RSCM Report 2011: Part One

Tuesday, July 26: Parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Last year, I described a week at the RSCM St. Louis Course in considerable detail.

This year, I had to practice. Brother Vincent was the principal organist, and I assisted as sub-organist, responsible for two anthem accompaniments, two hymns with interludes, and two voluntaries, divided equally between the two Sunday services. Thus, I was unable to write about the week as I would have liked. I will concentrate on my impressions of working as sub-organist, and I begin with Tuesday, the first full day of the Course.

After breakfast, Br. Vincent and I drove downtown in Mr. B.’s car to Christ Church Episcopal Cathedral in downtown St. Louis, site of the concluding Evensong. Unlike the Basilica where we sang last year, it has the feel of a downtown church. It is tall, elegant, Gothic -- and cool, at least at the level of the Nave. In the summer, it is purposely kept cool during the day for the street people, who are welcome to come in, cool off, drink some ice water and fill their water bottles, sleep, hang out, visit with friends. Many were there already as we arrived.

The resident organist (William Partridge, a fine gentleman and musician) showed us up the steep staircase in the rear to the west gallery and the organ. This is a distinguished instrument, a four-manual Aeolian-Skinner with parts of it dating back to a nineteenth century Roosevelt installation and some of it from an early twentieth century E. M. Skinner rebuild. These are names that, for an organist, are equivalent to Steinway or Bösendorfer on a piano. It is the finest instrument that I have played, or will likely ever play.

I wrote elsewhere about the proper way to visit a pipe organ, beginning with improvisation through the various divisions of the instrument to explore its sounds. Today, there was no time. I stumbled through my appointed hymn, adjusting to the layout of the pedals (it is an AGO standard console, unlike the Pilcher back home), and began working on registrations for the hymn. There is a fine horizontal trumpet rank at the east end, which is ideal for soloing the tune; I will use this for the introduction and the fifth stanza. A note on the music desk politely requests that it be used minimally because it is near the church offices, so mostly I used the Krummhorn on the Ruckpositiv (played from the same keyboard, the topmost of the four), and my imagination. The polite request also asked that the organist refrain from using the 32’ and 16’ Open Wood ranks in the pedal for the same reason of respect to the church staff, so despite my curiosity I took them on faith, setting them on the general pistons for the hymn but not trying them out before the service on Sunday.

I had only forty-five minutes; no time to linger. I finished my work with the hymn, never playing it all the way through and focusing mostly on the interlude, which will be needed for the choir to climb the stairs and squeeze into the loft. I hastily found registrations for my anthem accompaniment and prelude voluntary, one of the Howells Psalm-Preludes.

Then it was time for Brother Vincent. As the principal organist, he had a lot of ground to cover, especially in a technically challenging setting of the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis. I sat in the loft as he worked, thinking through my registrations, marking them in my scores, and realizing that I needed to modify one the hymn registrations -- more upperwork, less reeds. I made a note to do this on Sunday afternoon when we arrive for the service.

I could do a much better job of registration with a half-day or so to work at it. But generic registrations must suffice. Part of the examination procedure for the A.A.G.O. and F.A.G.O. certificates is the stipulation that the tests be conducted on an instrument unfamiliar to the candidate, and that there be a maximum of one two-hour practice session at the instrument. A good organist ought to be prepared for precisely the situation in which I find myself this week.

We finished at noon, clearing out in time for the Midday Prayer office. I suggested staying for the prayers; Br. Vincent noted that we needed to hasten on back to Todd Hall; time was short.

But our car was gone.

The organist had gone to lunch. The security guard told us that the car had been towed; it was staff parking (though, as I later confirmed, un-marked). The rest of the cathedral staff was unhelpful, and completely unsympathetic. We called a taxi.

At the impound lot, we learned that Br. Vincent could not pick up the car; he was not the owner. Mr. B. had to find a car to borrow, drive a half-hour into town, and present himself in person, driver’s license in hand, along with $245 cash money; no checks, no credit cards. We waited for him. There were no chairs, so Br. Vincent sat on the edge of a planter, and I sat on the floor.

It was instructive.

I was angry at the loss of precious practice time, at missing a rehearsal back at Todd Hall, leaving Mr. Ashby to fend for himself without either of his organists. But I have no forgiveness unless I forgive the people who put us in this predicament. All of them, in sincerity of heart. “Be not high-minded, but fear” (Romans 11:20).

We easily become puffed up with the importance of our busy agenda, our tasks and responsibilities. But none of it matters as much as we think. Our privileges, our possessions, our time and energies, even our bodies and souls -- they are in truth not ours, but His. If our plans go astray, the response of faith is to leave it all in His hands, without fear, anger, or concern.

In the end, Mr. Partridge apologized to Br. Vincent and Mr. B., and saw to it that the cathedral reimbursed us for the towing fee, probably a painfully large expense for them. He came to the evensong on Sunday and was thoroughly supportive of our work.

Wednesday, July 28

The weeknight evensongs in the Chapel of St. Cecilia at Todd Hall are among my favorite parts of the course, in some ways better than the Sunday services. And, this night, it fell to me to play part of the service. The opening hymn was Cwm Rhondda, which I am to play on Sunday morning; the anthem was one of the two which I was accompanying.

Afterwards, Mr. B. told me that I would have to take the hymn more slowly. Despite the fact that he knows his congregation and I do not, I bristled: it was my tempo, and I do not respond well when people tell me that my tempo is wrong.

“My” tempo. Tuesday's lesson showed me that this thought was a warning flag. I will play the hymn at Mr. B's tempo, and be glad that he advised me from his experience.

[to be continued]