Advent, hymn-playing, and the AGO exams

Tonight was our Service of Advent Lessons and Carols. I could say much about this, not least that the choir sang with strong connection and beautiful phrase-shaping, but upon review of my reference recording, one comment:

I am playing the hymns better than I used to.

And I did not put a large amount of preparation time into them, not directly; two hours perhaps. But indirectly – yes. I could not have played tonight as I did without my work on improvisation, intensively in recent years, but in other ways for twenty years and more, often with little or no audible progress for years at a time. Improvement in hymn-playing was not my intent with this work; I did not even consider it as a possibility. But that is what happened.

From time to time, the AGO talks about revising their professional examinations to make them more relevant. I gather that such revision may currently be in progress. I do not think this is a good idea.

Many of the musical skills one must develop for the exams seem thoroughly irrelevant on the surface. Why does a modern organist need to sight-read in open score with C clefs? Or transpose? Or write a fugal exposition for string quartet? Or read the “square” plainsong notation and engage in modal analysis of chant, and write a short unaccompanied motet?

It took me a long time after I had completed my exams (AAGO, ChM, FAGO) to understand better how the various skills interweave and bear fruit in unexpected ways. Tonight’s hymn playing – and the singing of the choir, for that matter – are an example. All that time wrestling with plainsong and the modes laid the groundwork for being comfortable with playing in the modes, such as my improvised accompaniments for the three plainsong hymns in the service. Reading C clefs is a gateway to transposition (which I found exceedingly difficult and still do), which in turn is groundwork for improvisation.

In short, any work you do as a musician helps all of the other aspects of your playing, singing, and conducting. Any skill that you take the time to develop will pay dividends, most often when you least expect it. And there is hardly anything in music that comes on a straight, direct path; it all happens indirectly, a little at a time.

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I came into this day, the First of Advent, hating the season, wishing it would go away. A look at my December calendar fills me with dread. And it is not unreasonable; I have lived through many Advents and know well what is involved. I do not want to do it for yet another year.

But tonight’s music, and the choir’s singing of the spiritual “Steal away to Jesus” in this morning’s service, saved me. I hope that the music may have had similar effect on others, for I am not alone in dreading this season, this month of darkness and cold and despair.

Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming
From tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse’s lineage coming
As seers of old have sung.
It came, a blossom bright,
Amid the cold of winter,
When half-spent was the night.
(German hymn, 15th c.. tr. Theodore Baker)

Simplifying Anthem Accompaniments

There are (at least) two types of keyboard accompaniments for choral music:

1) Accompaniment written for organ or piano. Some of these may require quite a lot of practice, but normally one plays the notes that are written, within the limitations of the instrument at hand.
2) Accompaniment originally for orchestra, with a keyboard reduction in the choral score. Most often, one does not play all of the notes.

The overriding principle for keyboard reductions:
“When in doubt, leave it out.”

Our goal is to produce a reasonable approximation of the orchestral score, sufficient to support the choir in its singing and to present the musical work to the listeners. Most keyboard reductions have far more material than is needed for this. To play everything that is printed would require massive technical skill and practice time.

So, leave things out. Lots of things. Reduce the “reduction” until it matches your capabilities and the time available to learn it. Get it down to something that you will be able to play fluently.

An example, from “Qui sedes” by Michael Haydn, in the fine edition by David Stein (Th. Presser 312-41692)

The choir is floating along with “Alleluias,” hardly a care in the world. The orchestra is bouncing along with an active bass line and lots of string figuration. In particular, lots of repeated sixteenth notes – easy on violin, not so much on organ. Add to that considerable leaping around – again, easy on violin, not so much on organ.

As you can see, I have scribbled over my copy until it is barely legible. I have left the bass line fairly intact (in the pedals), though there would be places to simplify it further, such as measure 65, where I was tempted to cross out the final three eighth notes. It is the upper staff where the chopping happens – I have crossed out at least one of the four sixteenth notes in every group of repeated notes, sometimes two of the four (leaving eighth notes in effect). I have chopped out lots of the inner parts, so that I can divide the remaining upper line (probably first violin originally) between the hands. And that got it to where I could play it, with sufficient practice. As printed, no way. Not even close.

