Faultbook

The Return of George Howell

2012-02-10T22:58:00.004-05:00

I'm very overcaffeinated right now. In fact, a mosquito bit me and immediately died of a nervous breakdown.

But the strain on my synapses was well worth the unforgettable culinary experience I had earlier this evening.

Tomorrow marks the grand opening of George Howell Coffee in Newtonville, MA. Tonight, on the eve of this event, a joyful open house was held, attended by George and Laurie Howell.

What makes these events so auspicious?

George Howell was singlehandedly responsible for Boston's coffee renaissance. Between 1975 and 1994, his chain of coffee houses, the Coffee Connection, defined good coffee drinking in the Boston area. Then in 1994, Starbucks bought the Coffee Connection. Part of the deal was that George was not allowed to open a coffee shop for ten years.

He was "retired," but of course for someone like George Howell, "to retire" means "to do even more." George traveled the world and became an even more legendary coffee guru. With his Terroir line of coffees, he was the first person to produce single-origin coffees. Great vintners have produced single-origin wines for millennia, but George was the first person to care enough about coffee beans to opine that they deserved the same respect as grapes. And while certain socially conscious coffee producers embrace "fair trade" policies, George went one step further. He does "direct trade," working directly with the growers themselves and eliminating the middle man.

One reason George could not sit still in retirement is that he didn't like the direction in which coffee was going. Starbucks popularized the overroasted coffee bean, producing some of the most robust — sometimes downright burnt — beans on the market. They explicitly stated that the more you roast a bean, the more flavorful it becomes. Seems to me that's like saying: the longer you barbecue a steak, the more delicious it becomes. After the third or fourth hour on the grill, there certainly are diminishing returns! Though I have never heard George speak of Starbucks by name, I have heard him speak many times about his preference for slightly (or more than slightly) lighter roasts. (I'll say something else about that at the end of this blog.)

In 2010, George bought the Taste Coffee House on 311 Walnut Street in Newtonville, MA. He assembled a wonderful team, with whom he started to think about the character of the place. There is a sleek, slightly Euro quality. You see the uncluttered, glistening machines, and you instantly realize that the protagonist is not the sandwiches or the décor, but the coffee itself.

For Bostonians who sorely miss the Coffee Connection, or for those who simply want the best cup of coffee to be had, tomorrow's opening has created lots of buzz. For the first time, here is a coffee house with George's personality, his innovations, his inimitable stamp — inimitable because no one in the world knows, or loves, coffee as much as George Howell.

Yesterday, I suddenly realized just how far-reaching the influence of George Howell still is over the world of coffee. I walked past a Starbucks and saw a big sign, which read, "Now Introducing Our New Blonde Roast." I immediately thought of George and took delight that even the Giant from Seattle — especially the Giant from Seattle — listens when George Howell speaks.

George Howell Coffee, 311 Walnut Street, Newtonville, MA, 617-332-6886

The following quotes about George Howell are from Wikipedia:

“The Coffee Connection was different from the competition we faced elsewhere. The sale [in 1994]… gave Starbucks immediate access to a core of well-informed coffee drinkers.”—Pour Your Heart Into It by Howard Schultz (Hyperion, 1997) on the sale of The Coffee Connection in Boston to Starbucks.

“Howell became legendary for doing anything to find clean, beautifully processed beans.”—The Joy of Coffee by Corby Kummer, senior editor of The Atlantic Monthly (Houghton Mifflin Company, 1995).

“The ultimate aesthete”—Uncommon Grounds by Mark Pendergrast (Basic Books, 1999)

“George Howell…one of the coffee world’s most knowledgeable and passionate spokesmen. I know of no one who has done more to improve the quality of American coffee, and no one has taught me more, both directly and by example.”— Coffee Basics by Kevin Knox (John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 1997).

“[George Howell] made The Coffee Connection one of, if not the premier, specialty coffee retailer of North America.”—Bill McAlpin, Hacienda La Minita, upon presenting the Specialty Coffee Association of America Lifetime Achievement Award to George Howell in 1996.

“Mr. Howell [is] a walking encyclopedia of coffee.”—Florence Fabricant, food columnist for The New York Times, 1993.

“More than perhaps any other roaster in the country, the Coffee Connection focuses on selling the most quintessential example from each coffee-producing country. [George Howell] is trying to purify and identify the core essence of each origin: What is it that makes Guatemala Antigua so good?”—The Perfect Cup by Timothy James Castle (Aris Books, 1991).

“Back in 1994, before George Howell sold … the Coffee Connection … to Starbucks, he had the best selection of green coffees in the US. Now he has started a new coffee-roasting business called GHH Select (George Howell Coffee Company). Most American “specialty” coffees, powerfully influenced by Starbucks, are roasted much darker than European coffee, covering or driving off the finest aromas. But Howell, as ever, roasts moderately…. On his recent list, the coffees from all seven geographic provenances were aromatic with fruit and flowers … in the way wine is.” —The Art of Eating, quarterly magazine by Edward Behr (2003, number 65).

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (1 more day!)

2012-01-26T21:42:00.002-05:00

Friends,

Tomorrow is the big day! From 10 a.m. to noon at Boston University's Marsh Chapel, Peter Planyavsky will lead a masterclass, featuring organ students from BU and MIT. The repertoire will include Mendelssohn sonatas 2 & 3, Du Mage suite, and the Vivaldi-Bach A minor concerto (1st movement).

Then in the evening at 8 p.m. at MIT's Kresge Auditorium, Planyavsky will play a FREE recital on the 1955 Holtkamp organ, culminating in a grand improvisation.

Looking forward to seeing many of you at tomorrow's exciting events!

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (2 days)

2012-01-25T22:13:00.001-05:00

"3 Questions: David Briggs on playing the organ in Kresge Auditorium"

(On January 16, 2011, David Briggs played a full-length recital in Kresge Auditorium -- the first by an internationally-renowned organist in 30 or 40 years.)

Q. MIT is not necessarily a sought-after place for organists to play, but the Institute does have
two organs — one in Kresge Auditorium, the other in Kresge Chapel —
built by the well-known Holtkamp Organ Company. Are you familiar with
Holtkamp organs?

A. I’m delighted to be performing on the Holtkamp Organ here at MIT. In fact, I played my
first-ever concert in the U.S. on a Holtkamp instrument. It was at the
Church of the Covenant in Cleveland, Ohio, in February 1997. I remember
five inches of lake-effect snow fell during the course of the concert,
and I improvised on “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

Q. Why did you start playing the organ?

A. I’ve played the organ since I was six, although I didn’t have any lessons until the age of 12 —
after I’d reached a fairly high level on the piano and my feet could
properly reach the pedals. My grandfather was a well-known organist in
Birmingham, England, and I used to sit on the bench with him. When I was
nine, I became a chorister at St. Philip’s Cathedral, Birmingham, under
Roy Massey. It was at that period that I really decided I wanted to be
an organist. When I was 16, I studied in London with Richard Popplewell,
at the Chapel Royal. Richard was a fabulous and very generous teacher
as well as an extremely kind person. I lost my father when I was 16, and
Richard in many ways took over. I owe him a huge amount.

Q. MIT is synonymous with science and engineering. How or why do you think organ music relates to science?

A. The organ is the largest and most complex of all musical instruments. Many large
instruments have hundreds of thousands of moving parts and tens of
thousands of pipes. Each mechanical part (be it wind reservoir, pallet
magnet or wind stabilizer) has to work perfectly over a long period, and
each pipe has to be voiced to blend to the rest. The finest organs are
those that represent an ideal synthesis between artistic vision and
technical prowess. In other words, the very best instruments are the
result of many, many hours of skilled workmanship in terms of pipe
voicing, sophistication of key action, stability of voicing, excellence
of acoustic and so on. Then you have a true meeting of science and
music. Playing on such a large variety of instruments is a very
enriching experience — each time you have to ‘learn’ the instrument
because organs are so different to each other.

(Published on the MIT website on January 14, 2011.)

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (3 days)

2012-01-24T22:46:00.002-05:00

For the first piece on his program at MIT's Kresge Auditorium this Friday evening, Peter Planyavsky chose an interesting work: the Fantasy in B-flat Major by Alexandre Pierre F. Boëly (1785-1858).

Boëly holds an important — and fascinating — place in the history of French music. He has been called “one of those luckless figures in music.”

During much of the 19th century, France was a bit like Italy in that the musical mainstream consisted mostly of opera. Add to that the virulent anti-German sentiment of those times, and you can see why there weren’t many symphonies being written in France (and no important ones, that I can think of, between 1830 and 1886).

Boëly, meanwhile, was an outspoken opponent of this new Romantic music, favoring instead composers like Bach, Couperin, and Frescobaldi. From 1840 to 1851, Boëly played at St. Germain-l’Auxerrois in Paris, where he tirelessly promoted the music of his favorite composers – all of whom were dead, and none of whom were Romantic. After 11 years, St. Germain dismissed Boëly, who spent the rest of his career as a piano teacher in relative obscurity.

But this isn’t the whole story. Boëly had a great influence on future generations of French composers, especially Franck and Saint-Saëns – both of whom did indeed dare to write symphonies.

Meanwhile, as Daniel Roth has pointed out, one reason Widor was never promoted from Provisional Organist to Titular Organist of St. Sulpice in Paris is because the church authorities felt his playing was “too German.” Today we often forget how avant-garde it was for Widor to perform and edit so much Bach, or to compose music in a clearly Beethovenian style (such as the famous Andante Cantabile).

For all of this, the somewhat obscure, somewhat scorned Boëly laid the groundwork.

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (8 days)

2012-01-19T23:22:00.002-05:00

Several of these posts have discussed the 1991 Rieger organ at the Stephansdom in Vienna, designed by Peter Planyavsky. However, I'm yet to speak of the history behind the preceding instruments.

I won't dwell on the length or the difficulty of the struggle to obtain the Rieger. Suffice it to say: Planyavsky became Domorganist in the 1960s. The Rieger came in the 1990s. 'Nuff said.

One problem was the sharp difference of opinion as to the worth of the large Kauffmann organ that still resides in the rear gallery. One camp felt that this postwar instrument was of inferior sound and cheap materials. The other camp felt the organ wasn't THAT bad; and because it is an example of that particular school of organbuilding, it is considered "historic."

What everyone agrees on, however, is the magnificence of the organ that the Kauffmann replaced.

The 1886 E. F. Walcker organ was an instrument that is hard for most of us to imagine today. Imagine a Romantic organ, of that vintage, with a Hauptwerk of 35 stops! 47 ranks! The 1881 E. F. Walcker at the Mariendom in Riga, Latvia, still exists. It gives us a sense of the aural and visual splendor that the larger, younger Walcker must have possessed.

The Stephansdom Walcker was destroyed by bombing during World War II.

Below: The 1881 E. F. Walcker organ at Riga Cathedral, Latvia.

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (9 days)

2012-01-18T15:37:00.008-05:00

Today I was browsing the Holtkamp opus list and see what other instruments were built just before and just after the two MIT instruments. I was amazed at just how MANY instruments the firm built in that three- or four-year period. I was equally amazed, in a more melancholic way, how few of these instruments are still in existence ...

Opus Year Location (manuals-stops)

1701 1958 Christ Church Grosse Pointe, MI (IV-50)

1700 1957 Trinity Lutheran Church Moorhead MN (III-36)

1699 1958 University of California Berkeley CA (III-43)

1698 1956 Syracuse University Practice Organ Syracuse NY (II-4)

1697 1957 Church of the Cross Millwaukee WI (II-12)*

1696 1957 Immanuel Lutheran Church DesPlaines IL

1695 1957 Christ Church Cincinnati OH (IV-53)

1694 1957 Shorter College Rome GA (III-27)

1693 1956 Church of the good Shepherd Palos Heights IL (I-6)

1692 1956 Corpus Christi Catholic Church New York NY (III-23)

1691 1956 Kent School Kent CT

1690 1957 Lutheran Church of the Reformation Affton MO (I-6)

1689 1956 Episcopal Theological School Cambridge MA (III-32)

1688 1956 Chapel of the Cross San Fernando CA (I-6)

1687 1956 University Christian Church DesMoines IA (II-26)

1686 1956 Lutheran Church of the Resurrection Yandley PA (I-6)

1685 1955 University of Alabama - Practice Organ Tuscaloosa AL (I-4)

1684 1956 William Scheide Residence Princeton NJ (II-12)

1683 1955 Pilgrim Lutheran Church Marysville MI (I-6)

1682 1955 Northwestern University - Practice Organ Evanston IL (I-4)

1681 1956 Collingwood Presbyterian Church Toledo OH (III-43)

1680 1956 Massachusetts Institute of Technology Auditorium Cambridge MA (III-43)

1679 1955 Lutheran Church of the Ascension Birmingham MI (I-7)

1678 1954 Hope Lutheran Church Park Forest IL (I-6)

1677 1955 Wellesley College - Positiv Wellesley MA (I-3)

1676 1955 St. Stephens Episcopal Church Goldsboro NC (II-17)

1675 1955 St. Charles Catholic Church Parma OH (III-33)

1674 1955 Massachusetts Institute of Technology Chapel Cambridge MA (II-12)

1673 1957 Maryville College Chapel Maryville KY

1672 1954 St. Andrew's School Middleton DE (II-12)

1671 1954 Trinity Lutheran Church Houston TX (III-33)

1670 1954 Trinity Lutheran Church Grand Island NE (III-19)

1669 1954 Epsworth Euclid Methodist Church Cleveland OH (IV-60)

(Data collected from http://www.holtkamporgan.com/Chart/Default.aspx )

Photo: University of Alabama at Tuscaloosa (Holtkamp Op. 1685). Photo from the OHS Database. Note that the organ is II-12, even though it is listed as I-4 on the Holtkamp website.

* = This should read Chapel of the Cross, not Church of the Cross. It was installed as a I-8 but later enlarged to full size (II-15). Many thanks to David Bohn for bringing this error to my attention.

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (10 days)

2012-01-17T13:22:00.006-05:00

An energetic and flowing reading of Bach's famous "Little Fugue in G minor" (BWV 578). From Peter Planyavsky's all-Bach recording on the Marcussen organ of Fukushima Concert Hall (recorded 1986).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PiYOshyWXRs

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (11 days)

2012-01-17T13:15:00.004-05:00

Some interesting comments by Peter Planyavsky on the possibilities of writing good music for the post-Vatican-II church:

"You are not to write a 'pretty' or 'interesting' piece which 'can also be performed in the liturgy,' but rather, you should truly compose above all for liturgical use – with all the consequences. ...

"All right, let's talk about the Responsorial Psalm. Whoever has in mind an awful, primitive, monotonous little ditty should please think again. Nowhere is it demanded that it may not be elaborate, dignified, polyphonic, and original. Fundamentally the structure of solo psalmody should be maintained, but there is much more that can be done with it. The same is true for the Alleluia verse. Further: the manifold possibilities of alternation by stanza between choir and congregation are not yet exhausted. ...

"So far, none of the church music alarmists has been able to explain to me how the task of setting the 150 psalms (that is 77 pages), compared to the Ordinary (that is two pages), represents a limitation. ...

"I resist any fundamental charge of a deficit for which the liturgy of the Second Vatican Council would be guilty. The foundational and functionally coherent involvement of the congregation (and that does not mean always, everywhere, constantly, and primitively!) is not a bureaucratic spawn of a few music-hating liturgists. Rather, it was a radical innovation of our [twentieth] century that was awaited with longing all across Europe and in many places already practiced illegally by anticipation. Again, I wish to emphasize, the effects for sacred msuic have been predominantly positive and inspiring to the imagination."

(Peter Planyavsky, "Komponieren, aber für die heutige katholische Liturgie" ("Compose, But for the Current Catholic Liturgy"), Singende Kirche, 1988f. English translations from "Sacred music and liturgical reform: treasures and transformations" by Anthony Ruff (2007).)

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (12 days)

2012-01-15T23:26:00.003-05:00

For decades, Peter Planyavsky was the organist and/or music director of the Stephansdom in Vienna, one of the world's great cathedrals. The highlight of his tenure was undoubtedly the installation of the Rieger organ in 1991. It must certainly be the most heroic 56-stop tracker ever built! Playing a concert on it in 2001, on my very first European tour, was one of the great thrills of my life (especially the Liszt B-A-C-H). The 32' Principal does not purr; it roars. And I remember the Pedal reeds 16' and 8' being so large-scale that, even in big pieces, I usually used one or the other. But then there were more delicate colors on the Brustwerk and elsewhere. In fact, I had no trouble finding the right textures for the Bach Trio Sonata that I played. (I can't think of many cathedrals in which I would attempt such a work.) On the Solowerk, the big reed with the big cornet enable a melody to soar above the rest of the organ in a very Planyavskian sound.

The Pipedreams website has featured this instrument in five of its problems. Links to all can be accessed from this page:

http://pipedreams.publicradio.org/gallery/austria/vienna_stephansdom_rieger.shtml

Photo: the author at the Stephansdom organ (July, 2001).

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (13 days)

2012-01-14T22:08:00.002-05:00

Last week in one of my posts, Marian Ruhl Metson wrote of her experience with the composition by Peter Planyavsky, "Fantasie in memoriam A.H." (The title refers, of course, to Anton Heiller). Below are YouTube links of this very interesting composition, played by a student of Planyavsky, Peter Peinstingl.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5A8-xVfu8Hs (Part I)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_zLjUlpYWQ (Part II)

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (14 days)

2012-01-13T20:39:00.005-05:00

By now you've heard me mention that on Friday, January 27, at 8 p.m., legendary Viennese organist Peter Planyavsky will play an organ recital at MIT's Kresge Auditorium. But I want to mention also that earlier that day, from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m., Planyavsky will give an organ masterclass at Boston University's Marsh Chapel, featuring a student from MIT and several students from BU's Master of Sacred Music program.

The Master of Sacred Music (MSM) program is quite an extraordinary one; there is not another program like it in Greater Boston. The MSM degree is offered jointly through the School of Theology and the School of Music and administered by the School of Theology. Since the MSM is essentially professional training for employment as a church musician, the program is offered with two concentrations: organ and choral conducting. The distinguished MSM faculty include Dr. Andrew Shenton (MSM Program Director) and Peter Sykes (organ). It's a program that's as wonderful as it is unique. Kind of wish I were a student again, so that I could enroll!

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (15 days)

2012-01-12T12:11:00.007-05:00

Photo: The 1742 Schmahl organ in Sitzberg, near Zürich.

Peter Planyavsky was one of Heiller's greatest students and closest friends. He later became Heiller's biographer. Who was this Heiller character?

Anton Heiller was the greatest interpreter of Bach's organ works of his time -- maybe of all time. But there are several facts that are very interesting about this.

First: It's hard to think of anyone else of Heiller's generation or the generation before who played Bach anything like him. From whom did he learn how to play Bach like that? Who influenced him? Where did he get it? (I asked that question once to my teacher, the Heiller student Yuko Hayashi. She answered, "From Bach.")

Second: Heiller could as easily have had a career as a conductor. In fact, at age 23 he was offered the job as conductor of the Vienna State Opera! He turned it down. Why? So that he could devote more time to playing Bach on the organ!

There isn't space to speak of Heiller's Bach playing in any detail. But there is an anecdote worth repeating, told to me in 1994 by Yuko Hayashi.

YH: He played the Orgelbüchlein up in the hills near Zürich [Sitzberg]. An organ restored by Metzler [in 1961, built by G. F. Schmahl c. 1742] And I was assisting him, turning pages. Jean-Claude Zehnder was there. By the way, I'm not a good assistant, so I stayed away from doing it. But that one time in Switzerland when I did do it, it was so EASY. He had this rhythm in his body, and he didn't have to do anything like that [nodding]. He didn't have to nod, he BREATHED. And I felt his breathing. It was so easy.
LC: Like a singer, he breathed, and you knew exactly where to turn the page or pull the stop.
YH: And he was so relaxed. Before the concert he was very nervous. But when the music started … CALM.
LC: So he played the concert.
YH: First he had dinner. Then he went up to this mountain, when into the church, and started to try out registrations, one after another, while Jean-Claude Zehnder and a few students from out in the church would say, "That's good." Then it was time for the concert. Double the amount of people that the church could hold showed up! And you know what he did? He announced to the audience, "Half of you go back into town for dinner and come back later." He played the recital, the whole Orgelbüchlein. He smoked for ten minutes -- in those days he smoked. Now the second audience that had had dinner was in place in the church, and he played the recital AGAIN! I got tired just turning the pages. He got better and better. Meanwhile, there were cows around. The cows liked the music. You could see them through the windows and hear their beautiful bells.
LC: And this was all happening during the concert?
YH: Yes.
LC: It must have been idyllic, having this mixture of nature and classical music.
YH: Then I understand, after that, he recorded.
LC: He made his Orgelbüchlein record.
YH: Yes.

Peter Planyavsky plays a free organ recital at Kresge Auditorium, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, on Friday, January 27 at 8 p.m.

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (16 days)

2012-01-11T12:14:00.006-05:00

Kresge Auditorium, as seen from the Chapel. (Photo by L. Ciampa, 12 Oct. '10)

Upon the death of his father Herman Heinrich ("Henry") Holtkamp (1858-1931), Walter Holtkamp, Sr. (1894-1962), assumed control of the company that was then called the Votteler-Holtkamp-Sparling Organ Company. Despite the financial difficulties of the Depression, Walter wasted little time in developing his radical ideas. His 1933 addition to the E. M. Skinner organ of the Cleveland Museum of Art (the first "Rückpositiv" ever built in North America), quickly established him as the most avant-garde organ builder in America. These Baroque-inspired instruments had a brightness and clarity completely unfamiliar to audiences of the 1930s, who were accustomed, instead, to the lush, woolly sounds of organs by E. M. Skinner - instruments more suitable for Wagner transcriptions than for Bach's great organ works.

In 1951 the company was renamed the Holtkamp Organ Company; Walter was named President. The company's finest work dates from this period, including important installations at Crouse College (Syracuse University) and Battell Chapel (Yale). The consultant for many Holtkamp instruments, including the two MIT organs, was Melville Smith (1898-1962), one of the most influential organists of his time. In addition to his involvement at MIT, Smith was President of the Longy School. Smith was one of the leaders of the so-called Organ Reform Movement, which repopularized the Baroque music and organs that Smith so loved. He had a particular passion for French Baroque organ music, especially that of the composer Nicolas de Grigny (1672-1703). This explains why on Chapel organ, the stop named "Cymbal" is actually a Sesquialtera.

Eero Saarinen (1910-1961) was a Finnish-born architect of world renown, known for such diverse creations as the St. Louis Arch and the tulip chairs on Star Trek. Saarinen designed and buit MIT's Kresge Auditorium and the smaller Chapel.

Why was Saarinen as amenable to acoustics and organ placement in the Chapel as he was unamenable to them in Kresge?

It is said that Walter did not enjoy building the Kresge organ. Besides the cramped space and unideal placement relegated by Saarinen's design, the auditorium was not ideal acoustically - a fact that didn't seem to disturb Saariren. Acoustics, Saarinen said in 1955, were a "modifying factor" but "not a science with the authority to impose a basic shape." Therefore, according to legend, Saarinen attempted to mollify Holtkamp with the Chapel, by providing him with an ideally placed organ loft and the type of acoustical environment about which organ builders dream.

Nevertheless, the Kresge instrument is a large and colorful one which fills the 1226-seat auditorium with some of Walter Holtkamp's most characteristic sounds.

John Allen Fergusen's judgment of the Chapel organ could easily be applied to the Kresge organ, as well:

"[The] organ appeared in the mid-fifties and embodied so much of the essence of Holtkamp's style, convictions and interests. ... [This organ] reveals Holtkamp, as much a radical in his field as Frank Lloyd Wright was in architecture, at work in a space designed by the respected contemporary architectural firm, Eero Saarinen and Associates. Here the combination of gifted organ builder working together with a creative architect demonstrates again that organ building, when practiced responsibly, can produce instruments of exceptional visual and aural distinction." (John Allen Ferguson, "Walter Holtkamp: American Organ Builder" (1979)).

Peter Planyavsky plays a free organ recital at Kresge Auditorium, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, on Friday, January 27 at 8 p.m.

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (17 days)

2012-01-10T12:23:00.003-05:00

Peter Planyavsky at the Musikverein in Vienna (2011).

When Peter Planyavsky began his career, Victorian music, choral as well as organ, was virtually unknown in Austria; it was certainly not standard fare. In the ensuing decades, Planyavsky has been Austria's most energetic promoter of this repertoire. I asked him a few questions on the topic:

LC: Before you came on the scene, how much Victorian music, if any, was being sung and played in Austria?

PP: Most of the Victorian music was practically non existent here - Stanford's Beati quorum via was known and performed but nothing else. Now it's done a bit here and a bit there.

LC: How do the Austrians feel about this “exotic” music?

PP: People generally like it; harmonically, it is not so different from our own little things from the same period. The main difference is the use of the organ. But in Austria, there were no Swell divisions of the kind you need – and even if there were, the average organ would not have pistons. It was actually near to impossible to perform these things in Austria before the nineties!

LC: What sparked your interest in this repertoire?

