The question of the relationship between socially engaged biblical scholars and ordinary poor and marginalised readers of the Bible lies at the heart of this chapter. While it may seem strange to begin an essay on 'The Bible and the poor' with such a statement, liberation theologies in their various forms all emerge from the interface between socially committed theologians and ordinary Christians from poor and marginalised communities. The task of this chapter is to understand the contours of the interface more clearly.

As most of the readers of this volume are probably from the First World, we must begin by making it quite clear that liberation theologies are different from First World theology.1 It is not just that liberation theologies have a different content, they are more profoundly different in that they have a different methodology. ‘The established methodology of First World theology – often regarded as a universally valid norm – has recently been challenged. The challenge comes from different quarters in Africa, Asia, and Latin America, but it also comes from certain groups within the First World, e.g., from Christians within the feminist and labour movements.’

The following summary may serve as an introduction to the modes, the basis of all organ music through to the seventeenth century. The voice-ranges of the twelve modes are given, the white note being the key-note. All are in their untransposed state with the exception of modes II and XI, which have been transposed respectively up a fourth and down a fifth, reflecting common usage. All pairs of modes function regularly:in the odd-numbered modes Tenor (and Soprano) use the authentic scale, Alto and Bass the plagal scale. In the even-numbered modes the roles are reversed except in the case of mode IV,which is often almost indistinguishable from mode III, having sometimes a smaller range, sometimes a larger one, especially at the upper end of the Soprano. In all cases it is quite normal to extend the voice-range occasionally by one or possibly two notes. For further reading see Meier 1992 and the present writer’s introduction to his edition of Giovanni de Macque’s Ricercari sui Dodici Toni.Unless otherwise stated, the descriptions represent a précis of the widely-known account of the modes given by Gioseffo Zarlino in his Le istitutioni harmoniche of 1558.

In 1648 the devastating Thirty Years War was ended by the Peace of Westphalia. Though this left some Catholic areas in essentially Lutheran north and central Germany (and southern Protestant areas too, like Nuremberg and Württemberg, including Stuttgart) it was in the south that the Catholic heartlands lay. From Baden in the south-west, they ran through parts of Swabia (including the publishing centre of Augsburg) and Bavaria (Munich pre-eminent) with the large bishoprics of Passau and Salzburg leading to the expanses of the Austrian Empire in which Vienna and Prague were the major centres. These areas had always looked south of the Alps for trade and culture. After the War, with the revival of Catholic Counter-Reformation confidence, Italian baroque art-forms were eagerly adopted, while the desire of many German princelings for monarchical splendour, in the style of Louis XIV, made their courts increasingly receptive to French taste also. The raising of the Turkish siege of Vienna in 1683 and ensuing victories reinforced both the prestige of the imperial Viennese court and the mood of religious triumph in Austria and her supporting German principalities. This was reflected in the many powerful monasteries, such as Melk, Weingarten and Ottobeuren, rebuilt in the first half of the eighteenth century in a dazzling conjunction of princely and celestial glory – artistically, the climax of a process of original re-interpretation of forms invented in Italy and France (the organ at Melk is shown in Figure 14.1).

Although modern etymologists would question Burney's appropriation of a Greek word with a general meaning (organon seems to have meant a tool with which to do a job of work) for so specific a purpose, it would be hard to deny that the pipe organ in its most developed form is structurally the largest, and (for sheer variety of effect) musically the most comprehensive of all instruments. And if by ‘harmonious’ is meant the capacity to order diverse elements and bring them into concord with one another for a common purpose, then Burney's claim for the organ, with its multiplicity of sound-producing and mechanical parts, can surely be substantiated.

At its most basic, the organ is a simple wind instrument. It consists of a grooved chest supporting a set of pipes, bellows to supply wind to the pipes, and some sort of mechanism to cause the pipes to sound. Though such simplicity is now rare it perfectly well describes the sort of organ depicted in medieval illuminated manuscripts (Figure 1.1). The path from such modest instruments to giant modern organs boasting four or five keyboards, 32 pipes, dozens of registers, sophisticated stop controls and electrical blowing apparatus encompasses a complex and fascinating process of development in which music, technology, architecture, liturgy, industrial organisation and changing taste all play a part.

Introduction

The ancient Greek philosopher Zeno of Citium (c335–263 BC) tells us that the reason we have two ears and only one mouth is so that we may hear more and speak less. We could dismiss this utterance from the founder of the Stoics in Athens as mere wishful thinking on the part of one who argued that the elements of physics and logic must serve the element of ethics; we might even declare it to be rubbish! Paradoxically, there are some grains of truth in his statement. Two ears do hear more than one; we experience binaural summation. At least for moderate intensities, a sound heard in two ears at once does seem to be about twice as loud as the same sound heard in one ear only. Our hearing system must obviously be ‘wired’ differently from our seeing system – closing one eye does not change the brightness of the scene in front of us. Nevertheless, binaural summation really has little to do with the main purpose of the two-eared system we have inherited.