[Unrelated tip: in measure 64, pedal line, after the third beat, I wrote in “PN”. That stands for “Pivot Note,” and tells me to shift my feet and legs to a different part of the pedalboard. I learned this decades ago from Carl Weinrich, formerly organist at Princeton University, who described this in The Diapason. I commend it to you. You might also notice that I have written in all of the fingering and pedalings. I commend this to you as well.]

Another example: a notorious passage from Handel’s Messiah (“For unto us a child is born”), in the Watkins Shaw edition:

At rehearsal letter G, the first and second violins are playing merrily along in parallel thirds. Fine for them; not impossible at the keyboard, but well beyond what I can do. I have not crossed out so many notes here as in the Haydn because it would have been illegible, but you can see what I have done from the fingering – for each group of four sixteenth notes, play the two-note sonority for the first and third notes, and a single note for the second and fourth. Just like that, it becomes playable. The other changes on this page are hopefully more subtle – chop out repeated notes (e.g., right hand, in the measure before G), cross out some notes from the middle parts and assign others to the left hand (top system second bar), strategically assign some of the bass line to the left hand instead of the pedal (two before G).

I have even added some notes, finding it necessary to fill in some of the chords in the left hand (top system last measure, and at G).

There was a time when such shameless hacking away at the careful work of editors (and there are none better than Watkins Shaw! Compare this with the old T. Tertius Noble edition for a lesson in making a fine keyboard reduction) burdened me with guilt. “You worthless lazy incompetent slug! You can’t even play a simple accompaniment. Surely everyone else zips through this stuff with ease. They probably sight-read it.”

Well, many days I do consider myself to be worthless, lazy, and incompetent. But somehow I have to get through this thing with the choir if we are going to sing it. And I have to chop away at it to get it to where that is possible. Either that or hire an orchestra.

That thought is why I am writing this essay, with examples. Trust me: “everyone else” does not zip through this stuff. The best I can tell, the sort of work I have described is normal. So I no longer permit myself to wallow in guilt. Neither should you. Do what you have to do to make the accompaniments playable. By you. In the practice time that you have. If you are one of the rare people who can rip off eight bars of sixteenth notes in parallel thirds in your right hand, go for it, and I tip my hat to you. If a page like either of the examples I have given causes you to shudder with dread, sharpen your pencil, sit down at the keyboard, and see what you can do.

When in doubt, leave it out.

[Afterword: There is a third kind of accompaniment – reading from open score, making it all fit at the piano or organ on the fly as you go. It is said that Franz Liszt could take a brand-new score by the likes of Wagner or Bruckner – in manuscript, not nicely printed like what we normally face – sit down at the piano, and sight-read it at tempo.

I can only bow my head in wonder, praising the God who put musicians like that on this earth.
Soli Deo Gloria.]

of Buxtehude, the Morning Star, and the Light shining in darkness

This is the hour of banquet and of song (Joe Cox)
Choir of Trinity Episcopal Church, Iowa City: January 17, 2016
Artwork: Institution of the Eucharist (Fra Angelico, 1442)

This is a fine and simple little communion anthem, not previously found on YouTube. I am pleased to remedy that. There is another “Joe Cox” who comes up on a YouTube search, who is not the composer of this song. Not by a long shot.

And from the same Sunday, the Second after the Epiphany:

Fantasia on “Wie schon leuchtet” (Dietrich Buxtehude)
Artwork: from the blog “Things God taught me”
(an interesting blog, which I found by looking for artwork. I bookmarked this for further exploration; it appears to be evangelical, and sporadically updated – in that regard, much like the Music Box.)
and from the “Spill” blog
(This blog is quite active; it is mostly about pop and “alternative” music, the best I can tell. There is some language and other content which I would consider inappropriate for young people, or for that matter anyone. But there is also a lot of music from styles with which I am utterly unfamiliar, arranged in playlists, so I might explore it some after all.)
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The Buxtehude was one of the test pieces for my Associate’s Certificate many years ago, and I may have caused a change in the examination procedures. The syllabus that year listed the piece, with the comment “Any Edition.” So, I played it from the inexpensive Kalmus, which is what I had. Like the Buxtehude originals (and unlike the more expensive scholarly performing editions) which were written in tablature rather than standard notation, there was no indication of what notes should be played in the pedals and which should belong to the hands.