PP: I have been in the UK a couple of times, plus Australia plus Canada, so I've heard quite a lot of it. But the actual "spark" was triggered in 1993. Then I started collecting CDs and introduced the music to St. Stephen's Cathedral. [At one time Planyavsky has the unusual dual responsbility at the Stephansdom of Organist and Music Director – traditionally two separate jobs in Austria.]

LC: Is there a particular concert of Victorian repertoire in Vienna that comes to your mind as being particularly memorable?

PP: One of the big events around the organ dedication in the Musikverein in Vienna was a choral-and-organ-concert where we did [Stainer's] I saw the Lord, plus [Britten's] Rejoice in the Lamb. [This took place on May 16, 2011, in the Großer Saal of the Musikverein.]

LC: What about elsewhere in Austria?

PP: I led a choral week in Salzburg in 2004 concentrating on the repertoire, with a big service in the Cathedral – which houses an 60-stop Metzler. All tracker, two assistants, and a lot of sweat and blood...

Peter Planyavsky plays a free organ recital at Kresge Auditorium, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, on Friday, January 27 at 8 p.m.

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (18 days)

2012-01-09T21:00:00.007-05:00

Peter Planyavsky with the author (Brookline, March 9, 2004). Seems odd that the Austrian is drinking the chianti and the Italian is drinking the Weizenbier!

In March, 2004, at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Brookline, MA (where I was then Music Director), I organized "HeillerFest," a week-long festival commemorating the 25th anniversary of the death of the great Anton Heiller. Naturally, a "HeillerFest" would not have been complete with Heiller's star pupil, close friend, and future biographer, Peter Planyavsky. The following is an excerpt from an article that I wrote for the July, 2004, issue of The Diapason. The excerpt describes the opening event, a Choral Evensong which I personally tailored with the sole purpose of showing off Planyavsky's improvisational gifts.

"There are two types of performers: those who emit electricity, intensity, and sometimes neurosis, for whom every piece seems a matter of life or death (Caruso, Horowitz, Heifetz); and those who exude mental and physical health, for whom each pieces feels like the first of many encores (Gigli, Rubinstein, Kreisler). Peter Planyavsky is of the second type. The 75-minute Evensong service seemed short. One felt that another twenty-five improvisations could have fallen from his sleeve without any detectable effort.

"There is something Beethovenian about Planyavsky, a certain Viennese ruggedness. It snowed as we walked down St. Paul Street together, yet he seemed unconcerned about his photocopied prelude and postlude which he held, uncovered, under his arm. "In Vienna I always walk around like this, "he explained. He spent not much more than an hour at the Bozeman organ, an eclectic instrument on which the stop names are on plaques next to the stop knobs. I myself occasionally pull the wrong stop! Not only did he never do that, but he had a total comprehension of the organ's tonal resources, as if he already knew how every combination would or wouldn't work.

"I knew firsthand of Planyavsky's brilliance as a liturgical improviser, and I designed the Evensong around it. No trite compline hymns for him; I chose Aus tiefer Not and O Welt, ich muß dich lassen. And while the prayerbook rubric permits a "moment of silence" before the Mag and the Nunc, respectively, I translated "moment of silence" as "three-to-five-minute organ improvisation." The individual improvisations complemented and contrasted each other: the simple effectiveness of his bicinium on Le Cantique de Siméon; the color and fluid virtuosity of his Magnificat; the rich, impenitently German-Romantic O Welt; and so on. Each improvisation seemed to enhance the others." (From The Diapason, July 2004, p. 14)

Peter Planyavsky plays an organ recital at Kresge Auditorium, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, on Friday, January 27 at 8 p.m. Admission for this grand event is FREE.

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (19 days)

2012-01-08T20:19:00.008-05:00

The following is a humorous explanation by Peter Planyavsky of why he became a composer. (As you will see, he pokes fun both at himself and at the state of music in the Church at one time.)

"Before somebody else comes forward and makes it public, I would rather admit it myself: I ALSO COMPOSE.

"First, I had not planned it, but – I realized it very soon – I was literally forced to become active in that direction. Of course there were a few pieces out there that had been composed, but many of them were not very useful. To name just a few examples: some songs by Mozart and Hugo Wolf were indeed of acceptable quality and were actually usable as Responsorial Psalms; however, the texts were very questionable. Attempts to use drastically abridged scenes (without the scenery) from Wagner operas as Offertories failed, because somewhere in the middle the next Mass would begin.

"And as for solo organ music – ask yourself: will you torment yourself and the audience with such minor masters as Murschhauser or Reger? No, ultimately we must do everything ourselves.

"This train of thought was shared by many. (Not that they all composed for themselves! They gave me commissions. [...]) The train of thought was shared also by some publishers. (Not that they all composed for themselves either! But they printed compositions of mine.) [...] The reasonings of all these people were evidently found to be correct by all the other people who decided to perform my pieces. [...]"

(From the official website of Peter Planyavsky, http://www.peterplanyavsky.at, English translation by Leonardo Ciampa.)

And now, Planyavsky's most popular composition, the Toccata alla Rumba. The sheet music has sold many thousands of copies. (One wonders, however: would this be best used as a Responsorial Psalm or an Offertory?)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4sG0497KoI

(performed by Ines Maidre, in concert at Altenberg Cathedral)

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (20 days)

2012-01-07T12:11:00.009-05:00

A personal anecdote about Peter Planyavsky the Improviser:

In late February, 2008, Plany made a quick and somewhat secretive trip to Boston. He was not playing any concerts; he was here only to work on his Heiller biography which he was writing at the time. He emailed to me and asked if I wanted to get a cup of coffee. I offered to take him to see the important 1893 Woodberry & Harris organ in Charlestown.

We met at First Lutheran in Boston, where he wanted to see the stunningly beautiful Richards, Fowkes & Co. organ for the first time. (And I met the church's brilliant organist, Balint Karosi, for the first time.)

The three of us exchanged brief pleasantries, Plany sat down at the organ, and he improvised at length in the North German Baroque style. But REALLY in the style. He tried out all the stops, naturally, and improvised in a myriad of Baroque forms, all authentically. He made commentary along the way about the organ, showing his knowledge and understanding of organbuilding, as well.

Plany and I left and headed for the Orange Line, which took us to the organ in Charlestown. The whole ride I had his beautiful sounds in my ear and marveled as how his improvising could be so "correct" yet also musical, fresh, organic, personal. Nothing "boring" or "academic" about the playing at all.

We arrive in Charlestown, he sits down at this 1893 organ, and now he's improvising in the Victorian style. REALLY in the style. He's all over the organ's three keyboards in grand fashion. I couldn't get over it. 45 minutes before he was a contemporary of Buxtehude; now suddenly he was a chum of Parry! (Except that Parry probably never played on two manuals with one hand at the same time.)

I just couldn't get over how quickly and easily he could "change the channel" and improvise, both effortlessly and AUTHENTICALLY, in two utterly different sound-worlds. It would hard to say which he did better. He is as gifted as he is down-to-earth – one of the true greats that I have ever met.

Planyavsky will end his MIT concert on January 27th with a grand improvisation. Suffice it to say that I'm looking forward to it!

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (21 days)

2012-01-06T20:29:00.012-05:00

Here is the program that Peter Planyavsky will play at MIT's Kresge Auditorium on Friday, January 27 at 8 p.m. – with a few words about the unusual work by Anton Heiller.

Fantasy in B flat major
Alexandre Pierre F. Boëly (1785-1858)

Kleine Partita über "Nun komm der Heiden Heiland"
Anton Heiller (1923-1979)(Reconstructed by Monika Henking)

"Wer nur den lieben Gott läßt walten"
Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)

Toccata in C major (BWV 566)
J. S. Bach

I n t e r m i s s i o n

Sonate II (Lebhaft - Ruhig bewegt - Fuge: Mäßig bewegt, heiter)
Paul Hindemith (1895-1963)

Fugue in f minor
Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847)

Allegro, Choral and Fugue
Mendelssohn

Improvisation on a submitted theme

A word about Heiller's Kleine Partita on "Nun Komm":

On September 14, 1972, Heiller played a recital on the historic organs of Udine Cathedral, in the North of Italy. He improvised eight variations on "Nun Komm, der Heiden Heiland." Heiller's brilliant student and companion, Monika Henking, notated the variations based on a recording of the concert. Heiller did not have huge confidence in the musical worth of his improvisations, but he felt Henking's impressive reconstruction was accurate and allowed it to be published. It is an interesting work, atypical in many ways of the music he was composing in 1972.

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (22 days)

2012-01-05T10:26:00.004-05:00

A message from Marian Ruhl Metson:

Dear Leonardo,

I am thrilled that you are bringing Peter Planyavsky to play at Kresge at the end of this month. It was his teacher, Anton Heiller, whom I first heard at Kresge in October of 1965, that inspired me to go to Vienna to study in 1967. This was when the first Fisk was being installed at Harvard, and I was able to negotiate some time off from my job as Assistant Organist. When I arrived, I met the nineteen-year-old Peter who was Heiller's pride and joy. Besides playing the repertoire at an extremely mature level, like Heiller, he was also a brilliant improviser. I tried to keep track of his career and accomplishments over the years, so when I had an opportunity to play his "Fantasie in Memory of AH" at the Legacy of Anton Heiller series at Old West in May of 2009, I did so, in spite of having broken my wrist four months earlier. As you know, as my able stop puller/page turner, I had my doubts as to whether or not I could pull it off. It may be the only organ piece written that has sections for both hands playing on two manuals at the same time, along with a double pedal part. Your contribution to this effort will always remain a secret, right?

Marian Ruhl Metson

Auburn, CA

Countdown to Planyavsky at MIT (23 days)

2012-01-04T11:22:00.005-05:00

Friends,

Last January, when David Briggs played a full-length recital on the historic 1955 Holtkamp at MIT's Kresge Auditorium, it was the first full-length recital on that organ by an internationally renowned organist in ... how many years? 30? 35? 40? There was an unmistakable feeling in the air that it was An Event. As an audience member myself, I can attest that it was.

This year, on Friday evening, January 27 at 8 p.m., no less than PETER PLANYAVSKY, one of Austria's greatest musicians and one of the world's most famed organists, will play the second annual recital in Kresge.

In the coming days, I will be posting information, anecdotes, and other interesting tidbits about Maestro Planyavsky, his program, Holtkamp, and MIT.

Admission to this great event is FREE.

Respectfully yours,

Leonardo Ciampa

Artistic Director of Organ Concerts at MIT

P.S. Earlier that afternoon, Planyavsky will also lead a masterclass at Boston University's Marsh Chapel, co-sponsored by BU and MIT. More information about that event will be forthcoming, as well.

Historic Organ Foundation

2011-07-16T21:53:00.004-04:00

Friends,

I write to you with exciting news about an organization that it has long been my dream to found.

I have long been passionate about pipe organs from the 19th century. This passion was particularly kindled during my twelve years (1989-2001) as organist of the First Baptist Church in Jamaica Plain, whose 1859 Hook organ had one of the most glorious tones of any instrument that I have ever played. (See photo, taken at the 2000 OHS Convention) The organ perished in a devastating 2005 fire – an event that to this day is painful for me to ponder.

Fire is not the only enemy of historic organs. One by one, churches around the country are turning away from what they deem to be "traditional" music, ignoring or even discarding their valuable organs in favor of inferior electronic and digital instruments.

Even in churches that do cherish their pipe organs, deferred maintenance is one of the most insidious enemies to the instrument. The repair problems mount over the course of decades, until the organ reaches a state that the church cannot possibly afford to restore it, even if it wanted to.

After much thought and consultation with colleagues and friends, I decided to form the Historic Organ Foundation. Our purpose is a simple one: to award grants toward the restoration, reconstruction, and repair of historic pipe organs.

Our glorious inaugural event will take place in October of 2012 at the renowned Methuen Memorial Music Hall. Some of the area's most renowned organists will participate in a gala organ concert, the proceeds of which will benefit the recipient of our 2012 grant.

ONE WAY TO SUPPORT THE HISTORIC ORGAN FOUNDATION

The first twelve donors to make a one-time gift of $118.75 (fully tax-deductible) will be identified as Charter Members of the Foundation. They will be so identified on our website, in our programs, and in other publicity, now and for years to come.

Please note: your tax-deductible donation should be made out to "Methuen Memorial Music Hall, Inc.", with "Historic Organ Foundation" in the Memo line. However, your check should NOT be mailed to Methuen. Instead, it should be mailed to Leonardo Ciampa, 11 Wellesley Ave., Natick, MA 01760-3712.

UPDATE (21 June 2011)

The gala organ concert at the Methuen Memorial Music Hall will take place on Friday, October 5, 2012, at 7:30 p.m. The roster of organists will feature some of the finest players in the country.

We’re very pleased to announce that we have commissioned Harvard University’s CARSON COOMAN to compose "Methuen Fantasia," which he will première at this concert.

Photo of Mr. Cooman: Colby Cooman

Tony Bennett, and Youth

2011-06-21T15:24:00.003-04:00

Recently I read, with admiration, that the 84-year-old Tony Bennett was giving a concert at the Metropolitan Opera in New York.

Tony Bennett is the epitome of bravery. And he is living proof of the sophistication of our youth -- and perhaps, if you'll permit me to say, the unsophistication of their parents.

"Brave"? That's a strange adjective for a mere musician. Isn't "brave" when you pull a kid from the train tracks? I suggest, however, that to do something that's not "in", even after everyone advises you not to, and then to do it with such sincerity and faith that it actually becomes "in", takes a bravery that is rarely seen. Kids are pulled from train tracks more often than musicians stay true to themselves.

I scarcely need to describe Mr. Bennett's success in the 1950s and '60s -- an era which, I hasten to mention, boasted many great singers of all types. Then in 1970 something happened. Under incredible pressure to be "more modern," to "get with the times," to "do what everyone else is doing," Bennett recorded Tony Sings the Great Hits of Today! The results were an artistic disaster. Bennett's fans didn't like the album. Folks who like those songs didn't like the album. Bennett himself didn't like the album. No one liked it.

The '70s were a hard decade for Bennett, culminating in a cocaine overdose in 1979. An Episcopal priest once said to me, "You have to have a death before you can have a resurrection," and indeed this near-death experience set in motion an almost unparalleled comeback that continues to this day.

Bennett hired a new manager (his son Danny) and rehired an old music director (Ralph Sharon). No more trying to be "modern." He sang only good songs, in good arrangements, and in good taste -- his own, which he had been cultivating for decades.

Now, here's the amazing part -- amazing, that is, to the aforementioned parents. The youth like Tony Bennett.

Now, how is this possible? How is it possible that today's youth like Tony Bennett? How is it possible to please youth without "meeting them halfway"? How is it possible that youth could possibly appreciate something from another generation? Because they are curious about things that might be good. Someday they will become parents themselves, and curiosity will be replaced by prejudice. (Face it, it happens to all of us.) But for the moment, give the youth something good -- music done in the right way and for the right reasons.

It is dangerous for a church musician to say all I have said above. Such talk makes most clergy very, very nervous.

Let me give you an example of what I mean. A Catholic church at which I once played had a magnificent organ, in a space that was every bit as magnificent (the stained glass, the carvings, and so forth). I certainly was not aiming to please one age group over another. But by far, the age group that most often paid me compliments and asked me questions about the organ were the young adults in their 20s. I'm simply stating a statistical, mathematical fact.

I mentioned this factually accurate feedback to the pastor. He got angry at me. He was actually angry.

This, I should mention, was the same pastor who tried to introduce rock music at a Mass. No one of any age group was interested. The young musicians themselves weren't even interested in playing. But Father was adamant that this was the way to boost attendance at this particular Mass.

This same pastor -- who went through seminary during the height of the Post Vatican II folk era -- once wrote in one of his messages about a concert at Symphony Hall that his sister took him to. He wrote about the audience's enthusiastic reaction to the music, adding (and I quote), "Not being a musician or one who spends much time appreciating fine music, the collective response it evoked was unexpected and surprising to me."

A youth would never make a prejudicial comment like that. A youth would say, "Man, that Strauss piece rocked!"

I appreciate the concern of clergy in all denominations, Catholic and Protestant, about church attendance. How do we attract the youth? The problem lies in the question itself. If Tony Bennett addressed that question, he would fail himself, the audience, and the music itself. Instead, he respects them by giving them something good. That's brave.

2011 marks twenty-five years that I have been Director of Music in churches of all different denominations and demographics. Then, as now, clergy and music directors were concerned about attracting youth. The willingness to dumb down, however, is an infection that has spread noticeably during this quarter century. As far as I have been able to tell in 25 years of observation, the genre of music has little to do with church attendance. I've been to well-attended churches with good music and poorly-attended churches with bad music -- thus, I'm quite certain that good music doesn't scare people away! I do notice, however, that youth continue to sense what is good, what is genuine, what is sincere. If we present the best liturgy possible, on some level they sense it, and it feels right to them. If instead we are like Groucho Marx, who once said, "Those are my principles, and if you don't like them, I have others," the youth can sense that, too.

Very few music directors, and even fewer clerics, would agree with everything I've written here. However, no one would disagree that Tony Bennett has achieved popularity with youth, and did so without dumbing down. Hats off to you, Mr. Bennett. You are an inspiration!

Post No. 100

2011-02-07T08:49:00.005-05:00

Friends,

What better way to celebrate our 100th post than to offer thanks for the 100th birthday of Christ Lutheran Church in Natick, MA, founded by Swedes on 24 January 1911, and for another Swedish event that occurred only a dozen days later: the birth of the great Jussi Bjoerling.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNODHvkAqZk

TONERNA

Text: Erik Gustaf Geijer
Music: Carl Sjöberg

Tanke, vars strider blott natten ser.
Toner, hos Eder om vila den ber.
Hjärta, som lider,
som lider av dagens gny.
Toner till Eder
till er vill det fly.

The thought whose struggle only night can see
[goes] to thee, music, for rest.
The heart that suffers,
that suffers from the day's commotion.
Music, to thee,
to thee would fly.

English Translation: Harald Henrysson, "The Jussi Björling Edition" (EMI)

Peter Lindroos (1944-2003)

2011-01-22T10:58:00.005-05:00

The following article will appear, translated into Finnish, in a book by Torsten Brander about the great tenor Peter Lindroos.

PETER LINDROOS AND HIS PLACE AMONG THE GREAT TENORS

by Leonardo Ciampa

There is an important difference between publicity in the Caruso era and publicity in the Pavarotti era. Caruso did not have a manager. Caruso didn't “become” the greatest tenor in the world, because he already was the greatest tenor in the world. There were no dissenting opinions. No one in Caruso's day said, “Caruso wasn't that good; he was just OK.” Everyone agreed that he was the greatest – critics, colleagues, public.

Pavarotti had a manager named Breslin. Thanks to the hard work of Breslin, Pavarotti “became” the greatest tenor in the world. Unfortunately, no singer, no critic, no musician – no one who knew anything about singing – believed that he was the greatest. The public believed what they were told. However, they were not given the option of comparison. Had Breslin lined up Pavarotti, Aragall, Gedda, Kraus, and fifteen other tenors, would the public still have voted Pavarotti the greatest? In such a survey, probably Pavarotti would have come in last.

I needed hear only a few minutes of Lindroos's singing to know that he was one of the greatest tenors in the world. He had everything – great voice, great technique, great musicianship, great expression. He was great in every respect that a tenor ought be great.

So why didn't Lindroos become more famous?

Invariably, when one person becomes famous and another of equal talent does not, the reason has nothing to do with music. Events occur. Choices are made. I am not Lindroos's biographer; I am not equipped to explain why his life's path did not take him to the Metropolitan. If I were the director of the Metropolitan and I heard Lindroos sing for a few minutes, I would have said, “He is a very great singer; he shall sing here.” However, the fact that I have an ear does not, in itself, earn me the title, “Director of the Metropolitan.” In fact, having an ear counts for virtually nothing.

The other problem is that overall musicianship is not marketable. If you are a pianist who plays two piano concertos without wrong notes, you can get a New York manager and play 100 concerto performances a year, playing each concerto 50 times. If, instead, you are a composer and an organist and a pianist and a conductor and also a singer, what can a New York manager do with that? How does the manager market you? The better a musician you are, the worse (not better, worse) chance you have of being world-famous. J. S. Bach would not have been world-famous in the 20th century, because no manager in New York would have gone near him.

Rather than dwell on what the world did not recognize, let me dwell on what I do recognize. I recognize that Lindroos had everything. He was one of the most satisfying tenors in the world – satisfying because it was impossible to say, “Something is lacking.” The voice itself was remarkable in its beauty – a beauty that only a Scandinavian voice can have. His diction was formidable; he sang complete operas in eight languages. His technique was that of the great singers of previous generations. In fact, I don't think the Metropolitan would have appreciated his vocal production, which was more akin to the tenors of the 1920s than to those of the 1970s. However, the 1920s technique allows one to sing 1700 operatic performances (which Lindroos did); the 1970s technique does not. Lindroos's musicianship was very strong and imbued every note he sang. His humanity was very rich – he felt the highs, he felt the lows, and this depth of feeling created a wide palette of emotional colors with which he could paint his characters. All of these traits – voice, technique, diction, musicianship, humanity, and Scandinavian genes – combined to produce a tenor, next to whom the Pavarottis and Domingos seem to be utter charlatans.

It is of crucial importance that all of the recordings of Peter Lindroos be made available – so that musicians can study them, and so that music lovers can be blessed by them.

David Briggs at MIT: an Historic Event

2011-01-13T11:41:00.005-05:00

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

On Sunday, January 16, 2011, at 4 p.m., DAVID BRIGGS, organist emeritus of Gloucester Cathedral, England, and one of the world's greatest concert organists, will give an organ recital at MIT Kresge Auditorium – the first important organ recital in that hall in almost four decades. Admission for this historic event is FREE.

The organ in MIT's Kresge Auditorium was installed in 1955 by Walter Holtkamp, Sr. The consultant was Melville Smith, a well-known leader in the Organ Reform movement. During the eras of Smith and of Canadian organist/composer John Cook, who was the MIT Organist in the 1960s, many organists of international renown played recitals in Kresge: Marchal, Heiller, Cochereau, Biggs, and others. However, it's been almost 40 years since a world-class organist has played a recital in Kresge – until now. David Briggs's recital on January 16, 2011, at 4 p.m. is a historic event, featuring one of the most brilliant organist/composer/improvisers in the entire world. The program will include a grand improvisation entitled “Kresge Reawakened,” a four-movement improvised symphony, based on submitted themes.

For this historic event, the admission is FREE.

This concert is being sponsored by the MIT Office of Religious Life (Robert M. Randolph, Chaplain to the Institute.)

For more information, contact Leonardo Ciampa, Artistic Director of the MIT organ concert series (leonardociampa@hotmail.com).

AN INTERVIEW WITH DAVID BRIGGS

Leonardo Ciampa: We’re thrilled to be welcoming you to play at Kresge Auditorium! Can you tell us a little about your career as an organist? At what age did you start to play?

David Briggs: I’ve played the organ since I was six, although I didn’t have any lessons until the age of twelve (after I’d reached a fairly high level on the piano and my feet could properly reach the pedals). I’m delighted to be performing on the Holtkamp Organ here at MIT. In fact I played my first ever concert in the USA on a Holtkamp instrument – it was at the Church of the Covenant in Cleveland, Ohio in February, 1997. I remember five inches of lake-effect snow fell during the course of the concert and I improvised on “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Coming from the UK, I remember immediately being very impressed by the size and generosity of US audiences, as well as the huge automobiles, not to mention the fact that everybody spoke with a strange accent and drove on the wrong side of the road. I couldn’t have predicted that I would be (very happily) based in this country from 2003.

LC: What made you want to start the organ?

DB: My grandfather was a well-known organist in Birmingham and I used to go and sit on the bench with him (aged 6). His teacher was G. D. Cunningham, the famous predecessor of Thomas Trotter and Sir George Thalben-Ball [and the teacher of E. Power Biggs]. My dad used to take me to New Street Station to see the Deltics (in the sermon!). When I was nine, I became a chorister at St Philip’s Cathedral, Birmingham, under Roy Massey. It was at that period that I really decided I wanted to be an organist. Roy’s marvelous playing (and also the brilliant improvisations of John Pryer, the Assistant Organist) really inspired me. I even had some planks of wood either side of pedals on our grand piano at home made out with pedal pistons inscribed – including (of course) Bombarde 32’ (reversible) and Full Tubas (solo).

When I was a Music Scholar at Solihull School, I came under the influence of Colin Edmundson, who had been a Domus Music Scholar at Magdalen College, Oxford, under Bernard Rose. Colin was an extremely inspirational teacher, who encouraged a strong sense of rigour and single-mindedness. At one point there were four schoolboy FRCOs at Solihull – surely something of a record.

Finally, when I was sixteen, I studied in London with Richard Popplewell, at the Chapel Royal. Richard was a fabulous and very generous teacher as well as an extremely kind person. I lost my father when I was sixteen, and Richard in many ways took over. I owe him a huge amount.

LC: What are your principal philosophies of performance?

