique is that of Bach. To me, it ought
to be the reference point. Nowadays, we should be able to control the
pedals in the same way we control our hands, with the same possibility
of gestures, of touch and of ease in movement. Hence, this indeed rules
out a pedalboard recessed too far into the base of the instrument. It
also rules out radiating pedalboards of the American type, because they
too much favour playing with the heel as opposed to the toe. In this connection,
I in no way make a dogma out of toes-only pedal playing. But there's nothing
secret about it: when you press the key with the toe you can very efficiently
follow through with the release of the key. The heel does not allow this
because its articulation is stiffer.
H.W.: The key lever is shorter, which makes control over
the releasing of the note more difficult.
J.B.: Of course, and therefore whatever conceivable encouragement
there is to playing with the toes is better for the music.
H.W.: It's easier to find the intervals when the keys
are parallel. If they are radiating, one always has to graze the black
keys to find the distance relationships. With the straight pedalboard,
it's possible to take more risks and play portato with toes only.
J.B.: Absolutely. Now there is the question of the totally
flat pedalboard. This is a problem to the extent that nowadays we need
a pedalboard of maximum compass. Flat pedalboards in Bach's time had a
less extended compass: CC to c or d. Today, they are expected to go up
to f or g. With flat pedalboards you have to have really long legs to
reach the outer ends! Personally, a slightly concave form doesn't bother
me.
H.W.: There is a difference in current practice between
America and Europe. Europe is tied in with the dimensions of the Bund
Deutscher Orgelbauer (BDO). In America we have fallen into step with the
principle put forth by John Brombaugh who decided that 60 mm was the right
gap between the notes. That corresponds roughly to the distance we get
in the radial AGO pedalboard at 15 cm from the front of the black keys.
Compared to the European norms, this brings low CC and high 5cm closer.
I have never yet met anyone who finds this spacing too narrow or such
pedalboards too wide. In any case, playing is done with the foot at an
angle. The temptation is great to deduce that the BDO measurements must
have been made for farmers who have just come in from tilling their fields
before playing the organ!
J.B.: I do not like pedalboards with overly wide spacing,
either. But we are constantly being admonished that, if the old masters
played on that kind of organ, there is no reason why we shouldn't do so
today. That means taking the old technique to be the only one that can
be efficient, deliberately forgetting that we have learned a lot of subsequent
techniques.
H.W.: I've been hearing my European colleagues saying
that they are being given more and more strict directives about how to
build their organs. Previously, it was enough to check up on whether or
not the gedackt caps were soldered on; now you get a frown for the least
little screw in plastic. They have to be in leather, even if we know perfectly
well that the leather will eventually dry out and start to slip.
J.B.: It's true that people have gotten to be sticklers
about these things; an organbuilder is judged by the materials he uses.
Are the windchests out of oak, the wind ducts in lead, does he make his
keyboards out of bone?... If so, then he is a good builder! The result
may be perfectly dismal, you can find yourself stuck with action problems,
disastrous voicing yet it's all been done by a "good"
organbuilder! I get more and more annoyed by this attitude. Don't come
to the conclusion, however, that I don't care for noble materials in an
organ, quite the contrary.
H.W.: People are always looking for tangible things in
order to come to grips with something which basically is intangible. In
tenders it's the same. You can't make a cost estimate the same way you
would for a building. A building's quality can be determined in terms
of the materials used cement, steel and all that but with the organ the
matter is more subtle. When you get to the tonal finishing, you're simply
in a completely different realm.
J.B.: It's possible at the reception of an instrument
to see if the windchests have been well done, if the toeboards are fastened
with forged nails, if everything is in keeping with the contract. But
how can it be explained why the voicing is incoherent, why there is imbalance?
That's where the real difficulty lies.
Consultants
H.W.: Another phenomenon that has come up in Europe
over the past years is organbuilders becoming consultants. In the old
days, colleagues were often called upon for the reception of an organ,
which led to many problems of jealousy. How can one be impartial standing
before a competitor? But whenever the organbuilder becomes a consultant
and dictates how the organ is to be made, taking care of the design and
the scaling, eliminating everything that is stimulating, thereby making
mere lackeys out of organbuilders, then I find it to be intolerable. There
are situations in which the same expert is an active party: one moment
he will team up with another builder for a project, and the next moment
he will be playing the role of consultant.