I played most of it on the manuals, as I still do. One of the examiners strenuously disagreed, since my version did not require any facility with the pedals, though he/she noted in the comments that I was not to be marked down for it, since no edition of the work had been specified.

Ever since, editions have always been specified in the Guild examination requirements.

The AAGO exam was my first experience going “on the road” as an organist, and a first time in a high-pressure playing situation. To this point, I had taught myself to play the organ, doing my work at the little Estey pipe organ in the Baptist church I was serving. I was terrified at the prospect of driving all the way to Roanoke, Virginia for the test and playing on a Big-Time Instrument, an Aeolian-Skinner in the Episcopal church.

It prepared me for what was to come: a spiritual Calling to further study, with a graduate audition at Westminster Choir College. I would not have been admitted into their Church Music program without that “AAGO” on my application, and I would not have had the courage to attempt it. I wrote about that experience here.

The piece has remained one of my favorites; I try to find occasion to play it every Epiphany season. So far, Lent has been difficult for me (and what is worse, some of my friends), and it has cheered me this morning to hear the Buxtehude again. In the hard times, I have remembered Last Epiphany, when we sang the Beethoven “Hallelujah” from his “Mount of Olives” (which I hope to post here in due time; I did not want to at the time because our singing of it had some serious shortcomings, but at this distance, I think the level of Connection, which was quite high, outweighs such considerations). And the memory of that music has strengthened me, by reminding me of Whom we sang that day.

O God, who before the passion of thy only-begotten Son didst reveal his glory upon the holy mount: Grant unto us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Through Lent, through Holy Week, all the way to the Cross and the Tomb, He remains the Morning Star, the Light that “shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.”

A New Start: Choir, Church, Guild

In recent years, I have come to depend on Mike as (in effect) assistant director and head proctor of the youth choir; now he is gone to college. He was, in a sense, the last of a “generation” in the choir, a group that began with Jennifer and Meredith, and included Mark and Edgar as well as Mike. They all sang in the choir right through high school, and all of them were strong choristers who led by example.

The mantle of leadership falls now to Tom, Ken, and Max among the boys; Lucy, Caleigh, and Elise among the girls, with Ted and Michael as the leaders for a large group of new treble boys. Of this group, Tom is the only one in high school; the others are all younger.
We do have new singers, eleven of them at Wednesday’s rehearsal: six girls and five boys. They were enthusiastic, and the overall sound was good. It will be a young choir this year, very different from last year’s group.

I can see that these new choristers, along with an excellent group of second and third year choristers, are the foundation for the future. In a few years, I hope that they will be wearing the red ribbons, going to the RSCM courses, leading by example in the choir and in life. It may be that I can see them through; I will be seventy when these first-year choristers graduate from high school. I hope I can make it that far.


Our parish is entering a new generation, too. On Candlemas this past winter, we received a new Rector. Nora joined us a few weeks ago as director of Christian Formation. Carol and Ellyn are retiring from the office staff. Of the “old-timers,” only three of us remain: John, Raisin, and me. I have learned that Nora is just as good at her work as Meg (who preceded Nora in her position). I love working with most of these people. With the rector, time will tell.


Yesterday, as the new secretary of the local chapter of the American Guild of Organists, I recorded the minutes of the executive board. The dean, sub-dean, treasurer, and secretary are new to their positions. I commented to the dean at the end of the meeting: “I have no idea what I am supposed to do.” “Neither do I,” she said. She had just conducted a well-organized and productive meeting, which seems to me a good start. All of us will need to figure it out as we go.

There was a time when I was active in the AGO; I served as chapter dean for three or four terms back in the 1980’s and 90’s; I was on this chapter’s executive board for one term about ten years ago. But since then, I have shied away from Guild work; I have hardly attended any meetings, after they moved them to Sunday evenings some years ago. I agreed to be secretary largely out of regard for the past-dean, Melanie, who has done much to hold things together these recent years.