DB: Nowadays I only play pieces which I really love, and I always try to communicate to the audience, “Look, guys, I think this really is one of the best pieces of music that’s ever been written.” From a technical point of view, I try and balance making things as streamlined and dovetailed as possible with taking some risks and being impulsive. It made a big impact on me when, as a 12 year old, I heard the great cellist Paul Tortelier say in a masterclass, “The biggest crime is to be boring.” If there are a few wrong notes, I always mentally try to move on – reboot my computer, so to speak. I loved it when the great Swiss organist Lionel Rogg once explained to me, in a competition debriefing, “I never mind playing a few wrong notes … because I know I will have made someone happy.”

Regarding authenticity, I think it’s very important to keep a clear overview of the sweep of the music not get too involved in minutiae. Having said that, I sometimes use some elements of Baroque fingering and pedaling, coming from having played quite a few historic instruments in Holland and Germany, but more often say to myself, “Well, just try to make it sound as it would if played by a Baroque oboist, cellist, or whatever.” I’m big on listening to other musicians/singers and learning how I can make my own performances more convincing and expressive.

LC: What are your philosophies of improvisation?

DB: I would say that you’re always trying to give the illusion of a written piece, but the sheer spontaneity and ephemeral nature of the art can give a good improvisation an edge over the performance of a previously-composed piece. Most jazz musicians would certainly agree with that statement. I have always found it easier to improvise than to play written pieces, for some reason. Maybe it’s to do with the way the human brain is hard-wired. It has something to do with being totally at home with the musical language which surrounds you and then being able to re-fashion it, subconsciously and at will. Good improvisers have usually always been so, rather like good composers. It’s a matter of gift, environment and (of course) training. There are certainly parallels between good improvisers and good mimics … in terms of in-depth assimilation of syntax, grammar and characterization. I also believe that the ability to improvise well helps you to “lift the music off the surface of the page” when performing repertoire. That can make a very big difference.

LC: What are your views on organbuilding?

DB: My favourite instruments are in France and my favourite organ in the world has always been the Grand Orgue of Notre-Dame de Paris.

I used to be skeptical about people who talked endlessly about mechanical action – but the more instruments I have played, the more I realise that the type of action can actually make a big difference. There is nothing like the reality of a finely-balanced mechanical action. I remember an interview with Glenn Gould talking around the issue of piano vs. harpsichord, when playing Bach. He said that he always chose piano, because of the sensitivity of a modern Steinway action – it allowed him to express much more of what he wanted to say in the music. Having said that, of course many very large instruments would not be so good (or even possible) with mechanical action. Barker lever (and the Servo-assisted pneumatic action, patented by Fisk) can also be very satisfying.

In general terms, I think the best instruments are those with very well-blended pipework and an action which is fast, both in attack and release. The best electric action instrument I’ve played (every day for 8 years) is at Gloucester Cathedral. That is almost as responsive as a mechanical action instrument.

LC: Apart from Notre-Dame, which are your other favorite instruments, and why?

DB: I particularly enjoy playing on the big, symphonic instruments over here in the USA. There is something about the banks and banks of American strings which I love, especially with liberal use of octave couplers! With so many swell boxes, it’s possible to make virtually seamless crescendi and diminuendi, especially good for transcriptions.

I mentioned the Gloucester organ, earlier on. This is a really wonderful sound, greatly aided, of course, by the unique eight-second acoustic. Gloucester had a big influence on the way I played (particularly improvised). It is a very eclectic instrument, playing all styles with a good integrity. Bach sounds marvelous on it, as does French Classical, Romantic and Modern music. And I think it also accompanies very well, … it’s very clear for the choir to hear, and there is a lot of colour (especially if you’re slightly unorthodox in the way you register!). When I left Gloucester in 2002, I thought I would miss it terribly, but that wasn’t really the case. When you bond with an instrument like that over eight years, it becomes part of you and you take it around in your imagination. But I always love going back there.

For six years I had the privilege of having daily contact with the Father Willis organ at Truro Cathedral. I believe it’s the best of the Willis’s, with Salisbury and Hereford close coming in a close second. Truro has the advantage of great presence in the building (owing to its excellent position). The Truro Willis has a unique character, and is so musical. It can be incredibly fiery, too – I used to liken it to a Ferrari, whereas Hereford (where I was Assistant before moving to Truro) is more like an old Bentley (more plush…).

I was Organ Scholar at King’s College, Cambridge and the Harrison Organ there is marvelous at what it does best – accompanying. I think the most beautiful organ stop in the world has to be the Claribel Flute on the Choir Organ – pure velvet.

Recently, I’ve done a lot of playing in Germany and have very much enjoyed the instruments there – always in great acoustics. I really admire the organ culture in that country, too – very good publicity (colour posters, etc) and consequently sizeable, intelligent and enthusiastic audiences (including a lot of young people).

The best organ I ever played in the Southern Hemisphere was the five-manual Hill at Sydney Town Hall – a really great experience. I remember playing a Bach Fugue on forty-four 8fts, all coupled. Wonderfully inauthentic, but fabulous, all the same.

LC: What is your favorite repertoire and what is your approach to learning and performing it?

DB: I love playing the French Symphonic repertoire and think that is suited well to my temperament (whatever that is!). I studied with Jean Langlais for two years in Paris and that was a marvelous experience. Langlais was incredibly fussy and fastidious (I remember spending 30 minutes on the first 8 bars of the Franck Fantaisie en la) – but also very affirming. He was a genius at improvisation pedagogy – we worked a lot at that, concentrating on modes, harmony, form, counterpoint etc. People used to say that Langlais “could make stones improvise.” The other thing he said to me once was that “it takes fifteen years to learn how to improvise.” I think he’s probably about right.

LC: Who are your favorite composers, and why?

DB: I think the composer I really couldn’t live without is Gustav Mahler. His symphonies are so life-giving and enriching. One of the greatest experiences I ever had was playing the Viola in Mahler 5, during my four years in the National Youth Orchestra. I become very emotionally involved – it was inescapable! Later I transcribed (and recorded) Mahler 5 and Mahler 6 for organ, and am now engaged on a similar project – Mahler 3. Other composers who are very important to me are Debussy, Ravel, Poulenc, Scriabin and Strauss. I actually much prefer going to symphony concerts than organ recitals, and we try and hear the Boston Symphony as often as possible. Recently I went to a rehearsal of Scriabin “Le divin poeme” with Riccardo Muti – I was transported to another world.

LC: Who have been the most major influences on you? Who are your heroes?

DB: Pierre Cochereau. Cochereau was Organist of Notre-Dame from 1955-1984 and a very generous human being, as well as generous musician and (in my opinion) there has never been anyone come close to him as an improviser. I spent eleven years transcribing many of his famous improvisations from Notre-Dame, which were released on the Solstice label. His harmonic style, although closely related to that of his teachers Dupré and Duruflé, was so original and so evolved. For twenty years, I listened to Cochereau every day. Although I never met Pierre Cochereau, I feel quite close to him in spirit.

LC: What would you say if someone asked you to transcribe one of your improvisations?

DB: I would tell them that I think they should definitely get out more.

LC: Do you have any advice to young aspiring organists?

DB: Make sure that you have quite a good piano technique before starting the organ. I know that’s a contentious point, but I think it’s critical – especially if you want to go above a certain level of expertise. The other thing is to learn how to practice well – set yourself continual and obtainable challenges and make your time at the instrument as efficient as possible. I do about 75% of my practice on three or four coupled 8fts, and then enjoy playing louder once I can play the notes. Practising with the metronome can also be very hypnotic – except that the metronome I have never seems to keep with what I’m playing!

In an ideal world, it’s good to learn a piece several months before you play it in public, and then put it to bed for a few weeks. Mind you, like most people, I’m always “up to the wire” so that approach doesn’t always seem to fall into my lap. Interestingly, I’ve found that British Organists are the best in the world at coping with putting things together at the last minute. In the USA, organists seem to take much longer to get things under their belt. It’s interesting that Pierre Cochereau once said that he found it very difficult to sight read. … I guess it’s all a question of pedagogical emphasis. In the UK, Organ Scholars have to play (and learn) a different Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis every day.

LC: MIT is synonymous with science and engineering and not music. How and why do you think organ music relates to or is important to science?

DB: The organ is the largest and most complex of all musical instruments. Many large instruments have hundreds of thousands of moving parts and tens of thousands of pipes. Each mechanical part (be it wind reservoir, pallet magnet or wind stabiliser) has to work perfectly over a long period, and each pipe has to be voiced to blend to the rest. The finest organs are those which represent an ideal synthesis between artistic vision and technical prowess. In other words, the very best instruments are the result of many, many hours of skilled workmanship in terms of pipe voicing, sophistication of key action, stability of voicing, excellence of acoustic and so on. Then you have a true meeting of science and music. Playing on such a large variety of instruments is a very enriching experience – each time you have to ‘learn’ the instrument because organs are so different to each other.

TEN DAYS IN THE LIFE OF DAVID BRIGGS (November, 2010)

Wednesday 10^th: Depart Ipswich at 6.45am for the Peabody Shuttle to Logan Airport. Check-in for the London flight, listening to Mahler 3 on Bose Headphones. Get some quite funny looks as I conduct with one hand and wheel my suitcase with the other. Enjoy the American Airlines Admirals lounge and try not to think about the calorific implications of having two breakfasts. Board AA156 and enjoy the customary whiff of Aviation Fuel as you walk over the jet bridge. 15 minutes after take-off spool up laptop and work on the Gloria of my new Messe pour Saint Sulpice for 5 hours (courtesy AA laptop power – Deo gratias). Get more strange looks and am asked if I’m a composer by friendly AA lady flight attendant: “Do you compose rock?”, she asks. “Umm, kind of” I reply in an excessively British accent. “That’s so cool… can I get you any more cwa-fee?”. Arrive at Heathrow, cruise through Customs, wait 30 minutes for a Hotel Hoppa minibus. Credit Card ticket machine broken. Wait for another bus after the first one brakes down. Check into hotel: Wifi connection bust. Welcome back to England.

Thursday 11^th: Check-in to British Airways flight to Milan. Fabulous views of Central London flying out of Heathrow. Enjoy seeing England and France at the same time from 33,000 feet (rather like some of my music, some have commented). Observe Paris, looking resplendent from such a great height. Thoughts of ever-present musical inspiration from those hallowed organ tribunes, not to mention on-going love affair with my beautiful wife. Descend over the breathtaking Italian Alps and arrive into Milan Malpensa – a rather faded glory airport. Take bus into Milan (60 minutes) – listen to Cochereau Improvisations on iPod. Transfer to train at Milan Central and arrive at Piacenza in thick fog at 11:30pm. Nobody speaks English – walk to hotel with heavy case, 120 CDs, computer bag and iPod. Feel virtuous about the rather high reading on my iPod’s pedometer. Check into Piacenza Hotel. Owner looks exactly like Sir Edward Elgar reincarnated and runs the hotel rather like Faulty Towers.

Friday 12^th: Marvel in the beauty of Italy. Not a single right angle in sight in these beautiful buildings. Visit five different churches, dating from the 11^th to the 20^th centuries. Struck by the sincerity of Roman Catholics as they light their candles, unaware of those around them. Enjoy fabulous Italian café espresso and rather inviting patisserie. Compose more in the hotel. Rehearse for 3 hours on the two-manual Tamburini in the Church where I am performing – the best stop on the organ is the beautiful acoustic. Catch up with some more silly commentary on Facebook and email. Compose more on laptop.

Saturday 13^th: Rehearse again at the church, visit the Saturday market, humming with vitality and passion. Admire the Italian life-style, especially the ubiquitous two-hour close down and seemingly obligatory vino rosso consumption at lunchtime. Concert at 9pm, starts at 9.25pm (normal in this part of the world) and ends at 11.15pm. Go to somewhat esoteric fish restaurant with Concert organizers. Return to Hotel at 1:25am.

Sunday 14^th: Stagger out of hotel at 6.30am, pull suitcases along frosty, bumpy Italian pavements to the railway station and take express train back to Milan. Fly back to Gatwick and spend very enjoyable day with my two wonderful British daughters in West Sussex. Drive three hours to Cambridge.

Monday 15^th: Check in to my rooms at Trinity College at midnight. Arise and take a walk on the Backs – the air is supersaturated with ice and the quality of the light reminds me of my days as a student nearly thirty years ago. Teach at Jesus College in the morning, Trinity in the afternoon and at Girton in the evening.

Tuesday 16^th: More teaching (Improvisation techniques and repertoire), followed by High Table at Trinity. Judging by the stunning 1968 wines and Taylors Reserve Port, the Credit Crunch has yet to reach Cambridge.

Wednesday 17^th: Drive from Cambridge to Stansted Airport and take the Easyjet Flight to Edinburgh. An agreeably turbulent landing, due to 30mph windgusts across the runway. Picked up at the airport and proceed to bed and breakfast near Loretto College. Wonder why the Scots never switch on their central heating. The owner of the bed and breakfast proudly explains that he’s just past his 93^rd birthday. I wonder if it must be resilience caused by the lack of central heating. Everything seems rather grey and infused by uninviting cups-of-tea (or whisky …).

Thursday 18^th: Teach masterclass at Loretto (mainly beginners, but very therapeutic) and play silent movie concert “King of Kings” (Cecil B. DeMille). Escape into my private zone with more work on Messe pour Saint Sulpice.

Friday 19^th: Fly from Edinburgh to London Heathrow, collect hire car, drive to Hereford. Mapquest says it should take 3 hours – takes 5 due to freezing fog and three major holdups due to accidents on the M4 and A40. Give re-opening concert of the organ in Belmont Abbey after a rather scanty 45 minutes rehearsal – very full church and quite enthusiastic reactions. Am amazed by the lavish reception in the intermission – wonder if the monks live it up like this often?

Saturday 20^th: Drive to Birmingham to visit my wonderful mum, her partner David and my sister and my friendly and musical nieces.

Sunday 21^st: 20^th birthday lunch in Birmingham for my beautiful daughter Kerensa Briggs.

Monday 22^nd: Shopping in Bristol and dinner in Birmingham

Tuesday 23^rd: depart Birmingham at 6am, drive to London Heathrow and catch American Airlines flight to Boston. Compose for five hours en route.

THE PROGRAM

Kresge Auditorium

Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Cambridge, MA

Celebrity Organ Recital

DAVID BRIGGS

Organist Emeritus, Gloucester Cathedral

Sunday 16^th January 2011 at 4pm

PROGRAM

Toccata: Tu es Petra Henri Mulet (1878-1967)

Scherzetto (Sonata in C minor) Percy Whitlock (1903-1946)

Piece d'Orgue, BWV 572 J S Bach (1685-1750)

Romance (Symphonie 4) Louis Vierne (1870-1937)

Carillon de Westminster (Pièces de Fantaisie)

Vocalise Serge Rachmaninoff (1873-1943) arr. DJB

Prelude and Fugue in B major, Opus 7 No 1 Marcel Dupré (1886-1971)

INTERMISSION

“Kresge Reawakened” – Improvised Symphony in Four Movements (on submitted themes)

DAVID BRIGGS BIO

David Briggs is an internationally renowned organist whose performances are acclaimed for their musicality, virtuosity, and ability to excite and engage audiences of all ages. With an extensive repertoire spanning five centuries, he is increasingly known for his brilliant organ transcriptions of symphonic music by composers such as Mahler, Schubert, Tchaikovsky, Elgar, Bruckner, Ravel, and Bach. Fascinated by the art of Improvisation since a child, David also frequently performs improvisations to silent films such as Phantom of the Opera, Hunchback of Notre-Dame, Nosferatu, Jeanne d’Arc, Metropolis, as well as a variety of Charlie Chaplin films.

At the age of 17, David obtained his FRCO (Fellow of the Royal College of Organists) diploma, winning the Silver Medal of the Worshipful Company of Musicians. From 1981-84 he was the Organ Scholar at King’s College, Cambridge University, during which time he studied organ with Jean Langlais in Paris. The first British winner of the Tournemire Prize at the St Albans International Improvisation Competition, he also won the first prize in the International Improvisation Competition at Paisley. Subsequently David held positions at Hereford, Truro and Gloucester Cathedrals.

David’s schedule includes more than 60 concerts a year, spanning several continents. Deeply committed to making organ music vibrant for future generations, he enjoys giving pre-concert lectures designed to make organ music more accessible to audiences. In addition, he teaches at Oxford and Cambridge, frequently serves on international organ competition juries, and gives masterclasses at colleges and conservatories across the U.S. and Europe.

David Briggs is also a prolific composer and his works range from full scale oratorios to works for solo instruments. He has recorded a DVD, and 29 CDs, many of which include his own compositions and transcriptions. For more information, Please visit: www.david-briggs.org.

Kresge Auditorium as seen from the Chapel. (Photo by Leonardo Ciampa, 12 Oct. 2010)

The Man Who Invented Coffee

2010-11-14T18:46:00.010-05:00

Those who know me know that there is one and only vendor from whom I will buy coffee beans. That vendor is George Howell (http://terroircoffee.com/).

There are few vintners who choose grapes with as much care as George chooses beans for his coffees. I just had to see his roasting plant!

About a year ago, my wife and I were picking apples in a town not far from Acton. I just couldn't be so close to the company without visiting. We stopped there, I walked in, and there I was at a reception desk, with a few small cubicles in the background. It looked more like a mom-and-pop insurance company than an internationally respected coffee company. Though I could see the door that led to the spacious roasting area, I quickly surmised that the facility was not like Ben & Jerry's. You can't just walk in and get a tour of the place. I left disheartened.

A year passed. One day, I was excited to see the Internet announcement that George Howell was having an open house, limited to 50 attendees. I couldn't get on the phone fast enough to make my reservation!

Yesterday was the long-awaited open house. Family constraints prevented me from attending the whole thing. The portion that I attended, however, was mesmerizing. George knows coffee beans the way Verdi knew notes. He has knowledge, passion, and that particular calmness found only in someone who knows his or her field better than anyone else.

All of George's coffees are single-origin coffees – meaning that when you buy a bag of his coffee, all the beans in that bag are from one location. But that is only the beginning. The rigorous, multi-step selection process by which individual beans are accepted or rejected is sans pareil in the world. But George does not rest on that laurel. After all, when coffee is transported from a cool mountaintop to a 100-degree port to a 55-degree hull of a ship, the flavor will be comprised before the beans even reach our shore – unless, of course, you have George Howell's associates packaging those beans and monitoring their freshness at every juncture. There's no other way to say it: George Howell makes the best coffee in the world.

After the open house I met George, shook his hand, and felt like I had just met Mickey Mantle.

Today I had coffee on my mind. I went to make an espresso and suddenly realized: I was out of regular beans! Where could I get some in a hurry? I remembered that in nearby Newtonville, there was a cafe that George recently purchased, called Taste Coffee House (http://www.tastecoffeehouse.com/). I called them up. A girl answered. I asked her which dark roasts they had in stock. "One minute, George is right here." Pause. Then at the other end I hear, "This is George Howell." My speech went from allegretto to vivacissimo. Within five minutes Jeanette, the baby, and I were in the car headed to Newtonville.

And there was The Man, sitting at the counter, drinking an espresso macchiato. I said to the girl, "I'll have what he's having." I greeted George, and we chatted about ... well, coffee. I spoke with disdain about a certain large competitor that, George informs me, is opening one new store a day in China. Growth at the expense of quality. Or as George unforgettably put it: "If you cover the whole world, you're flat as a pancake."

I'm a musician, and to me, music is the most important thing in the world. But maybe it isn't the most important thing. Maybe it's not important at all. And maybe coffee's not important. But when you're in the presence of George Howell, there is not a fiber inside you that does not feel that coffee is the most important thing in the world. He doesn't try to sell it. He is it.

Related post: "Caffe'!" (http://faultbook.blogspot.com/2010/08/caffe.html)

Virginia Zeani: My Favorite Soprano Turns 85

2010-10-19T12:38:00.015-04:00

On Thursday, October 21st, one of the greatest sopranos of the 1950s and '60s, Virginia Zeani, celebrates her 85th birthday.

When I sought an interview from Virginia Zeani for my book, The Twilight of Belcanto, I didn't really imagine I would get one. After all, why would the woman who created the main role in Poulenc's Dialogue of the Carmelites, the woman who was one of La Scala's greatest successes of the 1950s and '60s, have time to talk to me? Well, talk to me she did. What I thought would be one telephone interview turned into six. I subsequently visited her in West Palm Beach. And she never treated me with a milligram of condescension. She spoke to me with a respect, as a professional and as a friend, that I scarcely deserved. (In Italian – our conversations vacillated between Italian and English – she went so far as to use the Lei form with me! This didn't seem possible!)

Maybe the following story will give a sense of how much Madame Zeani has meant to me. About five years ago, I was talking to members of the church choir that I was directing. I spoke of Richard Tucker. One of the paid soloists, an opera major at a prestigious school in Boston, said, “Tucker? Who was Tucker?” I then spoke of Zinka Milanov. Another soloist of the same credentials said, “Well, I don't know the old-time singers that well.” “Old-time” singers?! If she was “old-time,” how could I even talk about the singers I really cared about: Battistini, Caruso, Ponselle, Gigli, Tagliavini, Pertile?

Enter Virginia Zeani, who actually studied with Pertile, who actually sang with Gigli and Tagliavini! Her career lasted long enough to sing with Pavarotti and Domingo when those guys were still young and at the height of their powers. She could speak intelligently about Pertile or Pavarotti or anyone in between, because this wasn't a topic that she read about in school – she lived it. She sang with these greats. And they were fully aware of her greatness, as well. No less than Richard Bonynge said that the most beautiful soprano voices he ever heard, apart from his wife Joan Sutherland, were Kirsten Flagstad, Virginia Zeani, and Renata Tebaldi.”^¹

I really can't explain to you why I, who was born in 1971 and who was educated in the public schools of Revere, Massachusetts, felt drawn to the technique and musicality of the singers on the scratchy 78 records. If I could explain it, you would then know how healing it was to be able to discuss these artists with a woman who understood that technique, and who used it herself. In Romania, she studied with Lydia Lipkowska^², a famous Russian soprano and a court singer to the Czar of Russia^³. Lipkowska sang with Caruso. From there, Zeani went to Italy (March, 1947) to study with one of the great vocal technicians of the time, and one of my idols, Aureliano Pertile.

I apologize if this tribute comes across as being very personal, with many repetitions of the words “I” and “me.” However, I cannot overestimate the fulfillment and, indeed, healing that I received from Madame Zeani. For if it was difficult to find contemporaries with whom to talk about Tucker, with whom could I talk about Pertile? With Madame Zeani I could talk about him.

I could also talk about the great conductor, Tullio Serafin, who asked Zeani to replace Callas in a production of I Puritani. That evening in January of 1952 was Zeani's Florentine début and her first performance in an important Italian house. That same night, her dear teacher Pertile was on his deathbed. The dying maestro said to a mutual friend, “I am happy for her; now will begin her great career.”^⁴ And it was at that very performance that she first met the greatest singer-actor among post-Chaliapin bassos. His name was Nicola Rossi-Lemeni. She would later marry him.

I could also talk about Italy's greatest vocal coaches of the 1950s: at La Scala, Antonio Narducci, Edoardo Fornarini, Leopoldo Gennai, Antonio Tonino; at the Teatro dell’Opera in Rome^⁵, Enrico Piazza, Vincenzo Marini, and the great Luigi Ricci.^⁶

I could also talk about the cast of Giulio Cesare at Madame Zeani's La Scala début on 10 December 1956. Cesare was Rossi-Lemeni. Tolomeo was Mario Petri. Sesto was Franco Corelli. Curio was Plinio Clabassi. Nireno was Ferruccio Mazzoli. Cornelia was Giulietta Simionato. Achillas was Antonio Cassinelli (who later married Maria Chiara).

I could also talk about Alfredo Kraus. “I was very good friends of Alfredo Kraus. … He was a special one. You know, I heard him at his début. And we spoke only one month before he died [in 1999. His début was in] 1956, in Cairo. And I was there.^⁷ … We were good friends, he and his wife and I. … Rosa died two years before him. During our last conversation, he said that he didn’t know how he would ever get over Rosa’s death. I knew exactly what he felt. After Nicola died, I thought, 'How will I ever get over it?' … We sang probably 200 performances together, in Lucia, in Puritani, in Manon, in, what else, Sonnambula, in — my God! — in Traviata — loads of Traviatas.”^⁸

I could also talk about Gigli and Pertile. And believe me: there are few things in life I enjoy more than talking about Gigli and Pertile. But how often can I talk with someone who actually worked with them? “I had my début in L’Elisir d’Amore with Gigli in 1950, in Cairo. I was 24, and he was [60]. … And he had a very big belly, and at the end of the opera he had to embrace me, no? Because in L’Elisir d’Amore Nemorino embraces Adina. And Gigli said to me, “Cara mia, sai che cosa ci divide? Quaranta chili e quarant’anni! Senza quelli, ti potrei abbracciare con molta più facilità.” [My dear, do you know what separates us? Forty kilos and forty years! Without them, I could embrace you much more easily.”] … [Gigli] was a very nice man and very full of spirit, full of, how can I say, sense of humor. … Gigli and Pertile were, in a way, like Pavarotti and Domingo. … Different vocalities. [But] both of them went directly to the heart. The voice is only an instrument. But you have to give to this voice the heart. The tears. The joy. The poetry. They are everything, you know. It’s what makes the singer. The great singers, they were very few. If someone has a voice, many people think, 'Wow, great voice.' But if that’s all it is … I didn’t sing for the money. I didn’t sing for the glory. I sang because I loved what I did. … You know, Gigli was the maestro of caressing the sound. It was a caressing voice, a velvet voice, but at the same time based on the words. ...

