This has been a banner winter for me and Monsieur Poulenc; I’ve had the opportunity to play all or part of his organ concerto sixteen times in performance. Once, last November, with the Bay Area Rainbow Symphony (B.A.R.S.), twice in January with the Santa Cruz County Symphony, and thirteen times with the San Francisco Symphony (an excerpt for their series of Children’s Concerts). The piece is stupendous, beautifully written, a joy to play, and a joy to listen to. Even the symphony players tell me that they never get tired of hearing it. There’s something in the harmonic language which Poulenc uses which feels ever-fresh – just the right mix of dissonance, consonance, and jazz harmonies (albeit before jazz was really invented).
The last time I played the piece was in the mid-90s, for the re-dedication of the organ at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in San Francisco. That was too long ago to be able to approach the score with any kind of arrogant confidence that the music would be back in my fingers with only a modest amount of practice. No, I found that I needed to spend many hours re-learning the music, often re-fingering passages which I had written in from 15 years ago. It was time well-spent. In the case of the full renditions of the concerto, the audience was captivated by the gravitas of the organ sound, the references to Bach and a religious quality (Poulenc’s own admission), and the complication of the music. The piece is actually the first major concerto to be written for organ since the time of Handel. Yes, there are some works that are called Organ Concerti by Rheinberger, but they’re not in the same league as a major concerto. The organ has always been an orchestra in itself; so I think most composers have shyed away from using it as a concerto instrument against a full orchestra. Fortunately, in the twentieth century, we see that changing (Copland, Lou Harrison, Jongen, many others).
The concerto with B.A.R.S. was at Calvary Presbyterian Church, with a very large organ that was well-suited to the Poulenc sonority. I thoroughly enjoyed that experience. But the organ I used with the Santa Cruz Symphony was an electronic. Musically, I was even more secure than I had been for the November concert, but playing on an electronic is not fulfilling to an organist. The sounds don’t mesh in any kind of way that is convincing. The orchestra objected vociferously to the organ speakers. What other professional instrumentalist would play an electronic alternative? Funny question, perhaps. But I found the touch of the electronic organ less conducive to rhythmic accuracy (even though one would think that would be the least of one’s worries) than playing on the pipe organ. Something about the way the brain and fingers learn to compensate for the time delay between the depressing of a key and the actual moment the sound reaches the ear. With the electronic organ, I never seemed to get the hang of it.
Nonetheless, I don’t fault anyone for it. The performance was in two separate spaces, neither of which was fitted with a pipe organ. It’s either: use an electronic organ or don’t do the piece at all. Given that alternative, I’ll go with the electronic.
The kiddie concerts with the San Francisco Symphony found the kids loving the organ sound. I heard from one of their teachers that they talked about the organ all afternoon. That pleases me no end. I’ve always believed that it was only a matter of getting the sound out to people before they would understand the majesty and wonder of the organ as a musical instrument.
So, what’s going through my head as I’m playing this music? For one thing, I’m imagining being in France, surrounded by the sights, smells, and feeling of that country. I feel like I’m channeling Poulenc’s message as I play. What is that message? Can it be reduced to words? I doubt it. But I do know that I feel like my job is to assist in making the music come alive in a unique way for each of the people listening. If I’m unprepared, I will feel nervous which will detract from my ability to get out of the way of the music. Likewise, if I’m blasé about it, nothing will happen other than notes. Somewhere, locked inside the pages of notes, is a heart of awe that is awaiting expression. This isn’t frolic-in-the-park music, nor is it Frankenstein-scary music. Poulenc had just had a bit of a conversion experience when he wrote this piece. Think the mystery of a dark Catholic cathedral.
The honor which one feels at the opportunity to make music with so many stellar musicians, all of whom are there to help me serve the music to the public, is humbling. Time stands still to me as this piece happens. Will the chance to do this music come along again? One never knows that answer. I choose to perform it as if it will be my only shot at making music in this way.