Rinaldo Alessandrini Organ Recital / Concert Hall ATM

The Kaleidoscope and Maze of the Organ

Yoshio Miyama, Professor of Aesthetics and Science of Arts, Keio University
(reprinted from the May 31, 2001, program of the Rinaldo Alessandrini Organ Recital)

It was perhaps a contrivance on the part of the architect, but the Entrance Hall of Art Tower Mito (ATM) reminds one of the interior space of a churchsomewhere. That's undoubtedly because the architect was consciously aware that an organ would be installed therein. Still, it is not a place of worship, nor is it a closed-off space designed specifically for music, as is the case with a concert hall. When the sounds of the organ reverberate throughout such a space -- the purpose of which is intentionally vague and "afloat" -- the organist can thus play around with it freely, coloring it in a variety of ways. In the past quarter century, there has been an explosion in the number of musical organs. Nevertheless, to my knowledge, there is no other example of an organ that has been installed in such a way, with so many latent possibilities open to it.

When I learned that Alessandrini would perform at ATM, my heart started racing uncontrollably, as I was intensely interested in how he would attempt to paint the space of ATM's Entrance Hall with sound. Would he create a majestic space that resounded with persistent, unending polyphony, or would he create a world of meditative prayer? Or, on the other hand, would he drown us in a rich, acoustic world containing an infinite number of colors?

As a musical instrument, no two organs are the same -- each must be adjusted to adapt and harmonize with the space within which it has been installed. There is a great difference between individual organs in the number of mechanisms (known as stops) used to alter the tone color, as well as the nature of the timbre produced by each stop, not to mention the range of the various instruments and the number of keyboards each has. Obviously, there are certain things that each organ can and cannot do. For that reason alone, an organist, upon encountering a new organ, must promptly apprehend and comprehend the special characteristics of that specific organ before engaging it in performance.

Furthermore, the world of sound called for by each musical work is fundamentally different. For example, the baroque organ music of Couperin and other French composers assumes that the organ being used has many reed stops, which put forth a sophisticated tone color. A glance at the score of such works shows detailed directions as to tone -- a feature not witnessed in the organ music of Bach.

How does the organist extract the unique world of sound -- called for by each piece -- from the organ? That is another of the delights of listening to organ music.

Pierre Cochereau, who previously was titular organist at the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, once gave an organ lesson in Japan. In that lesson, he referred to a work by Messiaen, saying, "The tone color of the stops used at the Sainte-Trinite cathedral in Paris [where Messiaen served as organist] can be produced on this organ by combining these several stops in this fashion," changing the stops as he went along. And in doing so, he started playing the rich, abundant sounds of French organ music on a German organ. Though that powerful experience happened to me exactly 30 years ago, it spurred within me the desire to hear works of organ music performed upon the instruments used by the composers themselves when they originally wrote the piece. Three years after Cochereau surprised me with his comments, I traveled to Paris and sat in a corner of the Ste.-Trinite cathedral. There I listened to the organ at the end of the Mass, when the postlude flowed directly into a performance of Messiaen's Impromptus. The music stretched on for more than 20 minutes. It seemed a bit strange to me, though, to watch the rest of the congregation leave for home, not caring a whit about the music.

Whenever I travel to Europe, I make it a rule to hear organ performances in specific countries and at specific churches. There seem to be quite a few other people with the same idea, as many of the musical tour guidebooks I have bought locally in each country give much mention to historical organs and famous modern organs in each location. For example, there is the grand "Imperial Organ" at the Grand Cathedral in Toledo, Spain, which is not only an ancient capital of that country, but the hometown of El Greco. In the same country, one can also hear the pair of organs in El Escorial, arranged complementarily, which reminds one of the competitive performances of Scarlatti and Soler in their day. In the northern German city of Lubeck, moreover, the famous "Dance of Death" organ keeps on going strong today.

When one makes actual visits to organs, or learns about them through recordings, one can hardly fail to sense the fact that organs are virtually "historical scrolls," embodying the special traits of each nationality. Most likely, I am not the only person to be struck by the idea that the variety and depth of European culture can be glimpsed just by making a tour visiting various organs.

There is a great variety to be found among organs, not just as a musical instrument, but in the style of performance on it. Using the opportunity of this essay to peruse through my collection of organ records once again, I see that the oldest recording I have was made in the 1910s. Also, the performance of Bach's works by Vierne (organist at Notre Dame in Paris) around 1930 emphasizes their romantic and symphonic glory, as do the recordings of Widor (a French organist active in the same period) . But listening to the music of Albert Schweitzer, who was his pupil, one can appreciate a qualitative change. Incidentally, it is common to think that Schweitzer -- known as the "saint of the jungle" for having built a hospital in Lambarene in Gabon, and famous for his theological writings -- played the organ merely as something to do in his spare time, but in fact he was active as a concert organist whenever back in Europe.

One need not to go back that far to realize how variegated organ playing can be -- the last decade or more demonstrates that fact clearly. Having originally been a harpsichord player and ensemble director, Alessandrini made the jump from being an early musician to an organist. That puts him in the so-called third group of organists, besides the first group (organists with primarily church backgrounds) and the second group (organists who concentrate on concert performances). But that system of grouping may be virtually meaningless, since the various organists within each group have their own individual personalities.

Alessandrini's concert program on the organ at ATM's Entrance Hall will show us the breadth of organ music written in the Baroque period. He has chosen pieces that represent the different national characters of the composers' home countries. Given Alessandrini's breadth of interest, he will undoubtedly give us a clear introduction to the differences of the music. However, at the base of all his playing is something fundamental that is common to all Italian musicians.

Incidentally, let us consider the performance of Bach's "Art of the Fugue." According to Alessandrini, the performance of this abstract work by Bach "was written somewhat in the same style as that used in madrigals." Madrigals were Italian works composed primarily in the 16th and early 17th centuries, and were primarily written for voice ensembles. Many of the lyrical contents of these works were dramatic in nature. Alessandrini wrote, "(The Art of the Fugue) is like a wordless madrigal, with four parts, just as if four different characters were talking to each other naturally, with the banter of questions and their answers. That, I believe, is the best way to approach the performance of The Art of the Fugue.'"

Those words of Alessandrini's came from an interview printed in a British music magazine. How will he develop this approach with organ music? Will his theatrical imagination be reflected throughout his organ performance? " Music must reflect our deep impressions and daily feelings. The work of a musician is not safe,' of course, but contains great risks, and that is a challenge, " he said. In his performance, Alessandrini will again impart a new appeal to the kaleidoscope that is the organ, organ music, and organ.

However, for people who wish to enter into the "mysterious forest" or temple of the organ, and find unexpected treasures and unknown rooms therein, Alessandrini will (probably) not be a safe and harmless guide, despite his forcefulness. That's because his program for the ATM concert shows a hidden plot lying at the bottom of the musical works that come from different countries, casually strung together as they may seem at first glance. Alessandrini may, in fact, be a dangerous guide into the grand maze known as the organ. With the magic treasure box before us, we can no longer afford to leave it unopened. That's because his performance will soon begin.

Translated by Paul T. Narum

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