“Pertile was humble. Was nice. Was delicate. In the lessons I never heard him saying something negative about anybody. Sometimes he had the tenors who came there and said, 'Maestro! Look what a high note I have!' And he would say, 'Yes, but you have to have something leading up to the high note.'”^⁹

“I first got to know Gigli’s singing when I was a child in Bucharest, listening to his recordings. I began studying voice at age twelve-and-a-half. My love was divided between the records of Gigli and those of Pertile.”^¹⁰

“The purity of [Gigli's] sound is absolutely without equal. … You see, his passaggio is perfect, never forced; he maintains the sound in the same position from the beginning to the end, with the intensity of the vibrato and the diminuendos.... The high notes and low notes are in the same position, with intensity and big legato. This is the science of singing. I’m sorry to say, today the science is lost. They try to sing opera like in a musical. No, I’m sorry, I don’t accept it. ... You see the simplicity that he uses in the sound, not forcing and not diminuendo but with a great sadness in the sound. So colorful. His voice loves and caresses everyone around him. Nobody else could have done these things, maybe only Pertile but in a different sense. … [Gigli's] phrasing is unique. It originates from the heart and is guided by the sustaining of a miraculous breath. … It is incredible to hear singers like Aureliano Pertile and Beniamino Gigli, who — in different ways, with different voices — imbued so much emotion into their singing. Later there was the splendid Corelli, whom I will never forget hearing in Adriana. Everyone was in love with him. But the manner, the agility, the color, the flexibility of the sound of Gigli — they are difficult to find in another singer. … [T]he Gigli that I knew in person [in 1950 was] still brilliant, still full of enthusiasm, even if the breath wasn’t always perfect in those years. I suffer, because I have these beautiful sounds in my memory, but I cannot transmit them to everybody. … How can you write a book about Beniamino Gigli? It is not a book about Gigli. It is a book about the history of singing. It’s a book about the maximum of love that people have for music.”^¹¹

Not long after my first conversation with Madame Zeani, I realized that there was almost no limit to the amount of great singers from the past about whom we could talk about. Equally voluminous would be a discussion of all the great students whom Zeani nurtured since joining the faculty of Indiana University in 1980. (I believe she holds the record for the most Met Competition winners and finalists by one teacher.) Here is where we get into the territory of Zeani's incredible generosity and warmth. She is more than a voice professor to her students – she is mother hen, friend, adviser, consoler, encourager, muse. “[W]hen the students come to me … I bring out the maximum that they can do. I would like that everybody is 1,000 times better than me. You know, the students who study with me, they know what is the Belcanto, they know what kind of vocalises to do, they know in which voices to believe, because I teach these things.”^¹²

Madame Zeani made an interesting observation about the students of today. As compared with the living conditions of the struggling student of the 1930s and '40s, today's students don't have to “suffer” nearly as much. “Not that I wish suffering upon them,” Zeani was quick to explain.^¹³ However, the suffering of the singers of past, somehow, comes through in their singing. This, according to Zeani, is what is missing in the singing of today.

I like to contrast the following two quotes, because they seem to describe two completely different people – the first perhaps some famous star that certainly you would never meet in person, the second perhaps some beloved aunt.

“Who before [Virginia Zeani] succeeded in offering a more complete interpretation [of Violetta in La Traviata]? At least in my opinion, neither Caniglia nor Cigna on the one hand, nor Dal Monte nor Pagliughi on the other — besides the fact that physically, Zeani dominated [the competition] as the most seductive interpreter of Traviata that was ever seen on our Italian stages.” – Davide Annachini^¹⁴

“A sweeter, kinder person never existed.” – Charles Handelman^¹⁵

So which was she? Was she one of the 20^th century's finest belcantisti, the greatest Violetta of her time, or of all time? Or was she a friend who counseled me after my divorce, whom I could call anytime I wanted, who – like a close family member – could be depended on for sweetness and for total candor, both in great quantity?

She was both.

-----

1 Opera News, September 1999

2 Lipkowska’s name is sometimes spelled Lipkovska or Lipkovskaya. The reference books cannot agree on her dates; she was born in either 1880 or 1882 and died in either 1955 or 1958.

3 It must have been the last czar, Nicholas II, who reigned from 1894 to 1917 and was murdered in 1918.

4 Bruno Tosi, Pertile: Una Voce, Un Mito (Venice, 1985), pp. 179f.

5 Ms. Zeani was prima donna assoluta there for nearly a quarter-century.

6 Luigi Ricci (1893-1981) worked with Puccini for eight years and with Mascagni for thirty-four while an Assistant Conductor at the Teatro Reale (now called the Teatro dell’Opera) in Rome. Other composers with whom he was associated included Respighi, Giordano, Zandonai, Henze, and Pizzetti. Among the many great conductors with whom he worked were Marinuzzi, Gui, Panizza, Serafin, and De Sábata. He was coach, accompanist, and close friend to Beniamino Gigli. Ricci authored two books (Puccini Interprete da Se Stesso and 34 Anni con Pietro Mascagni). He collaborated on the musical direction of forty-two films and numerous recordings with RCA. Starting at age 12 (!), Ricci accompanied the voice students of the legendary Antonio Cotogni (a favored baritone of Verdi). Young Ricci began taking meticulous notes on the 19^th-century traditions that Cotogni passed on to him. Decades of continued note-taking resulted in the four-volume Variations, Cadenzas, and Traditions, a precious compilation – still in use – of the cadenzas of famous 19^th-century singers, conductors, and composers.

7 The opera was Rigoletto.

8From the interview in L. Ciampa, The Twilight of Belcanto (hereafter “Twilight”)

9Twilight

10Ciampa, A Beniamino Gigli Commemoration (unpublished) (hereafter, “Gigli”)

11Gigli

12Twilight

13Conversation with the author (2006).

14 Davide Annachini, liner notes to Virginia Zeani, Vol. II (Bongiovanni, Il Mito dell’Opera, ASIN: B00009L1TR). English translation by L. Ciampa.

15 E-mail to the author (August, 2003)

Mary B. Davenport (1919-2010)

2010-09-26T21:39:00.020-04:00

Friends,

Today, through a random Google search, I learned that more than nine months ago, the great contralto and teacher Mary Davenport passed away in Albuquerque. She died on my birthday, January 17. She was ten days shy of 91.

I am profoundly saddened by her loss. In her memory and honor, I quote in full my chapter on her from The Twilight of Belcanto.

***

"Sundays in Golders Green"

“It’s too easy to describe the singing of Mary Davenport as a miracle. God did indeed bestow a uniquely lovely timbre on her, the brightest and most golden of all deep contralto sounds, without a trace of what Kathleen Ferrier used to call the ‘goitrous hoot’ of the species.
“But that is not what has enabled Mary Davenport to preserve that timbre, unblemished, through more than four decades of singing, preserve the perfect evenness of scale, the clarity of the sound's definition, the absolute steadiness of tone — some of Brahms’s Alto Rhapsody sounded as if an angel had granted a pipe organ the ability to sing legato and phrase poetry with feeling. That is technique and discipline.”
Richard Dyer (Boston Globe, 12 April 1986, p. 20)

Like Patricia Craig, Mary Davenport was a teacher who had had a successful career on European and American stages as a singer. (It’s always refreshing when voice teachers actually sang somewhere!) In 2003 I telephoned the 84-year-old mezzosoprano, to whom I hadn’t spoken in several years. The voice I heard sent shivers down my spine. It was a young voice, shiny like silver, with not a soupçon of age. In pitch and clarity, this voice could have been 35, or 25. My wife also heard the voice on the machine and said, “How old did you say she was?”

This is no accident. Many singers have thought about healthy speech placement. Mary Davenport devoted her life to it.

Davenport was born in Holyoke, Massachusetts, in 1919. At age 19 she studied as an exchange student at the University of London. She studied voice with a very nice man at the Royal College of Music, with whom she also studied privately. The nice man’s name was Alberto García (1875-1946), the grandson of Manuel García II and great-nephew of Malibran and Viardot! Alberto was the last in the García singing legacy.

The teenager spent many Sundays with Mr. “Garsha” (as the Brits pronounced it) and his family in Golders Green (a section of London). Alberto spoke often of his famous aunts, grandfather, and of course their father, Manuel García the First (1775-1832). Manuel I was born in Seville. He was baptized “Manuel del Populo Vincente Rodriguez.” Manuel I’s opera troupe — including his three famous children — traveled to New York, and on 29 November 1825 gave the very first Italian opera ever to be heard on the soil of the New World. The work was Il Barbiere di Siviglia; the Almaviva was Manuel I, who had created the role. Due to a rival claque, this New World premiere was an utter fiasco. García attempted to salvage it by singing a Spanish song, accompanying himself on the guitar.

With particular fondness, Alberto remembered the 101st birthday gala for his father, Manuel II, held at Royal Albert Hall in 1906. Alberto told Mary that his father sang a song on the occasion (!). I wondered if such a thing could be true. Sure enough, García’s biographer confirmed that there was a 101st birthday gala on 17 March 1906 and that the old man sang a song. But he added a spinetingling detail: The song in question was Spanish, and García accompanied himself on guitar … exactly as his father had done 81 years previous. Could it have been the same song?

Davenport returned to America, where she studied at the Curtis Institute in Philadelphia. Her teacher was one of the most famous soprani of the day, Elisabeth Schumann. Ms. Schumann taught mostly soprani and very few mezzisoprani; however, Mary was no ordinary student, and Schumann accepted her. Ms. Schumann was probably not one of those teachers who did much vocal or technical woodshedding (which Mary didn’t much need anyway). What she did have, Mary remembers, was an extraordinary musicality and musical mind. And she couldn’t have hurt Mary’s ease in the high register.

In New York, Davenport made a triumphant debut recital, which was reviewed on the front page of the New York World Telegram & Sun. A career in radio began in the ’40s, when she succeeded Eileen Farrell on the CBS program Invitation to Music. Davenport was accompanied by the CBS Symphony, conducted by Bernard Herrmann. Herrmann (1911-1975) was a famous film composer who wrote the scores for many Hitchcock films, as well as for Citizen Kane, etc.

Farrell and Davenport remained long-time friends, and when the latter was shopping for a new teacher, Farrell said, “Why not Mrs. Mac?” Mary was curious to try out “Mrs. Mac,” who had in Mary’s words “saved” Farrell. “Mrs. Mac” was Eleanor McClellan.

I remember clearly the story of Mary’s first lesson with McClellan, despite the decade that has elapsed since I heard it. Mary was in her 20s. McClellan was at least 90. Mary sang a piece; McClellan said nothing. She went up to Mary, touched her abdomen and said, “You’re holding. Let go.” For the next half-century, Mary kept that advice in her heart.

McClellan also stressed the speech aspect of singing and the huge importance of speaking correctly. Advice that also stuck.

Davenport went on to perform in opera (including many performances of The Medium), concert (appearances with the New York Philharmonic and Philadelphia Orchestra), and recital. She enjoyed a successful operatic career in Germany and Switzerland, including thirteen seasons at Zurich’s beautiful opera house. Other operatic engagements in Europe included Barcelona but, unfortunately, did not include any Italian cities.

From there, Davenport returned to Massachusetts and joined the voice faculty of Boston University, where she would remain for 32 years. Gradually she devoted more time to teaching and less to performing. But she did sing with the most important orchestras in Boston, including the Boston Symphony (the first time in 1944, the last time thirty years later). A Mahler performance with Ben Zander’s Boston Philharmonic also remains in the concertgoer’s memory.
Though music critics generally limit their fraternization with musicians, the Boston Globe critic Richard Dyer was unable to conceal a well-justified fondness for Mary, as a musician and person.

Her tone fused brightness with depth, and long past the age when most singers retire, Davenport still commanded a tone that was large, steady, and glowing. What turned out to be her final local appearance was in Brahms’s Alto Rhapsody at Boston University in 1986, her voice still radiant and expressive, the legato technique recalling the golden age of singing. Her students in more recent years report that during lessons Davenport still rang out commandingly over a three-octave range. She was an imposing and elegant presence at concerts, and her unsparing views were never a secret because this was a voice that carried. (Boston Globe, June 20, 1997, p. D16)

Notice that Dyer used form of the word “command” twice in one paragraph. This was appropriate. There was something commanding about Mary. Yet despite her aristocratic upbringing, I always found her to be an affectionate, gentle person uninterested in keeping up false appearances. She just was someone who relished quality, in people and in things. If she had a clock, it was a beautiful clock. If she had a dress, it was one her seamstress made for her. Her library contained the best books, in the best editions. It was as if her stomach couldn’t quite take anything, or anyone, that didn’t exude quality.

As for her silvery mezzosoprano, Dyer’s description of it corroborates my memory exactly. It really was three octaves, low C to high C. I never heard the high C, but I heard many effortless B-flats. Every note in her range had the quality of being firm yet floating. In my earthly existence, I have never heard a singer with such an evenness from top to bottom. Almost stubbornly even. There was not even a vestige of a register break anywhere. And there were no fabricated tones. You never felt, “On that note she sounded like a soprano,” or “On that note she sounded like a contralto.” It was HER VOICE, round and beautiful, at every point in her range.

Never in my life did I meet a person so diametrically opposed to the pushing of the voice. She’d rather cut off her arm, one felt. On the other hand, Mary hardly needed to push. Her voice was so well-placed that she would talk barely above pianissimo, and you could hear her down the hall. Even on the phone the voice was magisterial. Her whole life and heart seemed completely dedicated to placing the vowels. This is why she could be heard without difficulty against an orchestra, why she still had a high Bb and C at age 75.

Mary recorded not a fraction of that which her talent warranted. She did record a major work with Jan Peerce and Martina Arroyo. And I wish I could say that the major work they recorded was Verdi’s Aïda or Trovatore or Requiem. Instead, it was Handel’s Judas Maccabeus. Yuck! I adore Handel, but that piddly little role of the Israelite woman barely gave a taste of what Mary could do.

[Footnote: But the tenor role was meaty, and Jan Peerce really wanted to do it. The recording sessions took place in Vienna. “We were in the control room,” Mary remembered, “and Peerce said to me, ‘Where have you been all my life?’ Peerce was very encouraging to young singers.” (Conversation with the author, October 2003).]

Other recordings which are not on CD include a L’Enfance du Christ recorded for Columbia, with Léopold Simoneau, Martial Singher, and Donald Gramm, conducted by Tom Scherman.

Perhaps Mary’s best recording — at least the one with which she herself is happiest — is the aforementioned Alto Rhapsody, performed at Boston University and conducted by Thomas Dunn. The singer was 67 years old. Though never released commercially, this recording would quickly become a collector’s item were it to be made available.

The major labels should have broken her door down and fought over who would get to record her in a corpus of Brahms and Mahler and Verdi and Duparc and repertoire in English. That they didn’t is to the eternal detriment of their discographies.

As a teacher, Mary was extremely gentle and empathetic — on a personal level. On a musical level she could be terrifying. She let nothing go by, sometimes stopping the student after every note. This was hard on some students, to say nothing of the piano accompanists! I loved every second of it. It sharpened my ears considerably. Often I felt as though I was the one receiving the lesson. I think that’s why Mary took to me; I exhibited some of the enthusiasm that ideally the students would have demonstrated.

It’s not for me to speak of Mary’s “method” or “technique.” Cedo maiori. But I’ll offer a few observations that made an impression on me.

Mary was not vague about what she wanted: She wanted five pure vowels, legate, and in all the languages. And believe me, her French sounded French, her German sounded German, and (as the critics pointed out) one couldn’t have hoped for more beautiful or understandable English.

Of the brilliant mental images that Mary conjured for her students, the two that I most vividly remember are the concept of “dropping in” to the note and that of letting the brain take care of pitch.

With “dropping in,” Mary had the students imagine that the sound was coming down into the placement from above, not up from the throat. Schipa, I later learned, gave similar advice; the tone, he said, should come down “from heaven.” And when Corelli spoke of the “curve” that the sound must make in the cavity, the concept was not dissimilar.

Of course there are two presumptions: (a) the vowels and posizione are correct, otherwise there’s nothing to drop into; and (b) the breathing is correct. Mary would say, “The breath is ready, and you coordinate it with the placement.” (Of course, to make the breath “ready” but not “held” requires study.)

The other notion, that of letting the brain, not the throat, worry about pitch, I felt was extremely useful. When the student thinks, “Oh my God, the high note is coming!” the throat tightens, the tongue tightens, everything tightens. But if the brain negotiates pitch on its own and the students worry more about posizione and breathing, whether it’s a low C or a high C, an easy emission and fluid legato become possible. Mary practiced what she preached: If you were deaf and looked at her when she sang, you could barely tell if she were singing a low note or a high one. That is contrary to what many teachers teach about making a huge opening, in order to “let the sound out.” However, there is no biological reason why a mouth has to be open wide in order for the voice to be heard. Audibility and oral aperture are not directly proportional. If they were, ventriloquism would be a physiological impossibility.

Without my knowing it at the time, Mary’s focus on the vowels was very much in the Italian Belcanto tradition. Like Vittorio Marciano, she spent a good part of the lesson purifying her students’ vowels. She didn’t talk so much about physically shaping the lips, and she avoided any mumbo-jumbo about the tongue. Mary was a firm believer that if you could hear the correct vowel, you could sing the correct vowel. Also like Vittorio, she sang a lot during the lessons. How happy were my ears!

We discussed old-time singers quite often. She’d talk about hearing recitals by Gigli and Tauber in London, or singing Aïda with Helge Roswaenge. “He was about sixty at the time,” Mary remembered. “Amneris, of course, comes on the stage right after Celeste Aïda. He sang the aria so beautifully that when I came on, I almost couldn’t sing.”

Mary’s memories go back even further. “When I was born,” she said, “Caruso was still alive.” She was two when he died, but even into her youth he was “still very much talked about.” She had contemporary knowledge about things that I know only from books. Caruso’s interpretation of La Juive … Lawrence Tibbett’s divorce … I know about those things because I read about them. She knew about them because she heard them being talked about! I know the old recordings as CD re-releases. She owned the original 78s. This was the privilege it was to work on a weekly basis with such legends as Iride Pilla and Mary Davenport. And Mary, who as recently as today was forming five beautiful vowels, is living proof that the twilight of Belcanto has not become night.

The above from The Twilight of Belcanto (Copyright © MMIV, MMV Leonardo A. Ciampa. All rights reserved.)

A Year Without Joe Maneri

2010-08-25T00:18:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, August 24th, marked a sad anniversary: one year since the world was deprived of the life of Joe Maneri.

Joe left the world a more impoverished place and left a hole in my life that could be patched but never filled. But despite Joe's departure (or because of it? It would be like him to be pulling some strings Up There!), the riches that have appeared in my life this past year have been astonishing. Indeed, as I looked back, I had to stop and think, "Did all that really happen within 365 days?"

A year ago I was unemployed. Now I have two jobs, each one a "dream job" in a completely different way. MIT and Christ Lutheran Church in Natick, Massachusetts – two remarkable places with remarkable clergy and remarkable potential both to use the skills I already have and to stretch myself to develop new skills. I wasn't the first person in the 2,000-year history of the Catholic Church to note that denomination's knack for mystery and deceit where truth and honesty are instead appropriate. I prayed to find a job where (a) the boss was honest; and (b) I could use my gifts. I found not one but two such appointments. The hardest part has been to convince myself that I'm actually working, such has been my happiness in these two positions.

The relationships I have forged with people this past year have been equally remarkable. I have friends that I cannot believe I have known less than one year. They "get me" in a way that I've rarely been "gotten."

And then there's the small matter of a baby named Matteo Giovanni Ciampa. He is my third child, my wife's first. At 3.5 weeks of age, he at times behaves like an infant weeks, if not months, his senior. It's too early to tell if he will have a sense of humor, but if he goes in the direction of his two older brothers, I can soon expect hilarity in triplicate. (Sometime this past year, I asked my three-year-old, Federico, "Are you the best boy in the whole world?" He replied, "Flattery will get you nowhere.")

I telephoned Sonja Maneri on this sad anniversary. She shared with me a poem that has been helping her get through these difficult days:

NOT IN VAIN
by Emily Dickenson

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

Neither Joe nor Sonja have lived in vain. In fact, between them they have patched more breaking hearts and eased more pain than a squadron of theologians.

Caffe'!

2010-08-18T14:02:00.006-04:00

I keep hoping that in this Information Age, society's taste in music will improve. It has happened in other areas. 30 years ago, when you went to the average supermarket, it was almost impossible to find extra-virgin olive oil. Occasionally you could find Filippo Berio, a revolting liquid that I wouldn't use to grease a squeaky door. Today, most any supermarket boasts numerous brands of Italian and Greek olive oils, most of which are extra-virgin. The improvement in coffee — the topic of today's post — has been even more remarkable. 30 years ago, all the coffee came in those dreadful, cylindrical tin cans that increase the acidity in my stomach just by looking at them. And what were the "high end" brands then? Chock Full o' Nuts? Medaglia d'Oro? With such substances I would not contaminate my compost heap. Today, virtually all supermarkets carry fresh beans in numerous varieties, roasts, and flavors.

One of the key players in the coffee renaissance, without question, has been George Howell (see above photo). If the finest bottles of wine are made from grapes picked in only one location, why should fine coffee be any different? It was this discovery of single-origin coffee that led me to Terroir (http://terroircoffee.com). I was hooked instantly and, if I can possibly help it, I drink nothing else.

I was excited to discover that Mr. Howell has a blog, entitled George on Coffee (http://blog.terroircoffee.com). His most recent entry, "Emerging from our acquired tastes," documents the renaissance in his own spirited, intelligent words. Now we can start to put a personality with the coffee. (It had to be an interesting person who would produce such a divine liquid.)

In particular, I was interested in Mr. Howell's comments to a reader about "dark roasts." The notion of "light roasts" vs. "dark roasts" is a topic in which Starbucks has done much to increase public awareness (which is a good thing), even though they sometimes conflagrate their beans beyond any human recognition (which is a bad thing). As Mr. Howell explains:

Whenever someone says they like strong coffee they are pretty much referring to darker roasts. I think this has to do with the greater immediate impact and mouthfeel a dark roast has when hot. The best dark roasts that I have had – and this is personal, I realize – are best hot. The colder they get the more the muddled notes and bitterness in the aftertaste.

Strength really has to do with extraction. One can make a light roast very strong using more coffee and less water – but at a certain point the greater acidity of a light roast creates an imbalance towards too much acidity.

Lighter roasts may seem “weak” when hot but gather full strength as the cup cools. Drinking becomes an act of discovering emerging nuances over the approx. 20 minutes of sipping the entire cup. (From the blog George on Coffee)

Long live George Howell and the Terroir Coffee Company!

Related post: "The Man Who Invented Coffee" (http://faultbook.blogspot.com/2010/11/man-who-invented-coffee.html)

Chopin Concerts (Boston, 9 Sept. - 14 Oct. 2010)

2010-08-12T15:23:00.013-04:00

LEONARDO CIAMPA
CHOPIN CONCERTS
FIRST CHURCH IN BOSTON, 66 MARLBOROUGH ST.
SEPT. 9 – OCT. 14, 2010
All Concerts 12:15-12:45 p.m.
Freewill offering

CONCERT I
Prelude in B major
Prelude in B minor (“Raindrop”)
Mazurka in C minor
Polonaise in A major (“Military”)
Waltz in C# minor
Etude in E major
Ballade III in Ab major

CONCERT II
Mazurka in A minor (“Cries & Whispers”)
Mazurka in Bb major
Mazurka in F# minor
Etude in Ab major (“Aeolian Harp”)
Polonaise in F# minor (“Tragic”)

CONCERT III
Prelude in C minor
Waltz in A minor
Mazurka in D major
Mazurka in C# minor
Etude in Gb major (“Black-Key”)
Polonaise in Ab major (“Heroic”)

CONCERT IV
Prelude in A major
Prelude in E major
Fantaisie-Impromptu in C# minor
Mazurka in A minor
Mazurka in F# minor
Etude in C minor (“Revolutionary”)
Ballade I in G minor

CONCERT V
Mazurka in F# minor
Mazurka in Ab major
Nocturne in C# minor
Nocturne in F minor
Ballade IV in F minor

CONCERT VI
Mazurka in G minor
Mazurka in C# minor
Etude in C# minor
Waltz in Db major (“Minute”)
Polonaise-Fantaisie in Ab major

09/09/10
Op. 28, No. 11
Op. 28, No. 6
Op. 30, No. 1
Op. 40, No. 1
Op. 64, No. 2
Op. 10, No. 3
Op. 47

09/16/10
Op. 17, No. 4
Op. 17, No. 1
Op. 59, No. 3
Op. 25, No. 1
Op. 44

09/23/10
Op. 28, No. 20
Op. 34, No. 2
Op. 33, No. 2
Op. 50, No. 3
Op. 10, No. 5
Op. 53

09/30/10
Op. 28, No. 7
Op. 28, No. 9
Op. 66
Op. 7, No. 2
Op. 7, No. 3
Op. 10, No. 12
Op. 23

10/07/10
Op. 6, No. 1
Op. 17, No. 3
Op. posth.
Op. 55, No. 1
Op. 52

10/14/10
Op. 24, No. 1
Op. 41, No. 1
Op. 10, No. 4
Op. 64, No. 1
Op. 61

Matteo Giovanni Ciampa!