We have two ears so that we may hear more, but in the late twentieth century AD the word ‘more’ has to be interpreted in a subtle way. Our ears allow us to use, quite unconsciously, very small time differences (and, at high frequencies, intensity differences) associated with the binaural reception of sound, for location and discrimination within a complex acoustic environment. A solo violin or clarinet represents a localised source of sound for the listener, who is able to recognise the particular type of instrument through its tone quality or timbre.

Introduction

Frescobaldi is obviously central to any discussion of Italian organ music. What is sometimes forgotten is that, like J. S. Bach, he comes at the end of a great tradition – at least as far as Italy is concerned. His most important pupil and follower was Froberger. Through him, and indirectly through others such as Kerll, Frescobaldi was to exercise considerable influence on German keyboard music, not least on Bach himself.

The great age of Italian organ building was already in decline when Frescobaldi was born in 1583. The last large instrument to be built was that by Luca Blasi for St John Lateran in Rome in 1598. The new enormous basilica of St Peter's where Frescobaldi was to serve most of his lifetime never had an organ commensurate with its size, its importance or the stature of its organist. Most seventeenth-century Italian organs do not extend below 8 C and have a range of four octaves (C/E–a2 or c3). Virtually all Frescobaldi's music can be played on such an instrument quite satisfactorily. This has given rise to the idea that the Italian organ was always a small instrument, especially since many such organs still exist and because the basic format remained unchanged for another two centuries. The bulk of this chapter will therefore attempt to explain the Italian scene up to Frescobaldi, relating its music not only to the large instruments that survive (e.g. San Petronio, Bologna, 1471; Arezzo Cathedral, 1534; San Giuseppe, Brescia, 1581; St John Lateran, Rome, 1598 – all of these based on 16′ or 24′ principali) but also smaller 6′ and 4′ organs.

A survey of French organ music before 1800 is bound to recognise the unique flowering of the years 1660 to 1740. The repertory of this period is often referred to as ‘classical’, the term ‘baroque’ ill suiting, according to some commentators, the essential nature of its musical language. The corpus of extant music is large and includes music by well-known and versatile composers such as Guillaume-Gabriel Nivers (1632–1714), François Couperin (1668–1733) and Louis-Nicolas Clérambault (1676–1749). Others, such as Jacques Boyvin (1653–1706), André Raison (d. 1719) and Pierre Dumage (1674–1751), are known only for their organ music. The work of these composers merits pride of place in an account of French organ music of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

The publications of the last forty years of the seventeenth century stand out as the central monument in the classical school (see Table 12.1). They emanate from the period in French history when Louis XIV outstripped all his European rivals in cultural endeavour. The beginning of his reign, from 1660, marks the coming of age of French baroque music. The Italian artists and musicians, imported by Cardinal Mazarin (1602–61) to boost the claims of Italian culture over French, left in the early 1660s, bereft of their patron. The more or less final manifestation of their struggle was the performance in Paris in 1662 of Cavalli's Ercole amante, an event noted for the success of the additional dance music by the young Jean-Baptiste Lully rather than Cavalli's score. The moment was ripe for a resurgence of national identity and pride in French art.

Introduction

Iberian organ music to c1700 is traditional, in that the principles of composition in the works of composers of the siglo de oro, such as Morales and Victoria, are essentially maintained in the various types of organ music through the seventeenth century. There is the lasting impression that, although ornamentation and registration are becoming increasingly elaborate, the musical motet style of c1500 provides the basic technical structure right up to Cabanilles; colour and elaboration are applied within this style rather than constituting a part of some new way of composing, as in French or German late seventeenth-century organ music. Iberian composers, however they may compare for progressiveness and even technical ability with their contemporaries in other European countries, show tremendous musical expressiveness and conviction in their works. It is conspicuous that composers of vocal music (e.g. Morales, Guerrero, Cebollas, Victoria) and those for organ described here are almost mutually exclusive. Organists did not always occupy the position of maestro de capilla: Cabezón was musico de cámara y capilla to Philip II, Aguilera's position in Huesca (Aragon) was designated Portionarius et organis praeceptor, while Correa de Arauxo and Cabanilles were organists in Seville and Valencia respectively. Most likely there were regional characteristics: Francisco Peraza, Diego del Castillo as well as Correa lived in Seville, while Aguilera, Jimenez and Bruna were active in Zaragoza, but because of the relatively small quantity of surviving music and instruments any definite conclusions could be misleading.