Fortunately, things happen otherwise in America. For instance, if our
clients are serious, they begin by asking us for our ideas, they invite
us to visit the location, the church, the university. They pay for our
travel expenses. To begin with, asking us for our ideas is already a good
sign. At the same time, I like to be able to know what they expect from
us. It's reciprocal, everyone really wants to make an organ that truly
corresponds to the parish needs and to the taste of the incumbent musician
(knowing that there will one day be others); we are then to take all of
that into account. This is idealistic, and things obviously don't always
happen this way. This manner of proceeding ought to be practised everywhere
else; first there should be mutual respect before the project is even
initiated.
Parish
J.B.: You say, "The customer is the parish."
I think that when it is the parish that orders an organ from a builder,
things are much easier than when it is an outside person. The construction
of an organ with no precise definitions is something that happens very
often. It isn't the parishioners who are asking to get an organ, and at
the same time the role of the organist in the present-day church in France
is quite different from what it was in the past. Often the organ is built
for a church, but is actually much more intended for a cultural calling,
in a location that is not often ideal in this respect. In such a case,
a more or less influential person comes forth to be the playmaker. In
this rather ambiguous context the organ no longer answers to the needs
of a community, but rather to the dreams and desires of a sole person.
This can be very dangerous, since everything depends on the dream and
its coherence...
From the moment that a real need exists to build an organ, corresponding
to the desire of a community with, let us say, worship or with cultural
aims both being worthy of consideration without conflict of interestthere
is no ambiguity and several builders can be consulted. There are choices
which are made based on tenders; there are choices based on affinities:
both are equally important. The people who order an organ should go to
see other organs by the builder under consideration. This is much more
likely to impart direction to the choice, once the builder has gained
the customer's confidence. >From that moment on, I find that it is
much easier to leave him free reign, carte blanche, telling him, "We
would like you to accomplish something special for our church. We are
aware of how you do things." A sole condition, albeit far from negligible:
the builder's competency must have been firmly established!
H.W.: I forgot to mention something. I was speaking as
if there were no consultants in America. We do have them, but their role
is different. Often, when a parish approaches us, they have already taken
a few steps together with the consultant. They have gone to visit a few
instruments that the consultant has recommended to them. And then, they
have already made a selection. They retain perhaps two or three organbuilders
from whom a project is requested. The consultant has helped them to find
appropriate organbuilders, but he doesn't force himself too much on the
project. Later, we have further contacts with the consultant, since he
has a go-between role. Often the consultants advise the customers in their
relationship with the organbuilder. For instance, if the customer requests
a drawing the consultant suggests to him that it would be fair to pay
the builder for the work. If things do not eventually lead up to a contract,
those items should be paid for in which the organbuilder has invested
his time.
J.B.: That's all fine. I don't believe that the consultant
or anyone else should impose a given style on an organbuilder; by telling
him, "Make us a French, an Italian, even a 'modern' instrument in
this church." I very much believe in the idea that a competent organbuilder
is inspired by a location.
Perhaps several organbuilders can have different ideas for a single place.
Putting these ideas up against each other is a source of no mean interest.
H.W.: It can happen that, an organbuilder having his
style, that the best thing is to seek out the location that is most appropriate
to his kind of organ.
J.B.: That's going about it the other way around!
H.W.: If he does good work it is quite acceptable and
respectable to do so. There are others who are able to go to more trouble
to adapt to architectural, stylistic and musical exigencies, among others.
It becomes much harder to do if a broad span of possibilities is left
open. You can't be a specialist in everything, can you?
J.B.: I feel that an organ specification, even the simplest
one (not to mention the voicing)always depends on the location, especially
on the acoustics that are available. You cannot by simple whim demand
that the organ include this or that stop, just because you would like
to have it.
Churches
H.W.: On the other hand, today's situation in churches
is a peculiar one. If churches are more and more becoming cultural institutions,
something other than places of worship, this ought to be taken into account.
J.B.: That is really a difficult problem. For the time
being I can't manage to perceive the position and future of the Church
.There is a very deep crisis, here and there a kind of mystic revival
is taking place that leads one to think that the Church, after haven been
progressive, might be taken over from the reactionary side, perhaps even
in an extremist way. Organs have always been built in churches because
it was parishes that were placing orders for them. In any case, in France
the idea of an organ in a secular hall has always been ruled out. Aside
from the Trocadéro organ, such experiments have always been rare
and led to disaster. In Germany there is quite often an organ in a concert
hall, not always so great, to be sure. I don't know why there is such
systematic refusal in France to put organs in halls. This would bring
about a totally different situation, surely another analysis, another
perception of things, but far be it from me to oppose such an experiment.