2010-07-31T06:52:00.003-04:00

He was born at Newton-Wellesley Hospital on Friday, July 30 at 11:01 p.m. 9 lbs. 10 oz.! Baby, mother, and – for that matter – father are fine.

I'll never, no never, no never forsake

2010-07-24T18:19:00.004-04:00

Friends,

My Victorian-style "Postlude on Foundation" is now live.

Click below to hear a live recording from the Methuen Memorial Music Hall:

http://www.leonardociampa.com/MMMH/Foundation.wav

Click below to purchase the sheet music:

http://www.musicamultimedia.net/cic/lang/it/composers/leonardo-ciampa/2010/07/leonardo-ciampa-postlude-on-foundation/

O Shenandoah, I long to hear you

2010-07-18T18:09:00.003-04:00

"Shenandoah" celebrates its first birthday tomorrow! Hard to believe it was a year ago that I composed and premiered this arrangement in lovely Salem, Virginia. I could hardly have imagined that six months later, it would be performed, in masterful fashion, at the MORMON TABERNACLE! (Click below for auditory proof of this assertion.)

http://www.musicamultimedia.net/cic/lang/en/composers/leonardo-ciampa/2009/09/leonardo-ciampa-shenandoah/

Barbara Allen!

2010-07-15T11:10:00.003-04:00

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

From the website of Consortium Internationale Compositorum (CIC):

Ciampa follows his popular arrangement of “Shenandoah” with another folk song arrangement, this time of “Barbara Allen“. The tune was one of the most popular songs in 18th-century England.

“Barbara Allen” is also in several moderan American hymnals, with the sacred text, “Accept, O Lord, the gifts we bring“. Ciampa’s lush arrangement was a hit at its 6 June 2010 premiere at the Methuen Memorial Music Hall. Its warmth and wide dynamic range are sure to make it a favorite chestnut among organists in concert and church.

Dopo il popolare arrangiamento di “Shenandoah” ecco un altro arrangiamento di Leonardo Ciampa, questa volta di “Barbara Allen“. Si tratta di una delle più popolari canzoni dell’Inghilterra del XVIII secolo.

“Barbara Allen” si trova anche in alcuni innali americani, con il testo sacro “Accept, O Lord, the gifts we bring“. Il ricco arrangiamento di Ciampa è stato presentato il 6 giugno 2010 al Methuen Memorial Music Hall.

Buy the score

Audio clip recorded live, 6 June 2010 (private recording by Paul Raila) – HYMN FESTIVAL, Methuen Memorial Music Hall – Leonardo Ciampa, organist

My Remarkable Son

2010-07-12T08:30:00.006-04:00

I have long been convinced that if Nino, age six, were someday to be a musician, he would seek to perform complete collections of pieces – the opera omnia of this composer or that.

He already owned the complete Wiggles videos; but, after all, way back then he was only five! The 14-volume collection of the Muppets’ greatest episodes is certainly more stimulating to this mature and curious mind!

Note, however, that seeing them all typed on a sheet of paper (courtesy of his step-mother) was not enough for him. Nor was he satisfied to mark the favorites of himself, his brother, father, mother, and step-mother. But it was important for him to note that Juliet Prowse was the very first episode (marked with a "1") and Roger Moore was the very last, which Nino knew was the 125th episode (though he didn't know how to write such a number, his attempt being "1025"!).

Your [Be]longings

2010-07-12T08:24:00.003-04:00

Friends,

I'm sure you agree that there is an oversaturation of "inspirational words" on the Internet. Our Junk Mail folders are filled with them. This, however, is real and was sent to me last Saturday by my dear friend and colleague, Doris Marion:

On the Orange Line yesterday, some letters had been scratched off one of the signs. So it said, PLEASE DO YOUR PART AND BE SURE TO TAKE YOUR "LONGINGS" WITH YOU UPON YOUR DEPARTURE.

I've been trying to keep this in mind.

Methuen Sound Clips!

2010-06-29T14:23:00.006-04:00

Friends,

My only regret from the glorious Methuen Hymnfest (June 6) is that it wasn't recorded – or so I believed. Imagine my surprise last week when my good friend Paul Raila handed me two surreptitiously recorded CDs, in excellent sound!

Enjoy: http://leonardociampa.com/MMMH

Greatest Moments of Singing XVI

2010-06-08T11:31:00.003-04:00

The last post made me too depressed, so here's an entirely more lighthearted one!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCvAM1rk8SI&feature=related

Here is an approximate translation:

Vincenzella was weaving her dowry
Night and day at the loom
Making the spool fly:
Tu-tu-tu, Tu-tu-tu, Tu-tu-tu

As she toiled, the good lady,
She sang a song of love
in a voice that went straight to the heart.
And it went something like this:

Turì-turì-turò; Turì-turì-turò
No good trying to say no
No good trying to resist,
When a woman wants something,
with her eyes she makes you do it.

Finally the lady got married
To a dumb rich man in the village,
after a year, they made him baron
Tu-tu-tu, Tu-tu-tu, Tu-tu-tu

This dumb baron had to go to the country,
And left his wife to weave.
When he came home that evening
he found her singing like this:

Turì-turì-turò; Turì-turì-turò
No good trying to say no
No good trying to resist,
When a woman wants something,
with her eyes she makes you do it.

Suspicious, one night he returned home
an hour earlier, just to be safe.
But from behind the shutter he heard:
Tu-tu-tu, Tu-tu-tu, Tu-tu-tu

He took a matchbox, lit a match
and lit a candle.
He saw Vincenzella, his wife, with the fabric,
and he saw something else.
And she was singing like this:

Turì-turì-turò; Turì-turì-turò
No good trying to say no
No good trying to resist,
When a woman wants something,
with her eyes she makes you do it.

Greatest Moments of Singing XV

2010-06-08T11:00:00.002-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0K2cHhpMJbE

In my grandparents' and great-grandparents' generations, Toselli's Serenade was extremely popular. It's hard to imagine a most beautiful rendering than Gigli's 1926 recording.

SERENATA RIMPIANTO
REGRETFUL SERENADE
Musica di Enrico Toselli / Parole di Alfredo Silvestri

Come un sogno d'or
scolpito è nel core
Il ricordo ancor di quell'amor
che non esiste più.

Fu la sua vision,
qual dolce sorriso
che più lieta fa,
col suo brillar, la nostra gioventù.

Ma fu molto breve in me
la dolcezza di quel ben
svanì quel bel sogno d'or
lasciando in me il dolor.

Cupo è l'avvenir,
sempre più tristi i dì,
la gioventù passata sarà,
rimpianto mi resta sol,
sì, rimpianto amaro e duol nel cor!

O raggio di sole
Sul mio cammino, ahimè, non brilli più
Mai più, mai più

Like a golden dream
sculpted in my heart,
the memory still of that love
that no longer exists

It was the vision of her,
that sweet smile
that makes our youth more pleasant
with its shine.

But it was very brief in me
the sweetness of that gift vanished,
that beautiful dream of love
leaving pain in me.

Dark is the future;
the days grow always sadder;
my youth will be over;
only regret remains to me,
yes, bitter regret and pain in my heart!

O sunbeam,
on my pathway, alas, you no longer shine,
never again, never again.

English translation © MMX Leonardo A. Ciampa. All rights reserved.

Methuen Hymn Festival for Haiti Relief

2010-06-01T13:20:00.003-04:00

Christ Lutheran Church in Natick, MA
The Rev. Rebecca J. Bourret, Pastor
Leonardo Ciampa, Music Director

invites you to lend your voices
to an unforgettable

HYMN FESTIVAL

A fundraiser to benefit
Lutheran Disaster Response
efforts in Haiti

Renowned organist
LEONARDO CIAMPA
plays the Great Organ of Methuen

SUNDAY, JUNE 6, 2010, at 4 p.m.
Methuen Memorial Music Hall
192 Broadway (Route 28) in Methuen, MA

Tickets: $12 ($8 for seniors & students)

For tickets or other information, call
Christ Lutheran Church, (508) 315-3170 X4
or e-mail music@christnatick.org

Greatest Moments of Singing XIV

2010-05-15T07:15:00.002-04:00

The great Elisabeth Schwarzkopf captures all of the essential qualities of Schumann's immortal Lied. (Whose genius could equal that of Schumann? My God!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InzzwObiTY4

Der Nussbaum

Es grünet ein Nussbaum vor dem Haus,
Duftig, luftig breitet er blättrig die Blätter aus.
Viel liebliche Blüten stehen dran;
Linde Winde kommen, sie herzlich zu umfahn.

Es flüstern je zwei zu zwei gepaart,
Neigend, beugend zierlich zum Kusse die Häuptchen zart.
Sie flüstern von einem Mägdlein,
Das dächte die Nächte und Tage lang, Wußte, ach! selber nicht was.

Sie flüstern - wer mag verstehn so gar leise Weis'? -
Flüstern von Bräut'gam und nächstem Jahr.
Das Mägdlein horchet, es rauscht im Baum;
Sehnend, wähnend sinkt es lächelnd in Schlaf und Traum.

Text: Julius Mosen (1803-1867)

The Walnut Tree

Green before the house a walnut stands.
spreading, fragrant, airy, its leafy branches.
Many lovely blossoms it bears;
gentle winds visit them with loving embrace.

Paired together, they whisper,
gracefully inclining delicate heads to kiss.
Whisper of a maiden who
night and day pondered, ah, and knew not what.

Whisper - who can understand so soft a song? -
of a husband-to-be, of next year.
Then maiden listens, the tree rustles;
yearning, hoping, she sinks, smiling, into sleep and dreams.

English translation © George Bird and Richard Stokes, The Fischer-Dieskau Book of Lieder, pub. Victor Gollancz Ltd.

A purely legal question III

2010-04-12T08:35:00.003-04:00

Much as I would like to, I cannot deny that I am a Catholic. And there is little or nothing in the Catholic theology that I take issue with. I have no qualm with the transsubstantiation, the devotion to Mary, or other theological tenets that are uniquely Catholic. Political tenets like Papal Infallibility are another matter. But after all, to break Canon Law is not a sin, and to find fault with the Catholic hierarchy is neither blasphemous nor heretical.

So on theological grounds, there is little or nothing I have ever said or written that makes me a bad Catholic. To point out that a pontiff is an imperfect human being is the only conclusion that a sane, rational human being can draw.

That will not stop the fanatics from declaring that anyone who criticizes a pope, cardinal, bishop, or priest is "evil" and that the "devil" is behind it. I suggest, instead, that the devil is behind the fanatics who defend or enable any child molester. As I have said: I am the father of two beautiful boys, with a third on the way. An organization that systematically enables child molestation is a corrupt organization. And any organization that does business in a land must follow the laws of that land. So we return, again, to the purely legal question: are these corporations, these archdioceses, going to follow or not going to follow the law?

The evidence is mounting that Cardinal Ratzinger absolutely, positively knew about these molesters. If there is a meeting about the reassignment of a molester-priest, and you are the chair of the meeting, I suggest that you knew about it. If you receive a letter about a priest who has plead no contest to molestations charges, and you respond to that letter, I suggest that you knew about it. To say otherwise defies all logic and intelligence. And the evidence will show that John Paul II knew some things, as well.

I knew an alleged child molester once. At the time, I honestly didn't know. I was in my late teens – 16, 17, 18 – and so the person in question had no interest whatsoever in me. (Sad to say, it was because I was much too old for him.) Though on occasion he would make statements that I thought were sort of strange, he was a musician, and I was a musician, and we talked incessantly about music, little else. I attended numerous of his concerts. He was a great and positive musical influence on me. To this day, many of my musical ideas and ideals more closely resemble his than they do that of my actual teachers. Then one day, I received a phone call that this man committed suicide. And rumors began to spread that the reason for the suicide was the threat of a lawsuit by a set of angry parents.

Undeterred (and a little rebellious by nature), I continued to sing the praises of this musician. Why not? As far as I knew, there was no sex act involved – only a slight indiscretion with, so I believed, one boy. Later, more rumors surfaced. I began to put the pieces together that, apparently, the indiscretion was not unique. Apparently, most every job he ever had ended with a similarly embarrassing incident. Never a lawsuit. Never an allegation (that I know of) of an actual sex act. But always an indiscretion.

I do not believe that this man, this very great musician, ever performed a sex act with a boy, or with anyone. He was not "that" dangerous. Still, as a parent, I implore other parents to be very aware of this psychological disease. And it is no longer a secret that said disease is rampant in the Catholic Church. If Ratzinger wants to "consider the good of the Universal Church" (to quote his aforementioned 1985 letter), he will be totally honest, with himself and with the world.

A purely legal question II

2010-04-10T02:52:00.009-04:00

More evidence of then-Cardinal Ratzinger's extraordinary negligence in dealing with pedophile priests has surfaced, this time in the San Francisco Bay area.

In 1978, Fr. Stephen Kiesle, a teacher and priest at Our Lady of the Rosary parish in Union City, pleased no contest for tying up and molesting two boys. Three years later, in 1981, Kiesle made a formal request to the Vatican to be allowed to leave the priesthood. Four years later, Cardinal Ratzinger wrote to His Eminence John Cummins, Bishop of Oakland, requesting more time to consider the matter. Kiesle is not defrocked ... is reassigned to other parishes ... molests more boys ... Church officials do nothing ... Same old, same old.

Here is a photo of Ratzinger's letter:

And here is the full text of the letter, as translated for The Associated Press by Thomas Habinek, chairman of the University of Southern California Classics Department.

Most Excellent Bishop

Having received your letter of September 13 of this year, regarding the matter of the removal from all priestly burdens pertaining to Rev. Stephen Miller Kiesle in your diocese, it is my duty to share with you the following:

This court, although it regards the arguments presented in favor of removal in this case to be of grave significance, nevertheless deems it necessary to consider the good of the Universal Church together with that of the petitioner, and it is also unable to make light of the detriment that granting the dispensation can provoke with the community of Christ's faithful, particularly regarding the young age of the petitioner.

It is necessary for this Congregation to submit incidents of this sort to very careful consideration, which necessitates a longer period of time.

In the meantime your Excellency must not fail to provide the petitioner with as much paternal care as possible and in addition to explain to same the rationale of this court, which is accustomed to proceed keeping the common good especially before its eyes.

Let me take this occasion to convey sentiments of the highest regard always to you.

Your most Reverend Excellency

Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger

I repeat, then, the question I posed in my previous post on this topic: why is a corporation (in this case the Church) allowed to do business in a country (in this case America) whose laws it refuses to follow?

A lawyer friend of mine, a devout Catholic, responded to the question:

I've been thinking about your post [...], and bottom-line for me is that I am a hardcore advocate for non-profit compliance with the law, chiefly because (a) non-profits enjoy a number of benefits under law (let's just call them perks) and (b) non-profits have extraordinarily important and sensitive work on their hands. That compliance should extend to people who act on behalf of the non-profit, whether with explicit, implicit or cloaked authority (i.e., any form of agency) and non-profits should be punished accordingly for failing to reign violations of law in.

Cue in the Roman Catholic Church (acting, in the United States, in the form of several non-profits). Like tons of other non-profits across the country, it is riddled with scandal. Unlike many non-profits, the Roman Catholic Church has not been the object of its fair share of prosecutions (whether in the form of organizational investigations resulting in regulatory action or actual criminal prosecutions of people acting with agency on behalf of the organization) chiefly because many state regulators just haven't sharpened the teeth – for whatever reason. Compounded with the lack of an extradition treaty with the Vatican (not like that will happen; the U.S. doesn't even have one with China), the fact that religion is involved, constitutional issues, and that people have very STRONG interests vested for/against the Roman Catholic Church, prosecuting the Roman Catholic Church seems like a big mess – particularly since religion is involved. Allegedly, the Massachusetts' Attorney General's inquiries into the allegations of abuse concerning Diocese of Fall Rivers and the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Boston's had "teeth", but as far as I'm concerned, the Massachusetts' AG's actions did nothing.

Here's the thing for me. I'm a Catholic and expect much from the religion with which I affiliate [...]. I'm also a lawyer with very strong feelings about the separation of church and state. However, I don't think that governmental "intermeddling" (i.e., investigations, for example) into alleged harms is an interference into the realm of church, chiefly, because the church has subjected itself to some form of state regulation – i.e., taking on a corporate form with the perks. Therefore, let the investigations and prosecutions come down. If the Roman Catholic Church (remember, individual corporate entities) don't cooperate, then take them down one by one with state action. Other national non-profits – The Boys' & Girls' Club, The American Red Cross, The United Healthcare Group – all had atrocious scandals associated with them. They were non-profits that were dealt with by the appropriate state actor accordingly. The Roman Catholic Church should be treated the same way. Let arrests for non-compliance with state and federal laws start today!

I agree with this position. If a Roman Catholic archdiocese in any given state protects a pedophile, either (a) said archdiocese faces the court of that state; or, (b) said archdiocese is stripped of its status as a non-profit corporation and is disallowed to do business in said state.

Now, some of the lawyers among you will say that the whole archdiocese, i.e., the whole corporation, should not be prosecuted; only individuals therein should be prosecuted, unless the whole corporation is shown to be in the business of molestation. My friends, the data suggests that pedophilia has been wide-spread enough, in terms of (a) number of priests; (b) number of church officials covering up the crimes; and (c) number of decades that this has been occurring, that, indeed, the Roman Catholic Church is in the pedophilia business.

As the father of two beautiful young boys, and another on the way, I urge you: do not let your children be in the presence of a Catholic priest, unsupervised, for any length of time and under any circumstances. This is not about theology anymore; whether or not Holy Communion is really a transsubstantiation or just symbolic does not seem very important anymore. This is about the lives of innocent children. May every criminal be prosecuted.

Translation of Ratzinger Letter: Copyright © 2010 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.
Photo of Ratzinger Letter: Kim Johnson / Associated Press.

Jewish Wisdom

2010-03-27T17:22:00.001-04:00

(I don't usually post stuff like this, but this was of an exceptionally high quality!)

***

A Jewish woman goes to see her Rabbi and asks, “Yankele and Yosele are both in love with me, who will be the lucky one?''

The wise old Rabbi answers: " Yankele will marry you. Yosele will be the lucky one.

***

If a married Jewish man is walking alone in a park and expresses an opinion without anybody hearing him, is he still wrong?

***

My father says, "Marry a girl who has the same belief as the family." I said, "Dad, why would I marry a girl who thinks I'm a schmuck?"

***

Jewish Marriage advice "Don't marry a beautiful person. They may leave you. Of course, an ugly person may leave you too. But who cares?"

***

Morris went to his rabbi for some needed advice. "Rabbi, tell me is it proper for one man to profit from another man's mistakes?"

"No Morris, a man should not profit from another's man mistakes" answered the rabbi.

"Are you sure Rabbi?"

"Of course, I'm sure, in fact I'm positive" exclaimed the Rabbi.

" Ok, Rabbi, if you are so sure, how about returning the two hundred dollars I gave you for marrying me to my wife?"

***

The Italian says, "I'm tired and thirsty. I must have wine."

The Frenchman says, "I'm tired and thirsty. I must have cognac."

The Russian says, "I'm tired and thirsty. I must have vodka."

The German says, "I'm tired and thirsty. I must have beer."

The Mexican says, "I'm tired and thirsty. I must have tequila."

The Jew says, "I'm tired and thirsty. I must have diabetes."

***

Jewish proverb: "A Jewish wife will forgive and forget, but she'll never forget what she forgave."

Greatest Moments of Singing XIII

2010-03-27T17:19:00.002-04:00

Pure baritonal greatness! John Charles Thomas sings "Open Road," from Strauss's "Gypsy Baron" (1939).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnGaVSoOiIw

A purely legal question

2010-03-25T22:35:00.006-04:00

For several months now, I have wanted to write a post comparing the Roman Catholic Church to the Lutheran and Episcopal denominations, which in many ways were forms of "Reformed Catholicism."

I wanted to compare Vatican II's solutions to certain problems with Martin Luther's solutions to the very same problems, 500 years previous.

I wanted to write about Henry VIII's reasons for reforming the church, which went well beyond, "He wanted a divorce."

I wanted to write about both his and Luther's love of the sacraments and about their reverence for the best aspects of the Catholic liturgy.

I wanted to discuss the differences and – more interestingly – the similarities in the theologies of the Catholic, Lutheran, and Episcopal faiths.

I wanted to write about the benefits of running a church democratically without sacrificing the theology.

I maybe even would have gotten a little bold and written about the commonly held opinion that allowing female and married priests would, as a whole, produce a healthier crop of priests.

I wanted to write about all these things.

But I saw something in the paper today. Something disturbing.

And so now I have a new question. It is not a religious question, or a theological question, or a dogmatic question, or a spiritual question. It is nothing more and nothing less than a legal question.

Today – Thursday, March 25, 2010 – I looked at the news. And I read about the sex scandal in Wisconsin. And I read about Pope Benedict XVI's role in both keeping the matter away from the police and in putting the offending priest back in contact with minors.

When a similar issue came up with Cardinal Law, here in Boston, there was a straightforward legal course to be taken. You have a crime. You have an individual, in this case the Cardinal, who may or may not have borne some legal responsibility for said crime. You have a court proceeding to arrive at a verdict of either guilty or not guilty. Standard legal procedure in the United States or, indeed, most any modern nation.

This procedure never happened. Cardinal Law got sent to the Vatican, a state with whom the United States does not have an extradition policy. No trial.

Now, whether or not the Catholic Church decides to punish a wrongdoer or reward him – in this case, with a prestigious position at one of Rome's greatest churches – is its own business. Another alternative would have been to send him to a monastery in rural Wyoming, where in time he might have grown to understand the seriousness of his crime. (Hard to understand such things when you work in a patriarchal basilica and have 14 servants.) They made their choice. Fine. That is not my point here. My question is purely legal.

Here is my legal question:

I live in America. I have to follow American law. You live in America. You have to follow American law. Even if you don't live in America, if you bear responsibility for a crime that takes place here, you stand trial here and, if found guilty, will probably serve your sentence here – if the prosecutors are successful in physically bringing you here in the first place.

But here is an organization, the Roman Catholic Church. The organization is a non-profit corporation that receives and disburses money on our soil. The corporation has filled out the necessary paperwork so that it is allowed to conduct business on our soil. But members of this corporation – including the Cardinals and, sadly, now the Pope himself – have been implicated in crimes for which they cannot be prosecuted. If you think Cardinal Law was unprosecutable, how prosecutable is the Pope going to be?

Now the legal question:

Why is this corporation allowed to do business in the United States?

I'm actually dead serious. This isn't a hoax; it's an honest legal question that I have. Corporation X follows American laws. It is allowed to do business in America. Corporation Y breaks American laws but then shields itself from prosecution. It will thenceforth not be allowed to do business in America.

I would like to know, then, why this particular corporation is allowed to do business in a country whose laws it is not required to follow.

If there were ever a court hearing to determine if this corporation should be allowed or disallowed to transact business in the United States, I would hope that the prosecutors would request the corporation to explain the following phrase:

Huiusmodi causae secreto pontificio subiectæ sunt.

This sentence may be translated as:

"Cases of this kind are subject to the pontifical secret."

The phrase appeared in the 2001 epistula, De Delictis Gravioribus ("On More Serious Crimes"). The author of this epistula was Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, later promoted to Pope Benedict XVI.

I will leave you this evening with a story, one of the saddest ones I ever heard.

A pastor with whom I once worked told me this story. It was about a friend of his. This friend was abused by a Catholic priest. Several decades passed. Finally, after holding in this secret for so many years, he found the courage – who knows how hard it was – to tell his mother what happened.

She slapped him across the face and exclaimed, "Don't ever let me hear you talk about a priest that way again!"

Thankfully, that generation of parents is dying off. The new generation is better educated and asks more questions. Questions might arise about the transubstantiation, or about original sin. The Catholic theologians can fend off those questions. But how will they fend off the legal questions? What will they do when these young Catholics start asking, "How can a corporation break our laws, evade prosecution, and still be allowed to conduct business here?" That is the legal question that I am now asking.

Greatest Moments of Singing XII (Buon Compleanno, Magda Olivero!)

2010-03-25T22:32:00.003-04:00

Today the amazing Magda Olivero turns 100 years young, her marbles still very much intact. Here is the glorious Cherry Duet from Mascagni's L'Amico Fritz, where she is joined by another legend: Ferruccio Tagliavini.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agpNUqa5mXU&feature=related

The recording is from 70 years ago. Magda was 30!

Evviva Lidia!!!