J. S. Bach's modest response to compliments on his organ playing is perhaps the most authoritative and succinct account of that art. However, playing ‘the right notes at the right time’ on the organ is more complicated than it may at first appear. Although organists do not produce the tone of their instrument and are unable to create variations of dynamics and timbre through touch, crafting a musical line from the static quality of organ sound demands an extremely sensitive approach to articulation and to timing the notes that make a musical phrase. The art of playing the organ resides almost exclusively in articulation and timing; these nuances are what distinguishes the organist's technique of touch from that of typists and stenographers, who are also concerned with striking the right keys. For the latter, the way the keys are depressed and released matters little as long as the text is captured in print as quickly as possible. In order to make music on the organ, however, a mechanical approach to accuracy is insufficient; the organist must cultivate different ways of depressing and releasing keys to create the musical nuances possible in other instruments where the tone is produced by the player.

The dynamic stability of the organ makes it ideal for the performance of counterpoint since each line is heard at approximately the same loudness and timbre throughout the compass of any combination of stops. It is not surprising that the instrument’s most cherished repertoire is contrapuntal, because the independence of the parts is brought out by the uniformity of organ tone. The player’s task is to articulate each line of polyphony so that it can be heard clearly, even in reverberant acoustical settings.

The notation of music is at best an approximation of the timbre, quality and placement of sounds in time. Musicians universally rely upon aural traditions to fill in notational gaps, and this is especially true in keyboard training, which usually takes place in individual lessons where the teacher instructs the pupil through verbal descriptions and practical demonstrations. Traditions of interpretation are passed from generation to generation through this personal contact where ambiguities arising from the descriptions can be clarified by the demonstrations. Over time, changing musical aesthetics are reflected in changing approaches to interpretation, so that the performance traditions for earlier musics are gradually transformed. This is especially true for the organ's vast repertoire, which spans a wide chronological and geographical spectrum with many variations in musical style and organ building. To perform this music convincingly today, it may be helpful to assess relevant information preserved in historical organs, treatises on keyboard technique, and sources of music. This chapter presents a selective historical overview of fingering, ornamentation and rhythmic alteration as practised in the performance of organ music until the time of Bach.

Sixteenth-century German sources

The first written sources to describe aspects of organ-playing technique date from the sixteenth century, when instrumental music was developing independently of vocal forms and printing enabled experts to disseminate their teaching through practical tutors. The earliest of these for organists was published in Mainz in 1511 by Arnolt Schlick. Entitled Spiegel der Orgelmacher und Organisten, the treatise deals with such pragmatic issues as constructing a smooth responsive action and voicing pipes well. His infrequent remarks on performance concern the organist’s position at the instrument [113] and provide guidelines on registration.

The organ and liturgy stand in close relationship. The construction of organs in the churches of Western Christendom, and their use in its liturgies, is the phenomenon to which is owed the existence of most of our organ literature. Our critical appreciation of organ music is deeply coloured by a knowledge of the context of its composition and performance, including inevitably the liturgical conditions which gave it purpose and shape. Without such knowledge some of the repertory can be unintelligible, and much of it less rich in significance.

There are obvious reasons why the organ was developed within the context of liturgical buildings and liturgical purpose. In the history of Western civilisation it was the only single instrument capable of providing an adequate level and diversity of sound in large and sometimes acoustically intractable buildings. This is still true today, if we except electro-acoustic options. To produce this mass of sound, it had the advantage of relative ease of operation though not of construction. Its place in ecclesiastical buildings was underwritten by scriptural authority, notably Psalm 150 with its reference to ‘laudate eum in chordis et organo’, whatever the significance of the vulgate term ‘organo’ is against the Hebrew original. As to its desirable effect on the faithful, Cardinal Bona had little doubt: ‘the sound of the organ’, he wrote in his De divina psalmodia (Paris, 1663), ‘brings joy to the sorrowful soul, evokes the happiness of the heavenly city, rouses the lazy, refreshes the watchful, induces love in the just, and brings the sinner to repentance’.

When J. S. Bach applied for the post of organist at the Jakobikirche in Hamburg in 1720 he had hoped to inherit one of the most famous organs in north Germany (see Figure 15.1). Like many of the finest organs of the period it was an instrument that had been enlarged several times over, most recently by the most famous of all north German builders, Arp Schnitger. Earlier builders including members of the Scherer family had contributed to the fifty-three-stop instrument of three manuals and pedals recorded by Michael Praetorius (Praetorius 1619/1985: 168), and in 1635 Gottfried Fritzsche had added a fourth manual and new Rückpositiv. Schnitger, who had just completed an enormous instrument for the nearby Nikolaikirche (four manuals, with sixty-seven stops including a 32′ Posaune as well as a 32′ Principal for the case), completely replaced all the workings of the organ, keeping most of the flue pipework but adding a new set of fourteen reed stops. Bach made no secret of his admiration for the north German organs he encountered, and had the greatest respect for particular celebrated combinations of player and instrument, notably Johann Reincken at the Katharinenkirche in Hamburg, Georg Böhm at the Johanniskirche in Lüneburg, and Dieterich Buxtehude at the Marienkirche in Lübeck.