H.W.: Except that a major portion of the repertoire has
been written for worship. Organ concerts are made up of music that was
written for worship. Organ-and-orchestra repertoire is rather too skimpy
to justify an organ in a concert hall.
Church Music
J.B.: True, but isn't playing church music in concert
already somewhat paradoxical? The concert organ is that of the 19th or
20th centuries, whereas the liturgical organ is more the baroque organ.
Now if you take a page of early music with a pronounced liturgical bent,
it is difficult, even impossible to integrate it into a service in such
a way as to have it play an identical role. It no longer has any relationship
to present-day orders of service. It is nonetheless true that in church
this music will always take on another dimension. A religious painting
by Rubens will always be more evocative in a church than in a museum.
But it no longer has the same function. That has to be taken in stride.
You can't recreate something that no longer exists. For example, when
you go to Gent to look at "The Mystical Lamb," you are going
to a church just as if your were going to a museum. No doubt the painting
is better off in a church than in a museum, but it has lost its purpose;
it is no longer the altarpiece behind the alter, it is no longer... The
same is true of music. What determines whether music is a museum piece
or not? I would say that the musician who plays the work has the responsibility
to infuse life into iteven if he isn't always empowered to do so!
A cantata by Bach will never be really at home in a hall the way it would
be in church, and there's nothing we can do about that.
In sum, I don't think that a performance at the organ in a concert hall
weakens the piece. The location perhaps is less evocative, but there are
other advantages.
H.W.: The problem appears to me to crop up in the same
way as in teaching history: the need for explaining the crucial role of
Christianity in our civilization, whereas youth no longer recognizes the
meaning of things that seem obvious to us.
J.B.: It isn't only a question of being a believer or
a non-believer; I think it is a matter of our roots, our very culture
that are nourished by Christianity. Often I have students to whom I speak
of an Advent chorale and who look at me with wide-open eyes as if to say,
"What's 'Advent'?" They don't actually come out with it because
they are afraid of making fools of themselves, but I sense perfectly well
that I need to explain it to them.
H.W.: After all, aren't there a lot of churches that
might be turned into cultural places, even inevitably so? That means the
more or less superficial framework will still be there.
J.B.: When you think of the former Eastern bloc countries
in which the churches often were transformed into cultural halls, the
latter were no longer occupied in the same way, yet the architectural
space had remained the same.
H.W.: They had a mission different from the original
one: it was a place where people could meet each other on politically
harmless ground. It was reassuring. You could see that it means much more
to the Eastern peoples to be able to sing together. They were able to
do it there, and no one could act against it. So the Church played a very
important role. Then, suddenly, that too went its way.
Subsidies
J.B.: For the making of a new organ, there have been
a plethora of subsidies in France. Many organs have been constructed,
and many organs have also been restored. Parallel to that, there have
never been as many good organists as at the present time. They are legion
in the conservatories. Organ classes are proliferating. But there is absolutely
no passageway between the two. That is to say that there are organs on
one side and the organists on the other. The organists aren't able to
use the organs, mostly on account of reticence due to clergy-related rather
than administrative attitudes, and the organs are never played. It happens,
for instance, that an organ which has been restored in a small village
remains without an organist. Fully abandoned, the instrument cannot help
but be in need of another restoration five years later...
Organs are placed in churches; yet in the churches no one has need of
organs. In the best of cases the priests put up with them. On the other
end of things, young organists on one hand feel little implication in
anything religious, while on the other hand they have no desire to place
themselves in the service of a repertoire of songs that is completely
decadent if not downright grotesque.
H.W.: In several countries the situation is analogous,
but they get along despite all that. In Sweden, no one has been going
to church any more for a long time now, but the Church nonetheless continues
to exist, thanks to the State. Everyone wants to be buried with the traditional
rites. The State sees to the funding, no one goes to church, there is
still money available and organs are still built. Most of the time, for
the construction of a new instrument, an architect is appointed. Working
in such a situation is much less stimulating for an organbuilder than
in a country where the people have to fight to get a pipe organ.