2010-03-22T18:35:00.007-04:00

This afternoon I was like some sort of star-struck teenager, meeting my favorite rock star. It still hasn't sunk in that I met Lidia today, at Williams-Sonoma right here in Boston. (As you can see, Antonino met her as well.)

The book signing began at 5. We got there at 4:25. Already a line had formed; there were 12, maybe 15, people ahead of us. Nino was impressed with how long the line was growing behind us. I asked him, "How many people do you think are in this line?" He said, "I think a million."

While we were waiting, the crew at Williams-Sonoma passed out samples of Lidia's Salsicce all'Uva. Lidia herself didn't make it; the staff prepared it following her recipe. Still, it was a tasty treat.

The staff of WS had everything down to a science. Only books that we had purchased at that actual store could be signed (which means I brought two books from home for nothing. Three books made for a heavy backpack on the return trip!). While still in line, we were given a yellow sticky, on which we wrote what we wanted Lidia to say. I mention this because when we finally reached Lidia, she looked at my name on the sticky and said, "Oh, you're the one who sent me that link" (i.e., the previous Faultbook post). Then she said, "So, you're a musician." I was floored that she remembered that much about me.

She treated my Nino, and all the children there, like members of the family, with great down-to-earth-ness and a warmth that was in no way false. That, I am convinced, is what sets apart her cooking. She has the culinary techniques of the greatest virtuosi, yet she has the taste and the love of the Southern Italian peasants (though she is a Northerner). My Sicilian grandmother used to always say, "No amuri, no sapuri" ("No love, no taste"). This, my friends, must certainly be the secret of Lidia.

SAUSAGES IN THE SKILLET WITH GRAPES

Salsicce all’Uva

Serves 6

From “Lidia Cooks from the Heart of Italy,” published by Alfred A. Knopf (2009)

¼ cup extra- virgin olive oil
8 plump garlic cloves, crushed and peeled
2 ½ pounds sweet Italian sausages, preferably without fennel seeds (8 or more sausages, depending on size)
½ teaspoon peperoncino flakes, or to taste
1 ¼ pounds seedless green grapes, picked from the stem and washed (about 3 cups)

Pour the olive oil into the skillet, toss in the garlic cloves, and set it over low heat. When the garlic is sizzling, lay in all the sausages in one layer, and cover the pan. Cook the sausages slowly, turning and moving them around the skillet occasionally; after 10 minutes or so, sprinkle the peperoncino in between the sausages. Continue low and slow cooking for 25 to 30 minutes in all, until the sausages are cooked through and nicely browned all over. Remove the pan from the burner, tilt it, and carefully spoon out excess fat.

Set the skillet back over low heat, and scatter in the grapes. Stir and tumble them in the pan bottom, moistening them with meat juices. Cover, and cook for 10 minutes or so, until the grapes begin to soften, wrinkle, and release their own juices. Remove the cover, turn the heat to high, and boil the pan juices to concentrate them to a syrupy consistency, stirring and turning the sausages and grapes frequently to glaze them.

To serve family-style: arrange the sausages on a warm platter, topped with the grapes and pan juices. Or serve them right from the pan (cut in half, if large), spooning grapes and thickened juices over each portion.

The above was copied from Lidia's Facebook page:
http://www.facebook.com/topic.php?uid=173452249051&topic=12961

"A Leonardo Ciampa
Tanti cari auguri
Buon appetito
Lidia Bastianich"

Lidia Comes to Boston!

2010-03-20T08:32:00.004-04:00

Friends,

The one and only Lidia comes to Boston for a book signing this Monday!

For twenty years I have sought out all the Italian cooking shows, everyone from Biba to Pasquale to Carlo Middione. Lidia is, in my opinion, "La Regina dei Cuochi Televisivi." Every time I see her pick up a utensil and move the food in the pan, I feel like I am watching Horowitz touch the piano keyboard. The footage from Italy is thrilling; she doesn't just grate the pecorino, she shows footage of the sheep grazing, and the woman in the shop who has made pecorino the same way for 67 years. Jeanette can testify that when Lidia's show comes on, whatever I had been doing comes to a grinding halt. This has a deleterious effect on my music but a marvelous effect on my stomach!

So in case you're looking for me next Monday, I will be at the Williams-Sonoma in the Copley Mall. (The exact address is 100 Huntington Place C9, Boston, MA 02116. For more info: (617) 262-3080)

Television's Greatest Moments IV

2010-03-16T23:14:00.002-04:00

Again, not PC. But this is, in my opinion, Foster Brooks's greatest performance on the Dean Martin Celebrity Roasts. Don Rickles is almost likable here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DYusPRre07k

Television's Greatest Moments III

2010-03-16T23:12:00.001-04:00

This sort of humor is no longer PC. But the talent of Foster Brooks and Dean Martin cannot be denied.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jNNFqQODKE

Television's Greatest Moments II

2010-03-15T22:45:00.002-04:00

One of comedic history's finest hours: Milton Berle and Harpo Marx in 1959, at the height of their powers:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FIY1ilOl6So

The Essence of Chutzpah

2010-03-15T22:29:00.003-04:00

Chutzpah: a Yiddish word meaning gall, brazen nerve, effrontery, sheer guts plus arrogance; it's Yiddish and, as Leo Rosten writes, no other word, and no other language, can do it justice.

A few of my friends shared with me stories that they felt were the epitome of chutzpah. I got some extraordinary answers!

The Hungarian definition of chutzpah is when you poop on somebody's threshold and then ring the bell for toilet paper.

A little old lady sold pretzels on a street corner for 25 cents each. Every day a young man would leave his office building at lunch time, and as he passed the pretzel stand, he would leave her a quarter, but never take a pretzel.
And this went on for more then 3 years. The two of them never spoke. One day, as the young man passed the old lady's stand and left his quarter as usual, the pretzel lady spoke to him.
Without blinking an eye she said: "They're 35 cents now."

An old woman, after much persuasion, convinces her son and daughter in law to let their 5 year old boy go to the beach with their grandmother. Two hours later, after driving in horrendous traffic, the alta kocka and her cherished boychick are sitting on the beach at Far Rockaway. He's at the water's edge, wearing a little white hat his obsessive mother insisted upon to avoid the sun's damaging rays, playing with a shovel and bucket. The bubbe, of course, is 50' up the beach, doing the Times crossword puzzle, holding a little battery powered fan in one hand. The rest of the shoreline is jammed with people.
Suddenly, a tsunami sweeps the beach. When it pulls back, only the grandmother is left. She looks down on the spot where her cherished boy was playing only a minute before; she squints and looks up at the heavens; and begins to kvell to God . . ..
"How could you do this to me? How could YOU do this to ME? It took me three weeks to get a day with my grandchild. Now, you're gonna make me drive back to the city, two hours, IN TRAFFIC, no less, just to tell my son and his no-good worrywart wife that I, not you but I, lost their son? How could you do this . . . "
She's interrupted by another tidal wave. When the wave pulls back, there's the kid, like nothing happened, beaming at her and playing with his shovel.
The grandmother looks at the boy; looks up, and says . . .
"Um, he was wearing a hat . . . "

This Cuban drug dealer has an important meeting to make in Miami. He is circling all over the place trying to park, getting more nervous by the minute. Nothing. In final despair he looks at the Heavens above: "Lord, I must be on time for this most important meeting of my life! Give me a parking place and I will go to church every Sunday for five years, I will stop cheating on my wife, and I will donate $50,000 to the poor!" He looks around – and there is an empty spot. He looks up again: "Never mind! I found one myself."

Chutzpah is when you murder your parents then plead for mercy because you're an orphan.

Many thanks to all of my friends whose stories I ripped off without even asking them, purely for my personal gain. Now that's chutzpah!

Television's Greatest Moments I

2010-03-15T18:06:00.002-04:00

Remember "Mahna Mahna," from the timeless Muppet Show?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdUeVAkzEas

I don't know what the song means, but it has Jim Henson's immortal spirit all through it.

Greatest Moments of Singing XI

2010-03-06T21:37:00.003-05:00

Last Thursday was the 50th anniversary of Leonard Warren's tragic death on the stage of the Old Met. With no offense to Merrill fans, I cannot help but feel that Warren was the greatest American baritone of all time. His production had a ring and color that usually one had to travel to Europe to hear. His high notes were the envy of many tenors, yet his voice had a purely baritone timbre. A "baritenor" or "tenortone" he clearly was not. He was positively unique, and positively supreme. Here he is in Rossini's immortal Largo al factotum:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYameVeiRWQ

CHOPIN

2010-03-01T21:47:00.005-05:00

Today marks the 200th birthday who, for most of my life, has been my ultimate favorite composer.

It can be said that some Brahms sounds like Schumann or Beethoven, or that some Bach sounds like Pachelbel or Buxtehude. Whom does Chopin sound like? He must certainly have been the most original composer in the history of Western music.

I'm happy to announce that in September and October of this year, I will play six Chopin recitals at First Church (formerly First & Second Church) in Boston's historic Back Bay. It will be a labor of love.

Beczala Triumphs Again

2010-02-22T15:59:00.003-05:00

Friends,

Few people know opera like Ed Rosen, president of Premiere Opera. Ed not only heard all the greats, from the 1950s onward, but he knew what he was hearing. The problem, of course, is the drastic decline in singing quality since the 50s. However, even Ed agrees with me that in Piotr Beczala we finally, finally, have a tenor worthy of those of the past. Ed Rosen:

Bohème Tonight‏
by Ed Rosen
Sun 2/21/10 12:33 AM

[...] I thought this was one of the very best Bohème performances I have seen in many, many years. I thought the sheer opulence of the voices of both Netrebko and Beczala was both thrilling and beautiful. I think this was the finest performance Netrebko has sung at the Met, and, as I seem to say every year, her voice simply gets bigger year after year, with no pushing at all. And she sang a very dynamically nuanced Mimì. Her Act 3 was indeed heartbreaking.

I thought Beczala was excellent in ever way. This Rodolfo as sung tonight can stand with his head held high with any tenor I have ever heard in this role, and that is virtually ever tenor who has sung it at the Met for the past 50 years. Perhaps the only tenor I have heard in the past 30 plus years who might have been better was José Carreras in 1975. For me, Beczala was superb in every way. He sang the aria in key, with a soaring, easy high C, which he simply held and held. He also sang the C at the end of the love duet, and both he and Nebtrebko were wonderful here, as in just about everything they sang tonight. He sings with great feeling, some lovely soft singing, and even a small tear in the voice when called for on a few notes. The voice is beautiful and has an ample bronze-like quality to help it project. For him, and his Mimì, the Met seemed like a small theater.

[...] I am glad I have tickets to the next two performances, and can't wait to see them. I thought tonight was the best night of opera I have seen at the Met this season, and for many seasons.

Best,
Ed

Photo of Mr. Beczala © Kurt Pinter

The Letter of Recommendation

2010-02-16T18:57:00.004-05:00

As I was unpacking this afternoon, I came across something that choked me up a little bit. It was clearly one of the most unusual letters of recommendation ever written for me ... or for anyone.

11 February 1994

To whom it may concern:

I have known Leonard Ciampa since he was eight years old. As a musician and person he is now 94, 6, 17, and 35 years old. As an American-born, he plays our superb heritage of George Gershwin, Cole Porter, and Irving Berlin and transports us to the Spirit of that time. Leonard's theoretical knowledge through studies of Baroque, Classical, and Romantic music are unquestionably grafted to his soul and heart. Still further, Leonard's mastery and in-depth understanding, accompanying, and performing of opera are astonishing.

I clearly know that Leonard's God-given musical gifts and personal evangelistic joys and passions bring a healing peace to peoples from all walks of Life.

Sincerely,

Joseph Gabriel Maneri
Professor of Composition and Theory
New England Conservatory of Music
Boston

The Antonym of Counterfeit II

2010-02-15T21:38:00.002-05:00

Joe & Sonja's wedding anniversary was easy to remember: Tax Day, April 15th. Every April 15th – I mean every April 15th – I called them to wish them a Happy Anniversary. Similarly, every February 9th I called Joe on his birthday. For almost 20 years, I did not miss one of these two annual phone calls.

Until last Tuesday. I couldn't call Joe. It was such a strange feeling.

You've read in these pages the story of the evening I first set foot in Christ Lutheran Church in Natick, looked up at the wall, and saw Sonja's Moses. I was never quite sure of the connection between Sonja and that church, until yesterday evening. In attendance at yesterday afternoon's Hymn Festival was a former pastor of the church, the Reverend Arthur von Au. He recalled an art show at Harvard Divinity School (where a parishioner was a student); the artist was Sonja Holzwarth Maneri. Rev. von Au was taken by Sonja's work and immediately became a patron. Meanwhile, he grew to know and appreciate Joe as well (who didn't?), to the extent that at his farewell service in Natick, whom do you suppose he asked to play? Joe Maneri.

Joe played at my church ...

The Antonym of Counterfeit

2010-02-10T14:34:00.011-05:00

Yesterday would have been Joe Maneri's birthday. The first one since his passing last August.

I wanted to write about him yesterday, but I couldn't bring myself to face the significance of the day. There was a memorial service for him in New York. I was here in Massachusetts. When he died, in Massachusetts, I was in Utah. I can't seem to be in the right state at the right time.

In my last telephone conversation with him, last summer, we talked about his birthday, for some reason. He told me something I never knew: he was proud of the fact that he was born on 2-9-27, whereas Charlie Parker was born on the 29th, and Lester Young was born on the 27th. Eerily, both Parker and Young were born in August, the month Joe would die. In fact, Joe died three days shy of what would have been Young's 100th birthday.

Over the years, Joe would say certain sentences that seemed to me so inspired that I would write them down. I wish I did this more often. I did write down a sentence about Lester Young: "Every note that Lester Young played said, 'I love you.'"

Joe was a chameleon in the best sense. Sometimes he was Italian; sometimes he was German; sometimes he was a classical musician; sometimes he was a jazz musician. But when he was a jazz musician, he was REALLY a jazz musician – not some sort of imitation, like when a concert pianist plays Gershwin, or when an English boy choir sings an African-American spiritual. Joe was bona fide at all times – the antonym of counterfeit.

As an example: this is a story told to me by his son Mat the afternoon of the funeral (one of many anecdotes floating around 7 Maple Lane that bittersweet afternoon). One evening, the Joe Maneri Quartet – consisting of Joe, Mat, Randy Peterson on drums, and I'm not sure who the bass player was at the time of the story – were giving a concert. After the concert, Mat and Randy stayed up quite late. The next morning, Mat and Randy groggily descended to the breakfast table. There was Joe, eating breakfast. Now, before I go any further: I had many breakfasts with the Maneris and can attest, firsthand, that fresh garlic was not an unusual ingredient on the breakfast table. It wasn't every morning. But it was not at all unusual to have what Joe would call "Sicilian French Toast": bread dipped in egg and fried, in the regular way, but instead of butter and maple syrup, the condiments were olive oil, grated pecorino romano, salt, pepper, and fresh chopped garlic. Another permutation might be bread or toast dipped in olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic, and lemon juice. In any case, Mat and Randy sleepily arrived at the breakfast table, to see Joe with, in Mat's words, "a jelly donut in one hand and a clove of garlic in the other." Joe's response to their facial grimaces: "Man, you cats don't know what it's about."

Indeed, it was as a "cat" that the Joe Maneri of later years was most widely appreciated. And yet it was as the great classical composer that I always saw him. Joe had one of the rarest musical gifts I ever encountered. He could hear any piece of music – and I mean any piece – and he had the uncanny ability to know what the composer was doing. Maybe some rare musicians can do this with Palestrina, or with Mozart, or with Elliott Carter, or with Milton Babbitt, or with Pietro Mascagni. I personally witnessed Joe do it with all of them. Even my own music! I'll never forget the time we sat and listened to a CD of my "Suite Siciliana" for chamber orchestra. Mind you, he'd never heard the piece before. Well, every nuance in the music, even the most subtle one, could be seen in this reactions on his face. For a moment I wondered if he had actually composed the piece, not me.

The last piece of music he and I ever listened to was Al Jolson singing, "You Made Me Love You." Though Joe played this sort of music in his youth in Brooklyn, I doubt seriously that he listened to, or even thought about, this sort of genre for many years. And yet I will never, so long as I live, forget the radiance on his face. He bobbed his head at every musical nuance, as if he knew what was coming next, as if he himself had did the orchestration and was himself singing. His smile lit up not only that room, but my whole life. Because if music is to be felt any less strongly than this, what is the point?

Musical Excellence

2010-02-03T15:27:00.003-05:00

The following was a piece I wrote for The Reporter, the monthly newsletter of Christ Lutheran Church in Natick, Massachusetts, where I am Director of Music.

MUSICAL EXCELLENCE

Since age seven, music has been the raison d'être of my life. There was not a single, solitary instance that my parents had to ask me to practice. There were times when they hoped I would stop.

This is not to say that music has always made me happy. It's just that not doing music made me unhappy, so I really had no choice. I didn't choose music; it chose me.

The times I was unhappiest were the times that music felt like entertainment. When music is entertainment, practicing suddenly becomes a striving for the things that don't matter. No harm is intended when a concertgoer watches a young pianist and says, "Wow, look how fast his fingers are going." But how does that make the young pianist feel? For me, it felt like being a circus attraction. "Wow, look how tall that woman is. Look how fat that man is." It's the fixation with some unusual physical attribute, not an interest in the person. It made me want to practice less, because if practicing made me more "unusual," I didn't want to do it. I wanted to be normal.

Perhaps the most harmful aspect of the musical world is the competition. A musical competition is no different from a figure skating tournament in the Olympics. You go on the ice. As soon as you slip, the judges put a checkmark on their sheet. You just went from 10 to 9.75. Slip again -- another checkmark. Now you're at 9.5. And so forth. It's not that the best skater wins; the skater who did least badly wins. The winner isn't chosen; everyone else is eliminated. If the point of my practicing is to prevent the judges' checkmarks, it's very hard to motivate myself to practice.

The times I was happiest were the times that music felt not like entertainment but like healing. When I play a religious service or a concert, the best I can hope for is for someone to say to me afterward, "Thanks, I needed that. I was having a terrible day, and I almost didn't come. But I'm so glad I did, because your music soothed me. I'm feeling so much better than I did before." A doctor may prescribe a pill; the pill might make you feel better, or it might make you sicker. But if I can make people feel better with my music, that is no small feat.

When the goal is healing, then I have a reason to practice. Because now I'm not serving the competition adjudicator, or the circus spectator. Now I'm serving a person on a human level. I'm trying to prepare that piece of music so that its expressive qualities -- indeed, its healing qualities -- can best emerge.

One of the most miraculous things that has occurred to me in a long time occurred right here at CLC. I was in the car with my wife, heading for Natick for that first interview. I fretted the whole way -- to the great annoyance of my wife Jeanette, who wondered why she was wasting the time and fuel to take someone somewhere that he didn't seem to want to go!

We pulled into the parking lot. I walked in the door. I looked up on the wall. And there was Moses.

I was floored, because I instantly knew who the artist was. The reason I instantly knew is because I first met Joe & Sonja Maneri when I was about eight years old. They were like my other parents, the parents that I would have chosen if one could choose one's parents. Joe passed away last August. There is no way to convey my grief at the loss of one of the greatest musicians, and human beings, that I have ever known.

It was Joe Maneri who taught me that music could heal -- and must heal. There is an amazing story, an absolutely true one, which I do not believe was unique in Joe's life. Many years ago his daughter Nina was sick in the hospital. And yet he had this powerful urge inside him to attend a party. He was at war within himself. "My daughter is here sick in the hospital, but why do I want to leave and go to this stupid party? What's wrong with me?" To make a long story short, he quietly left the hospital, went to the party, and there was a young woman, crippled from birth with cerebral palsy, sitting in a wheelchair. Her grandmother sat next to her. Joe took out his clarinet and started to play, "Hava Nagilah," which in Hebrew means, "Let us rejoice." Sonja accompanied on the piano. The girl stood up from her wheelchair and started moving her hips. She was dancing! The girl's grandmother was floored. She said, "I don't know who this Jesus of yours is, but he must be pretty wonderful." Joe returned to the hospital, and his daughter recovered just fine.

I don't know how to heal someone like that. But I should would like to find out! May I always strive for the highest musical excellence. But may it never be for entertainment.

The "Hava Nagilah" story was even wilder than what I wrote in the church article. One day Joe had been wearing a pair of shoes that had seen better days. A woman said, "Joe, if those shoes last another year, I'm going to throw a birthday party for them." A year passed; Joe was still wearing the shoes; and so the party in question was -- get this -- a birthday party for his shoes! Imagine Joe's dilemma: stay with daughter in hospital or go to birthday party for shoes! Just goes to show: sometimes what the Lord asks us to do is more unusual than, "Put $100 in the collection plate," or, "Recite the 'Our Father.'"

Habemus Tenorem!

2010-01-02T22:28:00.017-05:00

Friends,

Opera, for me, has been one of the most bittersweet areas of my life. Some of my happiest moments have been spent listening to Caruso, Gigli, and the great singers of the 1950s – the "Second Golden Age."

Some of my life's unhappiest moments have been spent listening to singers of today.

I won't bore you with a long diatribe on the descent of singing technique – I got that out of my system in The Twilight of Belcanto. And I simply became resigned that great singing was like an old black-and-white photo on the wall: something beautiful and grand that you can look at anytime you want, but no matter what you do, you cannot enter into that photo – or make the people in the photo come out.

You'll forgive me, then, if I'm reluctant to hear new tenors. I won't name names of the tenors whom everyone said was "the next great tenor." One had less technique than the other. All I need to say is: if Andrea Bocelli is engaged to sing opera, that fact in itself depicts the short supply of good tenors.

Tonight, January 2, 2010, I heard for the first time a young Polish tenor named Piotr Beczala. The aria was Tu che a Dio spiegasti l'ali from Lucia, a live recording from the October 15, 2008, Met broadcast, posted on YouTube. I have to say, I was reluctant to hear it – not only because people say he is "the next great tenor," but because that aria – like Celeste Aïda, like Dai campi, dai prati, is an aria that exposes any and all defects in technique.

Well, I listened.

I was not prepared for what I heard.

As much as I detest comparisons like, "the Russian Caruso," or, "the Norwegian Gigli," or, "the Zimbabwean Schipa," I have to say that the first few notes reminded me of – dare I say it? – Jussi Björling. Before that first phrase was over, before Beczala even got to l'ali, I already knew that I had stumbled upon a great tenor. I looked again at the YouTube description, to make sure it really was a live recording. Part of me couldn't believe it.

For the first time in my entire life, the way I felt listening to this man sing was the same way I feel listening to recordings of the great tenors of the past. When you hear Gedda in his prime, for instance, you feel yourself almost being caressed, not by the instrument itself – because lots of people walking the street were given beautiful instruments – but by the seamless technique that only years of serious study with a great teacher can produce. The same when you hear Gigli in his prime, or Jan Peerce in his prime, or Björling or any of those greats. Nothing Pavarotti or Domingo ever recorded gives me that feeling. A few recordings of Carreras do. (If you don't believe me, listen to his La dolcissima effigie from Tokyo, 1976.) Shicoff has done it (hear his Pourquoi me réveiller from Aix-de-Provence, 1979). But here's a young man, in the prime of life and of voice at this very moment, singing the way the gods did in the 1950s!

I had to hear something else, just to make sure it wasn't a fluke. I went to Beczala.com and downloaded Che gelida manina. Now I could see him as well as hear him. (The Lucia was audio only, with a still photo.) Again, the first couple of phrases recalled Björling, while the face – the natural smile and radiance – reminded me of Wunderlich. The clarity of his tones, linked by a faultless legato, were remarkable, giving the eerie impression not only that does he not crack, but that he cannot crack.

So, so many tenors were great but for only a few seasons. (Di Stefano's prime was no more than eight seasons.) There is something in Beczala's singing that tells me he is going to last. How could anyone who went through the trouble of learning to sing that beautifully ever choose the other pathway? If he continues to resist the temptations of bigger sounds and heavier repertoire – and I believe he's going to – I think it's safe to say: We have found the tenor!

Habemus Tenorem!

Photo of Mr. Beczala © Kurt Pinter

Greatest Moments of Singing X

2010-01-02T15:48:00.003-05:00

The Great (with a capital G) Carlo Bergonzi, teaching a young tenor to sing Verdi's difficult Celeste Aïda:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E14YRffugdI

That you are witnessing one of the greatest voice teachers of the 20th century should become instantly obvious to you. But listen to CB's singing at 1:18! It is Gigli reincarnate!

Greatest Moments of Singing IX

2010-01-02T15:31:00.001-05:00

Ed Rosen called this "one of the greatest tenor performances ever!"‏ I fully agree with Ed. I give you Neil Shicoff in Pourquoi me reveiller? from Massenet's Werther (Aix-en-Provence, 1979).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wEw6zq_sTww

Greatest Moments of Singing VIII

2010-01-01T16:00:00.003-05:00

The divine Gigli singing Amor ti vieta, from another Giordano opera, Fedora.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghLEC-sLbwc

As my friend Ed Rosen correctly asked: “What could possibly be more beautiful?”