Recently it has once again become possible to experience something of the overwhelming power and beauty of one of these large north German instruments that Bach knew. The organ at the Jakobikirche in Hamburg survived the Second World War by being temporarily dismantled, and in 1993, exactly 300 years after Schnitger finished his work on the instrument, Jürgen Ahrend rebuilt the organ in its Schnitger form, having already benefited from the experience of restoring other notable Schnitger instruments in the Netherlands and Germany.

Pre-Reformation organ music

No English organ music from before 1500 has survived. There are a few earlier instances that are sometimes cited, but they can all be discounted for one reason or another. The pieces in the Robertsbridge Codex, which date from about 1320, are probably of French or Italian origin, despite the fact that they have been preserved in England (Caldwell 1973: 1–9). The Buxheimer Orgelbuch, compiled in Germany about 1470, includes transcriptions of some sacred and secular vocal pieces by John Dunstable, but these are only intabulations by a German organist and not original keyboard settings by Dunstable. One other piece sometimes thought to be an early example of English organ music is an anonymous Felix namque copied about 1420 (Dart 1954: 201; Caldwell 1973: 14), but this is more likely to be a simple piece of vocal discant.

It is not until the first half of the sixteenth century that a large corpus of genuine English organ music is to be found. In this pre-Reformation period in England, most of the organ music is strictly liturgical in function, being designed for performance at specific points during the Mass and Office. The pre-Reformation period can be said to extend up to the accession of Elizabeth I in 1558, for, despite the introduction of the first Book of Common Prayer in 1549, the Latin rite was fully restored in the reign of Mary (1553–8). The main two composers around the middle of the century were John Redford (c1486–1547) and Thomas Preston (active in the 1540s and 50s), who were followed by Thomas Tallis (c1505–85) and William Blitheman (died 1591), most of whose liturgical organ music probably dates from the reign of Mary.

The craft of organ building remains today essentially the same as it was during the development of the organ in the middle ages. Although machinery can be employed to save time and perform repetitive tasks, the core crafts of woodwork and metalwork remain at the heart of the industry. Moreover, although the metal pipes are the most distinctive feature of an organ, it is the wooden structure of the instrument that absorbs the bulk of the organ builder's time and effort. Wood remains an astonishingly useful and versatile material. Weight for weight, it is stronger than steel. Despite the alarming deforestation of the planet, a conscientious workshop can find supplies of many different species and grades of timber from renewable sources. Timber is the ideal material for custom building anything; with relatively simple equipment it can be formed into virtually any shape and adapted to almost any purpose – including, in organ building, complex air-tight components containing many moving parts.

The structure of an organ consists of a frame (usually still of solid timber, though some builders use steel) and a case. Very often, especially in small instruments or those inspired by historic precedent, the frame and case are integrated in a monocoque structure. In the Anglo-American tradition of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries organ builders did not concern themselves much with casework – its design often left to architects and its construction to specialist joiners – but still used wood for supporting framework. Even an organ with no case, such as those built by Walter Holtkamp and others with the pipes on open display (mid-twentieth century) will still have the familiar wooden structure within.

Albert Schweitzer's status as a guru of twentieth-century organ building remains undiminished as the century draws to a close. The application of his intellect to an obscure musical craft remains a surprise to those who know him more as a philosopher, missionary and philanthropist. In fact the study of Bach and the organ was the major preoccupation of his early career and was a matter that he took as seriously as any other intellectual endeavour.

In this personal admission Schweitzer explains in the simplest possible terms why the organ, dependent on the technology and craft techniques of the middle ages and, at best, a complex and intractable means of making music, remains of enduring interest in a later age where entirely different technologies rule our daily lives (see Joy 1953: 186–213).

Twenty years ago – indeed perhaps at any time between 1930 and 1980 – it would have been obvious to explain Schweitzer's mission in terms of the classical revival: the Orgelbewegung or organ reform movement, built round the rediscovery of early instruments and the corresponding repertoire. In fact, though Schweitzer deplored the heaviness and (as he saw it) crudity of the average organ of c1900, he also had a message that links him to Ruskin and William Morris.