J.B.: As for concerts, in Scandinavia for example, where
the Church is subsidized by the State, I've noticed that they were not
always well-attended. The organists are very well paid and they receive
subsidies from the government which go toward inviting other organists
to give concerts. Hence, whether there are a lot of people or not, there's
no problem since, whatever happens, the money is available. No particular
effort is made for publicizing the event, and no attempt to go seek out
an audience. I find this system absurd, whereas at first glance it would
appear quite ideal.
H.W.: It's a case of the Providential State. On the other
hand, in the Netherlands, things work very well in the organ realm: the
organs being the property of the cities, the Dutch grasped their cultural
role long before others did.
Reformation
J.B.: The Dutch are very fond of their organs. We know
how things happened with Sweelinck: In the 16th century, at the Reformation,
the organ was driven from the churches, but the cities reacted immediately,
saying, "People want to hear our organs, so let there be concerts
and we will pay an organist. Thus, Sweelinck became the organist for the
City of Amsterdam.
H.W.: Singing was not allowed in worship. Sweelinck published
his psalms in French for the Huguenots. He couldn't have them sung in
his own country, his own church, because music was under suspicion by
the Calvinists of his time.
J.B.: On one hand there was the fact that the Dutch like
the organ a lot, while, on the other hand, the Reformation reprimanded
the use thereof. That set of circumstances brought about the even greater
affection that Holland has for her instruments. The services of prestigious
organbuilders have been secured at a very high cost, with the firm conviction
that the long-term investment would thereby be a solid one.
H.W.: In a Protestant valley in Switzerland, the Toggenburg,
another tradition came about to remedy the lack of organs, banned by the
Zwinglian Church until well into the 19th century. The peasants, having
little work to do in the winter, occupied their spare time from the 18th
century on by building organs for themselves and for other peasants over
a hundred instruments in order to be able to play the psalms in the secret
of their homes.
The prime idea in having this interview was to ask you for your personal
opinion concerning the way one should go about making a good instrument.
J.B.: I can't answer that. For every time I've given
my opinion, having the opportunity to have an organ built, I have always
made sure that it was possible to call upon a builder whom I held in high
esteem and in whom I had great confidence. Of course, the discussions
bring out a certain number of ideas, but the main thing in making a good
organ is to have true competencies, an exceptional ear, a phenomenal intuition,
in a word, an irreproachable métier. But I don't think it is desirable
or even possible to specify the constants.
I believe that what we expect as users of organs is, above all for each
one to have a line of thought and a direction, and for it to be reliable.
When one listens to an organ, it is not the individual stops, as beautiful
as they may be, that make for a successful instrument. It is the cohesion
that they carry within themselves. In this way, you are naturally led
toward whatever the organbuilder had in mind. The perception of a project
must be clear and obvious. That goes for historical instruments, from
the 16th through the 19th centuries... and for the 20th century.
Translation: Kurt Lueders
Thanks to Denis Juget for the transcription of the tape.
[1] This article is published with the permission of the International
Society of Organbuilders. The 1993-ISO Yearbook contains further interesting
articles, such as : Jakob Schmidt : Organ Case Design; Yves Burgues :
Restoring the case of the Clicquot Organ at Poitiers; A.J.Roubo : The
Organcase, An 18th Century treatise; Dom Bédos de Celles : Trouble
Around the organ of Cathedral of Narbonne; Gerhard Grenzing : Jordi Bosch,
The Unknown Master, (this article can be seen through the following link:
http://www.grenzing.com/publicationes.cfm?lingua=de&id=0).
The publications of the ISO are available from:
publisher@internationalorganbuilders.com
[2] The organ is a veritable musical instrument which must be approached with respect. From the standpoint of its construction it ought to be a consummate masterwork. Did you ever watch a violinist take his instrument out of its case? What care he lavishes on it, admiring its lutherie each time! And how, whenever he plays it he closes his eyes and draws the violin close, the better to hear it breathe? (Do we not say that a violin has a soul?) This intimate contact with the instrument should the ardent quest of every performer. This means that anything which keeps the performer from coming closer to his instrument is anti instrumental. For this reason I hate electric action or organs whose consoles are located at twenty metres from the pipes. I've never been able to understand what could incite the musician to distance himself from his instrument. Step back in order to hear oneself better? No, narcissism is hardly compatible with musical emotion at its best. (From an interview by Bernard Hédin, Tutti no. 24 and Orgues Méridionales no. 26, pp. 15 16.)
[3] Legros, Henri. 1976. The Manual Action of the Clicquot Organ in Souvigny. ISO Information Nr. 15 (December).
 |
 |