Greatest Moments of Singing VII

2010-01-01T15:55:00.004-05:00

This is actually two moments – or, two versions of the same moment! In any case, here are Tucker and Tebaldi singing, in god-like fashion, the final duet from Giordano’s masterpiece, Andrea Chénier. First, from the Ed Sullivan Show (March, 1957):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=spztxFld42Q&feature=related

And next, from a stunning live performance from Chicago a year prior:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vtaVVd6m6KI&feature=related

Singing of this quality has vanished from the face of the earth.

Greatest Moments of Singing VI

2009-12-28T15:59:00.004-05:00

I couldn't resist but share another supreme example of Caruso in a Verdi ensemble. Here is "Solenne in quest'ora" from La forza del destino. It was recorded in 1906 -- the year some say was Caruso's prime:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntGizYQjht8

The baritone was Antonio Scotti -- Caruso's friend, colleague, and compatriot (Scotti was also Neapolitan). It is said that Scotti was an invaluable advisor to Caruso in many matters of savoir faire. (Caruso, after all, came from peasant stock.)

Greatest Moments of Singing V

2009-12-28T15:55:00.003-05:00

Caruso at his utterly glorious best: the famous trio from Verdi's I Lombardi with Frances Alda and Marcel Journet.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3578_SBlxo

I love hearing Caruso in ensembles. What a great collaborative musician he was! Then, of course, that was that voice ...

Greatest Moments of Singing IV

2009-12-27T14:57:00.003-05:00

Then you had a guy named Caruso ...

I've heard it said that 1906 was Caruso's "prime." Don't know if it's true, but here in any case is the 1906 recording of Tosti's beloved Ideale:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w85mS_Z8OAQ

Greatest Moments of Singing III

2009-12-27T14:55:00.001-05:00

Who sang Tosti like Gigli?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dso0bF4xXCs

Greatest Moments of Singing II

2009-12-27T14:48:00.002-05:00

Nicolai Gedda and Erik Werba rehearse for their 17 August 1961 recital at the Mozarteum, in Salzburg. Bask in this stunning version of Richard Strauss's Heimliche Aufforderung:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4AASx6jnDTI

Hope for the Catholic Church

2009-12-25T23:56:00.005-05:00

Seems hard to believe that the following is this blog’s fiftieth post.

Recently I had the pleasure of working with a Roman Catholic priest who is, in my opinion, one of the finest liturgists in the Archdiocese. The church was filled with young people, teenagers, and young adults. What? Young people, attending a liturgy that adheres to the General Instructions of the Roman Missal (GIRM)? You mean the incense didn't scare them away? The good music didn't scare them away? The sacred silences didn't put them to sleep? You mean you can have a good liturgy, a liturgy that actually resembles a religious service, and young people will still come?

Perhaps the above is hard for some priests to believe. All the harder it will be for them to believe that this parish in question is growing and expanding.

As a child I walked into church and smelled incense. How nice to smell it again at this young, vibrant parish. At a different parish which I have served, I would walk in and smell coffee brewing (yes, in the actual sanctuary). Sacred silences were kept to a minimum, to avoid the "lulls" or "lack of momentum" that the pastor feared. The Post-Communion appeals for money were well thought out, the homilies not always. The music was carefully monitored so as not to be "too good." In short, the clergy made every effort to prevent the liturgy from being "too churchy," circumventing the GIRM at every turn, so as not to "scare away" the youth and young adults. The youth and young adults at this very same parish often voiced their preference for the very things these clerics were trying to avoid: the organ, the plainchant, the silences, the incense, the mystical aspect of the Holy Mass, even the Rosary. The youth weren't afraid of tradition; the clergy was.

Many of my colleagues are also noticing this trend. A chaplain at an important college told me in an e-mail (I quote), "The music you play is growing in popularity among the devout." The Director of Music at an important seminary told me (again, via e-mail),

Another stupid argument people make is that you have to use pop-sounding music to attract "the youth" and others who might have fallen away. This just isn't true; even if attracted temporarily by such stuff, those people usually don't stay for very long. There is a book by Marva Dawn (a Lutheran musician) called Reaching Out Without Dumbing Down. She describes a survey done of people who came back to church after being away for a long while, and the number one reason they returned was "at the invitation of a trusted friend," and not because of the pop music.

That is an interesting point that even the more fiscally minded pastors often miss. You're running a capital campaign. You're asking your parishioners for $500,000. Who's going to shell out that dough, the teenager who shows up once or twice to hear the new electric guitar band and then leaves, or the older parishioner whose family has been attending the church for 75 or 100 years? Why, then, would a pastor alienate these pillars of the church and then expect the parish to "grow"?

How nice, however, it was for me to experience these recent liturgies, carried out beautifully in every way. I felt that the most important thing to that pastor was the liturgy. Not the capital campaign, not the new school, not some poor attempt at liberation theology – the liturgy. Maybe a great liturgy in itself doesn't bring in the crowds. Maybe a bad liturgy in itself doesn't keep the crowds away. (Said coffee-brewing church is not empty, no matter how slipshod the liturgy.) However, I now know, more clearly than ever, that a beautiful Mass does not keep the youth away. Chances are, they will like it.

History's Greatest Pianists IV

2009-12-21T22:06:00.004-05:00

The greatest two-piano recording ever made: Harold Bauer & Ossip Gabrilowitsch play Arensky (1929).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLnwYotkkQU

History's Greatest Pianists III

2009-12-21T22:01:00.002-05:00

Paderewski: another pianist whose Romanticism and occasional wrong notes disqualified him from the respect of late 20th-century critics. If this isn't music-making of a great master, tell me what is.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9ZxnObmcdU

History's Greatest Pianists I

2009-12-21T20:51:00.004-05:00

When Liszt first heard Vladimir de Pachmann play, he said to the audience, "Those who have never heard Chopin before are hearing him this evening." Enough could never be said about this man's Chopin playing (see the fabulously informative website, http://nettheim.com/pachmann/ ).

And yet, critics of the second half of the 20th century dismissed him completely. Harold C. Schonberg just did not take him seriously. After all, he occasionally missed some notes! How could he?!

Here is a link to actual footage of this legend. The music you hear in the background is actually a 1925 piano roll of Pachmann's playing -- it isn't even a recording. And yet the piano roll has more nuance than the actual recordings of today's pianists.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwTw7hBZbkY&feature=related

By contrast, an actual recording (not a roll) of Pachmann playing the same piece two years previous can be heard here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3WuBOtCsYs

History's Greatest Pianists II

2009-12-21T20:49:00.005-05:00

Like Pachmann, Cortot was dismissed for much of the 20th century because he missed a couple of notes. The fact that he was one of the greatest musicians ever to touch a keyboard didn't seem to matter. My piano teacher whom I won't name but whose initials were Wha-Kyung Byun told me in a lesson, "In Korea, I listened to Cortot recordings, because that's all there was."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8E_0glY3nI&feature=related

Greatest Moments of Singing I

2009-12-19T23:44:00.004-05:00

"May I have your ear?" from The Bartered Bride (Smetana). Nicolai Gedda & Giorgio Tozzi (1959)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqClLXQFLmk

The much-more interesting world of opera

2009-12-18T11:16:00.005-05:00

Today, I posted the following on a popular organist listserv. I'm guessing the organist-types won't care so much for it. I thought you would enjoy it more!

My good friend Andrew Farkas sent me this today:

http://operachic.typepad.com/opera_chic/2009/11/gloves-off-angela-gheorghiu-blasts-alagna-he-wants-me-back-his-family-in-corriere-della-sera-intervi.html

It is entirely more interesting than anything going on in our little organist world. True, the musical and vocal level of singing has never been lower. But at least there's something INTERESTING to read about. Bigger-than-life personalities, like the Greek gods throwing lightning bolts at each other.

These folks aren't circus attractions who get 15 minutes of fame from their little trick. ("I can play 'Granada' with my ear lobes!") They do more than inspire curiosity. These are personages who dominate a stage, and what's more, they have a relationship with their audience. Their audience sees through the performer who says, "I want your attention and will stoop to absolutely anything to get it." These operatic titans are simply living their operatic lives, and they get attention because they are INTERESTING -- interesting people who are really living life -- not always cleanly, but living it they are.

Biggs and Fox were interesting. Menuhin was interesting, and he happened to be a prodigy. But just being a prodigy doesn't automatically make you interesting. (And what happens when you grow up? An old prodigy becomes like a retired baseball player, increasingly grateful for the people who still remember him. And if they're really unlucky, they live long enough that no one remembers them except some bespectacled librarian. "Oh, yes, I remember you! You pitched for the Manhattan Island Red Stockings in 1742.") Liberace was interesting, and he happened to wear sequins. But putting on sequins doesn't automatically make you interesting. There has to be something more.

Biggs and Fox had something more. Horowitz and Rubinstein had something more. And these operatic numina? Well, they don't sing so good, some of them. But boy, do they have that something more! I was on the edge of my seat reading about the Sicilian tenor and the Romanian soprano. And I immediately became sad that in my inbox today, there was nothing about organs that put me on the edge of my seat. In fact, it's not just today.

Organists as Musicians, Part II

2009-12-10T22:48:00.008-05:00

Though it may seem like an artistic step backward, this notion of mass-producing pipe organs, I think the outcome would be the opposite.

In the 19th century, builders as diverse as E. & G. G. Hook and Cavaillé-Coll had catalogs that advertised "stock models." Model 1, Small Organ, X amount of stops, Y dollars. Model 2, Medium-Sized Organ, and so forth. And yet the quality was not lower than the organs of today but higher.

Why? There are many reasons, too numerous and complex to list here. However, a very significant reason is that they had the opportunity to build and rebuild and re-rebuild the same instrument. What if piano builders had to build a brand-new design for every single piano?! Think of how flawed these experimental pianos would be! Yet this is what pipe organ builders routinely do ... reinventing the wheel each time ... requiring formidable cost on the part of the consumer ... and the results are frankly variable.

If, instead, there were a stock-model organ, developed with the same type of trial and error that a Mason & Hamlin was developed, think of the instrument that would result! Movable organs, not tied to any church or building! Predictable tone colors that composers would know how to approach! Soon enough, there would be organ chamber ensembles, and composers providing repertoire for them! And did I mention that they would not be tied to the church?

If the highest quality tracker-action pipe organ costs $30,000-$40,000 per stop, it is inevitable that companies producing pipeless organs should be able to sway the public with instruments at a fraction of the cost. As the technology increases and these instruments sound "almost like pipe organs," the pipe organ companies are going to be in real doo-doo. As soon as someone figures out how to combine the Hauptwerk® set-up with those Bose® two-tower speakers, I doubt any church will buy a pipe organ. Why should they?

If, however, some pipe organ builder heeds my advice and starts building a 10-stop portable stock model organ, at a cost of say $100,000, and if fine composers started composing repertoire for it, I think this and only this would give the non-pipe companies a run for their money. If a concert hall can spend $100,000 on a 9-foot Steinway, they can just as easily do the same for this new type of pipe organ. It won't help for Saint-Saëns or Mahler, but it would be ideal for Bach, Handel, Haydn ... and all the wonderful chamber music and concertos yet to be written!

Organists as Musicians

2009-12-10T16:11:00.005-05:00

A fascinating thread -- that is, a so-so thread that evoked a fascinating answer -- has appeared on a popular pipe organ listserv.

The poster was seeking ideas on "organ recitals with a twist." Another poster replied in part:

Organ with other solo instruments, besides brass, opens up a whole different range of repertoire, especially for 19th-21st century pieces. What you get may not be the big, splashy, all-stops-out organ fireworks, but you will get real chamber music with organ, which can draw interest from music lovers who might not otherwise attend an organ concert.

Or organ concertos with smaller, or unusual ensembles. Lots of those around from the 18th century on.

Whatever the antonym of a "can of worms" would be ("can of ... gold?"), that is what was opened up in that response.

Pianists, violinists, cellists, they all have the opportunity to make music with OTHER MUSICIANS! Fancy that: to actually leave one's practice room and make music with ANOTHER PERSON! It's not the fault of us organists: we simply don't have the chamber music repertoire that pianists, string players, woodwind players, etc. have.

This is something I thought a lot about during my teens, but I never knew how to overcome the problem of writing a work -- say, an "organ quartet" (organ, vln, vla, vc) -- that could be played on "most organs" and in "most situations."

That is: what good is writing such a piece if it would work only on 10% of organs or in 10% of choir lofts?

Many parish organists will read what I wrote about "making music with other musicians" and take great umbrage. They will hastily point out that they work regularly with their volunteer choir (heavy on the word "volunteer") or with their parishioner who happens to play the oboe (heavy on the word "parishioner"). Don't misunderstand what I'm saying: working with musicians within a parish is a great Christian opportunity, great cultural opportunity, and great community opportunity. Unfortunately, it is not always a great musical opportunity. I'm not talking about spiritual nourishment -- I have always loved working in the church. But for musical nourishment, we need to work with other musicians.

And so, I do not believe that organists will ever be as respected as other musicians unless we find a way to make chamber music viable.

So, how do we achieve that, and with what type of instruments?

Organs without pipes are not conducive to chamber music. Large, electro-pneumatic instruments (which I often enjoy) are not conducive to chamber music. Yet their movable consoles solve the basic problem of how to position the players. Therefore, the only way, in my opinion, to promote chamber music with organs is to have tracker instruments built in a way that four or five musicians can position themselves near the console and still project their sound to the audience.

However, because that would involve cooperation between organbuilders and architects -- which will never happen -- the only solution that I can see for promoting organ chamber music is the construction of small, two-manual-and-pedal pipe organs that are made to be portable.

An organbuilder should build a stock model, with Bourdons 16 & 8 in the pedal, Great Flute 8-String 8-Principal 4-Flute 2, Swell (under expression) Flute 8-Flute 4-Nazard-Principal 2-Tierce-Reed 8. The specs can be tweaked, but this instrument should be designed and mass-produced.

Yes, it would be an artistic compromise, just like the ubiquitous Steinway is an artistic compromise. But how nice to be able to compose a Piano Quintet and know, more or less, what the piano will sound like. How am I to compose an Organ Quintet if 90% of the consumers will not be able to adapt it to their instrument?

The Pianist and the Critic

2009-11-26T03:39:00.020-05:00

(The following is an article I wrote five years ago. I’d almost forgotten about it till this morning, when by chance I came across it on the web. Amazingly, it found its way to the Wladyslaw Szpilman "The Pianist" Official Homepage (http://www.szpilman.net). It is an impassioned piece that I enjoyed re-reading.)

THE PIANIST AND THE CRITIC

“Those who can’t do, review.”

by Leonardo Ciampa

Last night I finally saw Roman Polanski’s film, The Pianist. I avoided it like the plague, the bitter taste from Shine being still in my mouth. (Shine was a perfectly enjoyable movie, until I actually heard Mr. Helfgott play in real life. Perhaps he was so named because even mit der Hilfe Gottes he still can’t play accurately.)

Not so with the Pianist and its subject, Wladyslaw Szpilman.

Firstly, just in terms of moviemaking itself, The Pianist is a phenomenal artistic achievement. This fact was all the more palpable because the previous movie my wife and I had seen was Gangs of New York. In comparison to Polanski’s work, Scorsese’s was like a bad comic book. Typical Hollywood sensationalism which, starting from the very first scene, screams to the viewer, “This is not in any way realistic or even artistic. This is just an extravaganza of superficiality designed to win awards.”

The Pianist had the ring of truth from the getgo – in large part due to the fact that Szpilman’s work was written in 1946. How brave to document his tragedy so soon after it ended.

There is an old adage, “Those who can’t do, review.” It’s one of those silly sayings about which I wish I could say, “They’re not accurate – they’re just debunking expressions used by people who like to dish.” Experience, however, has told me that this expression in particular is a truthful one.
Critic Norman Lebrecht suffers from the same ailment as virtually every other critic: They seem to be against everything but for nothing. Lebrecht’s book, The Maestro Myth, is a case in point. He glories in the demystification and deflation of every great conductor under the sun. The fact, however, remains that it is harder to conduct than it is to write about conductors.

Particularly deviant are Lebrecht’s criticisms of Maestro Szpilman, in a 2002 article entitled “The Real [sic] Szpilman Revealed.” Consider the following utterances:

Whether he was a good, bad or moderate musician is immaterial to his story.

No, in fact, it was perfectly material. Here is a man who was so respected that Jews and Gentiles alike rallied to his defense. Would they have done this for just anyone? What made Szpilman stand out among the millions and millions of other Jews who faced the same fate? Obviously (at least, it would be obvious to one with a rational and healthy mind), Szpilman was a special person with a special talent.

The composer Andrzej Panufnik … failed to mention [Szpilman] either in his memoirs, or (his widow tells me) in any of their conversations. Reich-Ranicki, who knew Szpilman in the ghetto, likewise omits him from his memoirs. … None [of the other important Polish musicians] made public acknowledgement of his contribution, if any, to their careers.

Lebrecht began his article by saying, “In classical music, you’ve got to be dead to be good. Only two or three composers at any given time achieve posterity while alive. The rest go gently into that good night, praying for posthumous recognition.” Why, then, does Lebrecht contradict himself by gloating over his inability to find contemporary kudos for Szpilman? How much contemporary kudos did J. S. Bach garner? As a keyboardist, some. As a composer? Yet another case of Lebrecht’s illogic and his obsession with desecration.

Szpilman did not achieve individual renown. He appears to have been a man with no shadow.

J. S. Bach was not renowned until Mendelssohn revived the St. Matthew Passion 77 years after Bach’s death. Shadows are not always contemporaneous with the people who cast them.

On the other hand, movies tend not to be made about critics’ lives! That’s why criticism contains more ax-grinding than aural discernment.

Musical evidence has begun to emerge from the archives of Polish Radio revealing Szpilman as an artist of ironic refinement and restrained muscularity.

The evidence does not reveal this. It reveals a musician of the highest order, a Golden Age style composer-musician who seems not to have lost a thing despite six years (!) away from his craft. All that should be there is there: a well-grounded technique, a singing melody, an ear for voicing the harmony, an understanding of the structure of the music, all unified by God-given style and taste.

[The] two tapes of the Chopin Nocturne in C-sharp minor … avoid bombast, triumphalism or sentimentality.

Is that piece bombastic, triumphal, or sentimental? Perhaps, then, Szpilman was a good interpreter.

The pianist can almost be heard to smile when there was nothing to smile about.

No, it is Lebrecht who inappropriately smiles. An autographical observation!

In the ubiquitous Rachmaninov Prelude in G-sharp he makes no attempt to compete with the fingerpower of Russian masters, but tosses the piece off with near casual panache.

Incorrect. Szpilman does have fingerpower, which is why the piece sounds “easy.” How Szpilman maintained that fingerpower during those six unspeakable years shall remain one of the great mysteries of pianism.

[The] Sony Classical disc that comes out this week [is] a testament to a shy executant.

Shy? Why, because in Chopin’s Nocturnes he doesn’t pour gasoline into the piano and throw a matchin? Szpilman is one of the only pianists in history to capture Chopin’s dreamy introversion. Or do you prefer Rubinstein’s jaded versions that reek of debauchery?

The most interesting discovery on the disc is Szpilman’s own music… (etc.)

Typical critic behavior: Disarm the reader with a seemly complimentary sentence, then whip out the condescension.

In the ghetto he composed a Gershwin-like concertino for piano and orchestra, astonishingly cocky in the deadly circumstances.

Cocky? Here Lebrecht is making two ridiculous comments – one, that Gershwin’s music is cocky, two, that Szpilman’s is. Is any music that is “lighter” than Beethoven’s somehow brash? And what is the relevance of world events? In 1937 America was in a depression, the world was at the brink of war, and Cole Porter suffered an accident that would eventually result in amputation. That didn’t stop him from writing songs like Most Gentlemen Don’t Like Love, From Now On, and Get Out Of Town. Should he somehow not have been allowed to write light-hearted songs at that time?

Naggingly persistent, [the Concertino] is not a particularly likeable piece but it lodges in the ear like a grommet. It’s one of those pieces you find yourself humming and wonder where it’s from.

Typical mentality of the 20th-century music critic: If a piece is popular, it must not be good. So if the piece didn’t stay in one’s ear, would it then qualify as a masterpiece?

In a year or two, Szpilman’s music will be played no more than Górecki’s.

An easy statement to make, because in a year or two no one will remember Lebrecht’s review in order to refute it.

Leonardo Ciampa
2 February 2004

278 pages of music in 24 hours!

2009-11-22T07:18:00.005-05:00

Friends,

I didn't exactly plan it this way, but within 24 hours, not one but two major collections of my music were published -- one with 128 pages, the other with 150 pages! That makes 278 pages of my music, made available for purchase anywhere in the world. 24 hours prior it was not available. A little surreal ...

The Advent/Christmas album is the result of 20 years' worth of concerts, services, Masses, and concerts.

The Five Organ Symphonies are "Neoromantic," with individual movements suitable for both concert and church use.

To purchase:

http://www.musicamultimedia.net/cic/lang/it/composers/leonardo-ciampa/2009/11/leonardo-ciampa-25-pieces-for-advent-and-christmasleonardo-ciampa-25-pezzi-per-lavvento-e-il-natale/

http://www.musicamultimedia.net/cic/composers/leonardo-ciampa/2009/06/leonardo-ciampa-organ-symphoniesleonardo-ciampa-sinfonie-per-organo/

Addendum

2009-11-22T06:58:00.004-05:00

I am grateful for the many thoughtful comments (mostly private) on the last post. It's true that, at the moment, the organ is anything but "in." Chamber music and symphonies by Central European, German-speaking composers, written between 1775 and 1925 -- that is in. But look at how the Early Music movement was a mere curiosity in the 1950s. In the 1960s it was derided, but it was becoming prevalent enough to scare people into that derision. By the 1970s it was starting to be trendy; now people were really becoming scared. By the 1980s, Boston had more Early Music happening than the other kind. Today, most all classical musicians of any camp perform Baroque music with some sort of stylistic understanding. In 1950 it wouldn't have seemed possible.

Why can't there be a musical renaissance if there's already been a culinary one? Today you can go to a regular supermarket and find 15 kinds of whole bean coffee, 15 kinds of pasta, 15 kinds of cheese, 15 kinds of olive oil, 15 kinds of wheat bread ... As recently as 20 years ago, you had to go to expensive specialty stores for anything like that. And TV didn't have entire cooking networks -- there were Julia Child and the Frugal Gourmet, and only a couple of other smaller names. The public has become culinarily more sophisticated, more aware. It can also happen for music, and especially for the organ. In fact, I think it will.

The Future of Classical Music, or of Anything Else

2009-11-06T09:06:00.008-05:00

Being a "classical" musician (not sure what that means), it's hard not to wonder, at least occasionally, what the future of "classical" music is going to be.

Some corners of the classical music market certainly will fail. The major conservatories have already started their descent to failure, and the reason is a very simple financial one: tuition prices are moving in contrary motion to the salaries being earned by graduates, which means that the #1 fund-raising source of any school -- alumni -- is soon going to be no source at all. To put in layman's terms that even the administrators of a famous conservatory could understand: you can't teach someone to do a low-earning job and charge that person big money for the privilege.

Also on the road to failure are the major symphony orchestras. Again the reason is a simple one: people perceive that "classical music is boring," and as executed in the major concert halls, indeed it is. The last thing on Beethoven's mind -- the very, very last thing -- was a bunch of people wearing crisp tuxes, playing long programs, requiring the audience to sit for long stretches in total silence -- no one speaks to the audience, the audience speaks to no one. And, for this privilege, the ticket prices continue to climb. It defies all logic, and if fewer people are attending, it's probably for some of the same reasons that I don't attend (unless a friend is performing).

The future of opera? I won't even discuss it, because the level of singing is so low that I don't even respect the genre in the state that it's being currently perpetrated. (Recently I saw a video of a live Aïda from Verona, 1967, with an in-his-prime Bergonzi, Gencer, Cossotto, Colzani, and the list goes on. Excellect chorus. Excellent orchestra. Excellent direction by Capuana. And I remarked to my wife, "You could not even assemble a cast like this today. You could search the whole world and not even find this much talent and ability." And even if you did, you could never get from them a live, unspliced performance of this quality. Opera today is not even to be considered among serious music-making.)

There was an interesting article by Anne Midgette in yesterday's Washington Post about the topic of classical music in today's world:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/11/04/AR2009110404360.html

and many interesting blog responses, notably this one:

http://www.artsjournal.com/sandow/2009/11/quotation_of_the_day_8.html

The future of "classical music," or of anything else, will depend on the leadership not of the country but of musicians. Undoubtedly you will consider this to be exaggerated and mathematically suspicious, but I will state that 99.999% of musicians follow instead of lead. Instrumentalists apply for jobs in symphony orchestras because "that's what's done." When orchestras fail and something else becomes popular, they will apply for that thing because "now this is what's done." To survive in music is very easy. Do what isn't done. Be one of that 0.001% who is strong enough to say, "I feel passion about this, this has beauty, this has cultural value, I'm doing this." People will follow.

And who follows more obediently that a music critic? Recently a critic in a major newspaper was trying to get across how famous Gustavo Dudamel is. He wrote, "Dudamel, in case you've been living in an organ loft, is [a famous conductor, etc.]."

Here is the letter I wrote in response:

Dear [name of newspaper],

I object to Mr. [Critic]'s statement that "[Gustavo] Dudamel, in case you've been living in an organ loft, is [a famous conductor]." Some of my best friends live in organ lofts.

Sincerely yours,

Leonardo Ciampa
Cambridge, MA

They printed it.

The fact, meanwhile -- and the conservatory administrators will be the last, I mean THE LAST, ones to figure it out -- is that the pipe organ is beginning its ascent to a comeback. The reasons are numerous, but here are the two major ones:

1. Churches are gradually forsaking their organs for guitars and drums, and other churches are closing altogether, but in the meantime, there has been a spate of new pipe organs going into concert halls (see http://www.chordstrike.com/2009/06/romancing-the-pipes-an-organ-primer.html ). Secular groups are buying the closed churches, or buying and relocating the organs they contained. Strangely enough, the organ is benefiting from the church attendance crisis. The organ is gradually shaking its perceived affiliation with the church. It is an independent musical instrument, like the oboe or the piano. Because of this, people who normally would never give money to something church-related are giving money to organs and organ recitals.

2. In a world where live, acoustic music played on live, acoustic instruments has never been rarer, people are getting tired of the constant synthetic sound -- the iPods and mp3's and wmv's and TVs and CD players and every other medium of sound replication. The engineering of a pipe organ, and the physics of how it resonates in its acoustical environment, has never been more interesting to an increasingly educated society. It "sounds better." Real sound sounds an awful lot better than a Youtube recording of real sound. And there is no sound more beautiful, more varied, or more interesting than the sound of a good organ played by a good organist in good acoustics.

These are merely beginnings of the Renaissance. Carnegie Hall still reigns. Juilliard still reigns. The Met still reigns. But they are all weakening, and if you don't believe me, take a peak at their annual reports.

The Effect of Paul Manz

2009-11-01T10:01:00.017-05:00

Since Mr. Manz's death last Wednesday, I have listened, re-listened, and re-relistened to the three Pipedreams shows on Manz.

No two people are touched by the same thing in the same way. I knew a cleric who could hear Christian rock music of the lowest music and theological quality and say, "That touched my heart." Thus, these things are impossible to measure. That said, I have in these days been so touched -- in fact blessed -- by Mr. Manz's playing of his own music. It has "jumped out at me."

There are several qualities which make this man and his music remarkable and, well, touching.

A composer playing his own music. Without question, my greatest dilemma as a musician has been the inability to replicate how the composers played their own music. Even if, by some miracle, we could be certain of every articulation, rubato, and inflection of a composer, even by reproducing every one of these details, the personality, the "spirit" (and spirit is real) would never be right. Chopin is an extreme example. We know almost nothing about how he played. (Yes, I own Chopin: pianist and teacher, The Chopin Companion, and every other relevant book. So what? We still don't know what he sounded like. Or as Baron Munchhausen said, "Vass you dere, Sharlie?")

Then in 2001 I discovered the recordings of Ernesto Lecuona, playing his own music. From the "classical" point of view (I don't know what that means, but I said it anyway), the music is not on the level of Chopin, Liszt, or Debussy. But hearing Lecuona play it, it moved me on a profound level. It sounded ... well, right. Not just musically right -- spiritually right.

In 1989, in Newport, RI, I heard Charlie Callahan play the world-premiere of his Partita on "Slane." I remember seeing members of the audience in tears -- and they were musicians. Someday, a student of a student of a student of Callahan will exhume this piece and play it. And it won't be the same.

As a teenager, I played a lot of Neobaroque chorale-preludes, published by Concordia, of various composers of the Manz mold. Useful stuff for church, not all of it great. Today we know a lot more about how Baroque music was constructed. Improvisers like Bill Porter and Harald Vogel are not as rare as they once were. There are quite a few musicians today who can fashion Baroque-style music. We hear it, and in our snobbery we wonder, "How 'authentic' is it?" This week, hearing Manz play his music, the question instead was, "How right is it?"

In the context of church. The music of Manz seems even more right, because he wrote it for use on Sunday morning, during actual worship. Manz went one step further: instead of giving traditional organ recitals, he gave hymn festivals, playing hymn-based compositions and improvisations interspersed with hymns sung by all present.

I could not applaud this more loudly! We have dissected Bach's music from every angle and with every rationale. The composer whose music I most love to play is Bach. And the composer about whose music I feel the most subconscious is Bach. Every time I play a note, I imagine that I've broken ten rules. Maybe it was too legato or too staccato or, worse yet, it "wasn't in the style." What that "style" is, of course, no one knows, a fact that we've already established. It's a rather fluid thing; in ten years the "authentic style" will suddenly be something different.

But hearing Manz play his Neobaroque compositions, in the context of worship, I feel like I'm brought closer to the spirit of Bach. While the organ professors were out having fistfights over articulation, here in the Midwest, far from Boston, was a fervent Lutheran musician, improvising on Lutheran hymns during a Lutheran service. That is much closer to the Bach experience than some Bach recital by some top teacher on the trendy tracker of the time.

A good person making good music. Around 1991, I was at Duquesne University, playing what I think was the world-premiere of the Sonata for Clarinet and Piano by Elliott McKinley. It was some sort of new music festival organized by David Stock. One day, Bill Bolcom did a composition masterclass, during which the discussion somehow meandered to "good" music written by "not necessarily good" human beings. Bolcom mentioned Wagner and admitted that he wasn't sure how to reconcile the fact that great music was written by ... well, Wagner. I admired Bolcom's candor about it; he was brave enough to say, "I don't know the answer to that one."

It is a question that I've thought often of in the almost 20 years since.

There's no question that great people sometimes write bad pieces, and bad people sometimes write great pieces. And frankly, we can't always judge how "good" or "bad" a historical figure was. Some claimed that Verdi, Brahms, and other composers "believed in nothing." Chances are, they very much believed in a Higher Power but did not believe in the church hierarchy. Put differently, God's laws and church laws are not necessarily synonymous. The latter they were happy to break -- and historically the clergy themselves have been only too willing to break both categories of laws. ("Do as we say, not as we do," proclaims their conduct.)

However, what I do know is that when you have a great person writing a great piece of music, it transcends all earthly stratospheres. The greatest music of Perosi is greater than the greatest music of Wagner or some other reprobate. We have, for instance, a recording of Perosi conducting his "Giudizio Universale." This is a musical/spiritual level that Wagner never reached.

And so there is "a certain something" about the music of Paul Manz. It comes across that there is a great human being making this music. There is a simplicity -- a quality that is not childish but childlike. Manz, in his music, seemed to be behaving the way Christ admonished us to behave.

Here are the Pipedreams shows. Experience them for yourself:

http://pipedreams.publicradio.org/listings/2001/0114/

Long live the memory of Paul Manz.

RIP Paul Manz

2009-11-01T09:48:00.003-05:00

In Memoriam Paul Manz

by Scott M. Hyslop

Paul Otto Manz, internationally celebrated organist, dean of American church musicians, and composer of the internationally acclaimed motet “E’en So, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come” has died in St. Paul, Minnesota at the age of ninety years.

Manz’s life and career were filled with the honors and accolades that many performing musicians strive for yet seldom attain. With a lengthy list of performances at venues like The Kennedy Center in Washington D.C., with the National Symphony; Symphony Center in Chicago, with the Chicago Symphony; and Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis, with the Minnesota Orchestra, Manz was able to perform the canon of major works for organ and orchestra – a feat that few organists can claim. His charisma at the console made him a favorite of conductors like Leonard Slatkin, Charles Dutoit, and Henry Charles Smith.

While his career as a soloist took him around the world to splendid cathedrals and thrilling concert halls, his charisma as a musician and a servant of the church found its fullest expression in the action of leading people in congregational song. Through his work as an organist and composer, Manz reinvented the classic organ chorale of Buxtehude and Bach, giving it a new voice which spoke clearly and unapologetically with a fresh American accent. His work in this genre led him to play thousands of hymn festivals around the world – playing that excited and invigorated countless organists, church musicians and lay people who came to hear him play. Manz’s work in congregational song and liturgy can be viewed as the spark that eventually became a bonfire in which the standards for service playing and church music in this country were recast.

Even with an enviable career as a concert organist, Manz’s heart was deeply rooted in his work as a parish church musician. “Love the people you have been called to serve” was the surprising answer Manz gave when asked what one piece of advice he would offer to an individual starting out in the field of church music today. This seemingly simple response belies a depth of experience, wisdom, and faith which was formed and molded in the crucible of service to God’s people of the church over the course of a life well lived.

The only child of Otto Manz and Hulda (nee Jeske) Manz, German-Russian immigrants who had come to America to make a better life for their family, Paul Otto Manz was born on May 10, 1919, in Cleveland Ohio. At age five, Manz began piano lessons. Two years later, upon the advice of his first piano teacher, Emily Dinda, Manz began studying piano and organ with Henry J. Markworth at Trinity Lutheran Church in Cleveland, Ohio. In order to study with Markworth, Manz had to agree to take two lessons at the piano for every lesson at the organ. Upon completion of the eighth grade, Manz entered Concordia High School in River Forest, Illinois, eventually matriculating into their teacher training program.

While a student at Concordia, Manz also began private organ studies at the American Conservatory in Chicago with the eminent American organist Edwin Eigenschenk, a student of Bonnet and Vierne. Manz would go on to further study with the eminent Bach scholar Albert Riemenschneider at Baldwin Wallace College in Berea, Ohio, and Edwin Arthur Kraft at Trinity Cathedral in Cleveland. Formal studies at the graduate level were pursued by Manz at the University of Minnesota, where he was a student of Arthur B. Jennings, and in 1952 he received his Master’s degree in organ performance from Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois.

In 1956 Manz received a Fulbright grant for study with Flor Peeters at the Royal Conservatory of Music in Antwerp, Belgium. An extension of the Fulbright provided Manz with the opportunity to work with Helmut Walcha at the Dreikönigskirche in Frankfurt, Germany. Manz would subsequently return to Belgium for three more summers to study with Peeters. The bond between Peeters and Manz grew so close over the ensuing years that the Belgian government invited Manz to be the official United States representative in state ceremonies honoring Flor Peeters on his 80th birthday and his 60th year as titular organist of the Cathedral of Saint Rombaut in Mechelen, Belgium. At that time, Flor Peeters referred to his former student as "my spiritual son."

In 1943, Manz married Ruth Mueller, a union which was blessed with four children: David, who died at birth; Michael, who died unexpectedly in 2006; John, and Peter. Following the deaths of Ruth’s brother, Herbert Mueller, in 1961 and his wife Helene, in 1964, the Manzes took in their four orphaned children, Mary, Anne, Sara, and John, increasing their family number to nine. Through all of life’s vicissitudes Ruth was Paul’s partner in every sense of the word, and he has been quoted as saying, “Without her I would probably be playing piano in a bar somewhere. Ruth has been the cantus firmus in our home and for our children, whom I treasure, while I practiced, taught, played and wrote.” Through the course of their 65 years of marriage, Paul and Ruth shared an exceptionally close relationship until her death in July of 2008. Her influence on his work and career cannot be underestimated.

Upon graduation from Concordia in 1941, Manz filled positions as teacher, principal and musician with several parishes in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin and St. Paul, Minnesota. In 1946, Manz received a call to Mt. Olive Lutheran Church in Minneapolis, where he served as full-time director of Christian education and music, an affiliation that would last for 37 years. Over the course of his service at Mt. Olive, Manz’s job description would change several times as the congregation made every effort to nurture and share his gifts with the church-at-large. A man of many sought-after talents, Manz served on the faculties at the University of Minnesota and Macalester College in St. Paul before he accepted a call in 1957 to serve as professor and chair of the Division of Fine Arts at Concordia College in St. Paul. Rather than lose him, Mt. Olive arranged for Paul’s duties to be pared down, allowing him to share his gifts at both institutions.

Manz would serve for many happy years at Concordia. Noteworthy among his numerous accomplishments during his tenure was his establishment of a sound program of music studies with a well-trained and distinguished faculty. His ultimate achievement at Concordia was the fulfillment of the dream that the Fine Arts Division of the school would have its own facility replete with rehearsal rooms, classroom space, and an auditorium complete with a concert pipe organ – designed by Manz, as well as well-designed studios for the art department. Shortly after the realization of this dream, Manz would find himself caught in the whirlwind and cruel chaos that enveloped the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod at that time. His own convictions, coupled with deeply personal connections to the fray, left Manz with little choice but to resign his position at Concordia. He returned to full-time parish service, this time as Cantor at Mt. Olive with a specific mandate from the parish to use his many gifts in the service of the church catholic.

In 1983, after 37 years of service at Mt. Olive, Paul and Ruth Manz pulled up stakes and began a new chapter of ministry in Chicago, where Manz received a double call to serve as Christ Seminex Professor of Church Music and Artist in Residence at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, and as Cantor at the Evangelical Lutheran Church of St. Luke. Manz retired from LSTC in September of 1992, but this retirement was merely a change of direction that provided an opportunity for friends and colleagues to encourage him to share his wealth of knowledge through workshops and master classes throughout the country. The dream was formalized with the creation of the Paul Manz Institute of Church Music based at the Church of St. Luke in Chicago. The Institute enabled him to continue to give lavishly and selflessly to others in the church, drawing from his own wealth of education and experience.

After a lifetime of faithful service as a church musician, in 1999 Paul Manz retired from the Paul Manz Institute of Church Music and St. Luke Church at age 80. The Manzes moved back to Minneapolis to be closer to family and friends.

Although it was Manz’s intent to keep performing from his base in Minneapolis, his life would soon take another direction. In May of 2000, while in North Carolina preparing to dedicate a new organ at an Episcopal Church in Hendersonville, Manz was stricken with sepsis. While Manz’s life was spared, his hearing was greatly compromised. After months of difficult recuperation it became apparent that he would not be able to play again.

The esteem and respect with which Paul Manz was regarded is seen in the numerous honorary doctorates, and honors he received over the course of his career. Northwestern University, his alma mater, presented him with the prestigious "Alumni Merit Award"; Trinity Lutheran Seminary of Columbus, Ohio bestowed the "Joseph Sittler Award for Theological Leadership”; The Lutheran School of Theology, Chicago presented him with the distinguished "Confessor of Christ Award"; The Chicago Bible Society presented him with the "Gutenberg Award"; and the Lutheran Institute of Washington, DC honored him with the first "Wittenberg Arts Award".

Paul Manz’s organ and choral works are internationally known and are used extensively in worship services, recitals, and teaching, and by church and college choirs. His motet “E’en So, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come”, having sold over one million copies, is regarded as a classic and has been performed and recorded in the United States and abroad. Manz’s life and work is the subject of a doctoral dissertation, published in 2007 by MorningStar Music Publishers in St. Louis, Missouri as The Journey Was Chosen: The Life and Work of Paul Manz.

Composer, recitalist, teacher, minister of the Word, clinician, author, organ consultant, faithful servant -- all facets of Paul Manz’s life shone as sure and faithful reflections of the hope, joy and peace which God has promised to us.

Paul is survived by his children, daughter-in-law Patricia Manz (Michael, deceased) of Spokane, John Manz (Ellen Anderson Manz) of Saint Paul, Mary Mueller Bode (Joel, deceased) of Saint Paul, Peter Manz (Stephanie Cram) of Portland, Anne Mueller Klinge (David) of Saint Louis, Sarah Mueller Forsberg (Dale) of Minneapolis, and John Mueller of Spokane. Twelve grandchildren: Erik Manz (Kimberly), David Manz (Caitlin) Rachael M. Manz, Rachel C. Manz, Rebekah Manz, Sarah Bode Selden (Dave), Katherine Edmonds, Erin Klinge Eftink (David), Jessica Klinge Hemmann (Scott), Laura Klinge, Peter Forsberg, Anna Forsberg, and five great grandchildren; many treasured friends, colleagues, former students, and legions of people in the pews. Through the example of his life, through the legacy of his family, and ultimately through the legacy of music that he graced us with to stir our souls, to excite our imaginations, and to enable our prayer and proclamation, we hear Paul Manz say,

Thank you for the grace of singing with me across the years in good times and in bad, when our words have stuck in our throats and when our eyes have overflowed with joy. It has ever been a Song of Grace: ‘Love to the loveless shown that we might lovely be.’ I have just been the organist. Thank you for letting me play.

(Mr. Hyslop is the author of The Journey Was Chosen: The Life and Work of Paul Manz. To purchase this book: http://www.ohscatalog.org/jowaschliand.html )

MIT Chapel Concerts

2009-09-27T15:54:00.006-04:00

(updated on October 1, 2009)

Friends,

I'm happy to announce a new series of noontime organ recitals in the MIT Chapel. I am coordinating the series, which is under the aegis of the MIT Office of Religious Life.

The fall series will comprise five consecutive Thursdays, Oct. 22 to Nov. 19, inclusive. The concerts will be from 12 to 12:30 p.m. I will play the first two concerts (Oct. 22 & 29); the organists for the other three concerts will be Joshua Lawton (Nov. 5), Paul Cienniwa (Nov. 12), and Lee Ridgway (Nov. 19).

The Chapel organ, built by the Holtkamp Organ Company in 1955 (their Op. 1674), is an exquisite example of the organ building of that era. It remains unaltered and, thus, is one of the most important historic organs of that period of American organ building. The instrument is wed felicitously with the acoustics and architecture of Saarinen's renowned chapel.

The Chapel organ dates from Holtkamp's finest period: the tenure of Walter Holtkamp, Sr. (1894-1962), who was president from 1951 till his death in 1962. Many important installations date from this period, including the organ at Crouse College (Syracuse University), as well as our own Kresge Auditorium.

For more information on different ways that you might support these concerts, click here.

To hear this beautiful organ in a worship setting, there is a non-denominational prayer service held every Tuesday morning from 8:30 to 8:50 (preludes at 8:25). I am the organist for this short but meaningful service.

Photos by Leonardo Ciampa (29 September 2009).

Mark Twain V

2009-09-08T12:30:00.006-04:00

All publishers are Columbuses. The successful author is their America. The reflection that they -- like Columbus -- didn't discover what they expected to discover, and didn't discover what they started out to discover, doesn't trouble them. All they remember is that they discovered America; they forgot that they started out to discover some patch or corner of India.

*

[Henry H. Rogers said:] "Business has its laws and customs and they are justified; but a literary man's reputation is his life; he can afford to be money poor but he cannot afford to be character poor; you must earn the cent per cent and pay it."

*

Unconsciously we all have a standard by which we measure other men, and if we examine closely we find that this standard is a very simple one and is this: we admire them, we envy them, for great qualities which we ourselves lack. Hero worship consists of just that. Our heroes are the men who do things which we recognize with regret and sometimes with a secret shame that we cannot do. We find not much in ourselves to admire, we are always privately wanting to be like somebody else. If everybody was satisfied with himself there would be no heroes.

*

Oxford is healing a secret old sore of mine which has been causing me sharp anguish once a year for many, many years. ... In these past thirty-five or forty years I have seen our universities distribute nine or ten thousand honorary degrees and overlook me every time. ... This neglect would have killed a less robust person than I am, but it has not killed me; it has only shortened my life and weakened my constitution; but I shall get my strength back now. ... Now then, having purged myself of this thirty-five years' accumulation of bile and injured pride, I will drop the matter and smooth my feathers down and talk about something else.

The Italian (& Hungarian) sides of Joe Maneri

2009-09-07T14:35:00.020-04:00

Friends,

I know many of you have been waiting for a (to use one of Joe's favorite adjectives) heavy-duty post from me. Certainly the man whom I said was both "one of the greatest musicians of our time" and "like a father to me" was someone about whom I would have something to say.

Well, I still can't bring myself to write it.

A book could, and should, and will, will written about him. Several, I'm sure. But to reduce him to one blog post? It would be easier to arrange a ten-minute piano work entitled, "Highlights from Beethoven's Last Five Piano Sonatas."

I did, however, find a journal entry that I wrote several months back. It is not even the tip of the iceberg -- it is a snowflake on top of the tip of the iceberg. Still, I think begins to hint at the immensity of my feelings:

3 April 2009

Today was the day that I learned that Joe had a heart attack two weeks ago, and now has congestive heart failure. So it's only natural that I wanted to get some thoughts on paper.

I'm sure I will write something about Joe. And I'm sure it will be viewed by some as a student's adulation for his teacher, something not "impartial."

Well, I will tell you this:

If you went to the home of the greatest Italian chef who ever lived, and you tasted the greatest ravioli ever created by the hand of mankind, and if your reaction was, "Those ravioli are pretty good," that is not impartiality. That is inaccuracy.

If I use superlatives to describe Joe, it shows that he must be very great. If he were not very great, why would I want to write about him? And why would I write with superlatives if he were "normal"?

For to state that "Joe Maneri was within the range of normal" would be an inaccuracy. He was well beyond the range of normal. The only honest thing is to describe a great man with great terms. If through my writing the subject emerges as someone "great," that is not my fault. I am merely reporting a fact.

Joe and I spent many hours -- who knows how many? -- listening to and talking about Italian opera and song. Though Joe had a thoroughly German training with Josef Schmid (1890-1969), his heart and his upbringing were equally thoroughly Italian. At the time it was the furthest thing from my mind that I was "influencing him" in any way. I was simply sharing, and anyone who knew him knew that he was a limitlessly generous man who had a gift for drawing the loves and passions out of those around him. It was natural for his students and friends to share what was in their hearts.

Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana was an opera known and loved by countless Sicilians of Joe's parents' generation. Though many musicians and musicologists persist in thinking of this work as being "crude" and, in the worst sense of the word, "pesanty," Joe found much sophistication in it. I can still hear Joe singing the cello theme that opens Scene II -- that heart-breaking F# minor melody. There is a spot where Mascagni uses an F major 6/4 chord, with the cellos playing an open C. Quite a distant chord in F# minor. Joe told me, "When I first played that chord, I cried."

I had trouble holding back the tears when, following Joe's funeral, I was at the Maneri home, seated at the Knabe piano that used to be his mother's, with the old yellowed score of Cavalleria on the rack. I couldn't bring myself to play Scene II, but I played the Prelude. There are no words for the sadness I felt. I think I was sad in particular because I realized, at that moment, how sophisticated that music really is. Joe was right all along, yet the world was years from realizing it. The story of his life.

I often brought CDs of Caruso and Gigli, singing Verdi, Puccini, and of course Mascagni, but also Tosti. Many times did I play Tosti for Joe on one or another of the various pianos in the Maneri residence. On one of these occasions, Joe said to me, "You know, I have to tell you, I think that Paolo Tosti is really my favorite composer."

Joe once paid me a compliment that, at the time, I didn't think I deserved in the slightest way. Today, I think there may have been some truth in it. He said, "You've influenced my teaching. Before my teaching was too German. But because of you, I put more of the Italian in there."

Another composer whom Joe loved in a way that few people realized was Franz Liszt.

Liszt was a lot like Joe. Liszt had a comprehensive knowledge and understanding of all other music and musicians of his time. Liszt encouraged the musicians around him and treated them with the utmost generosity. Liszt pushed tonality ten or twenty years before the rest of the musical world as a whole started pushing it. Liszt plunged depths of spirituality and profundity, yet his detractors insisted he was "posing." All of that could be said about Dr. Maneri.

Once, I had a beautiful print made of Liszt seated at the piano (see image) and had it professionally framed. I don't remember the occasion; Joe's birthday, maybe? Anyhow, when he saw it, he went wild! He looked at it as if to know everything that Liszt was thinking at the time of the photo. It would be a little cliché to say that "it was like Joe knew him." What it was was: Joe really related to him. And he got very excited every time we talked about him.

Once, in class, Joe unexpectedly asked me to go to the piano and sightread (!) several of Liszt's late, mysterious piano works (Nuages Gris and one or two others). These works profoundly moved and fascinated Joe. After all, they were, in the best sense of the phrase, "ahead of their time."

I knew Joe since I was eight or nine years old, before he became my teacher. In September of 1989, during Orientation Week at the conservatory, many of the teachers gave a please-take-my-class demonstration. I could write a small book just about the demonstration that Joe gave that day! But I will mention only one thing which relates to the discussion about "ahead of one's time."

One very misunderstood aspect of Joe was his total humility, which to many seemed to be total arrogance. It wasn't. For instance, once in class Joe said (verbatim), "I'm so amazing it's scary, and I say that with the deepest humility." There wasn't a shred of arrogance in that statement. Joe gave every nanogram of credit, for every great thing inside him, to the Lord. If you knew him, you understood the simplicity and honesty of such statements.

Anyhow, here we were in September of '89 during Orientation Week. Joe's telling us the story of something that happened only a week before. He was cleaning out his swimming pool, and he combined chlorine with something else, and he couldn't breathe, and Sonja had to rush him to the hospital, and it took five hours for them to get him to breathe normally again. Joe then said -- and he couldn't say it without laughing -- "Had I died, ha ha ha, had I ha ha ha died, it would have set the world back 50 years."

That, too, was a humble statement. Joe was merely stating the truth.