I saw yesterday that I have been wrong to stay on the sidelines. There is much to do, and it will be good to work again with my fellow organists. As we discussed at the meeting, many organists look at the Guild and ask “What’s in it for me?” The AGO does offer help at all levels of training and ability, for those who seek it. But the proper question would be “What can I do to help?” The Guild is probably the only group that stands up for the organ and its music. It is the only place I know where I have found consistent support in my work, through good times and bad -- friends who have listened to me, advised me, helped me. And there is more...

When I was getting started, there was a man, Ralph M., dean of the local chapter there in West Virginia, whose license plate was for many years “MrAGO.” If anyone ever deserved such a term, Ralph was the guy. His cordial welcome to me as a scruffy twenty-something from out in the sticks (I had driven about two hours to get to a meeting) was part of what made me an organist. He helped steer me toward the Guild’s certification exams, and I was able to complete the Associate’s Exam before applying for graduate school. That was part of what got me in, because my credentials were lacking. I remember meeting with the dean of graduate studies during my interview and audition: “So... who have you studied with on organ?” “No one. I have taught myself.” [I did have a bachelor's degree in piano, as he could see from my papers.] Long silence ensued as he frowned at me. “Now, you know that Westminster Choir College is an important school. We accept only the most qualified applicants. And you think you can get in without any prior study?” I shrugged my shoulders and gave no answer; what could I say?

The AGO had given direction to my organ study by means of the certification exams. Because of that, I was able to go into my audition, the dean’s words still in my ears, knowing that I had already passed an examination generally considered equivalent to a master’s degree in organ. The organ faculty certainly knew what that “A.A.G.O.” meant on my application. They were willing to overlook my serious deficiencies in pedal technique, listen to my playing with an open mind, and accept me into their school.

“What can I do to help?” I can carve out time in my schedule -- even as I attempt to cut back on other things -- to try and be “Mr. AGO” for someone else. I can do my small part to keep this chapter going.

“The harvest is plenteous, but the laborers are few.”

C clefs

The AGO professional examinations are often criticized because they test musical skills that seem old-fashioned and of little relevance to a modern working musician.

My voluntaries a couple of weeks ago included one of the most arcane of these skills: C clefs. I played Contrapunctus I from Bach’s Art of Fugue, and one of the Eighteen Chorales, Komm, heiliger Geist (BWV 652), in an edition that put the left hand part in alto clef.

Why did I do this? Both pieces are available in more modern editions that use only treble and bass clef. Partly, I used these versions to stay in practice with the clefs, a circular argument. But partly, it was because these versions were easier to play, and closer to the way that Bach wrote them.

The Contrapunctus was the clearest example. I started with the Kalmus miniature score of the Art of Fugue, using a copy machine to enlarge the pages so that my old eyes could read them more easily. The piece is laid out in four parts, open score (another arcane AGO examination skill): soprano clef, alto clef, tenor clef, bass clef. The parts cross so frequently that the editions which put the four parts in “closed” score (two staffs, treble and bass clef, like most keyboard music) are harder to read than the open score. The open score has the further advantage of clearly delineating the four contrapuntal voices, so that the organist will think linearly (in the four voices) and not vertically (from one vertical sonority to the next).

Even with open score, the piece could be recast into modern clefs: the two upper voices in treble clef, the tenor in transposing treble clef, the lowest voice remaining in bass clef. But the C clefs fit the tessiatura more closely, so that there are few leger lines. This was the principal advantage for the other piece that I played, the Komm, heiliger Geist: the two accompaniment voices in the left hand fall nicely into alto clef, but would require an awkward amount of leger lines in either bass or treble clef.


There is a deeper motive for learning the C clefs, a reason that is rarely mentioned: all of these seemingly arcane skills required for the examinations work together. No single skill in itself is of any great importance; all of them together make one a better musician.

For example, the C clefs are a gateway into transposition, and thereby into the reading of orchestral scores. Most obviously, the alto and tenor clefs are needed in order to read viola parts and some passages in violoncello and trombone parts. Tenor clef can be considered the equivalent of the B flat transposition (the instrumentalist sees written C, the third space in the treble clef, the sound produced is concert B flat. Or she sees what would be a written D in treble clef, the fourth line, and the sound produced is concert C. And with tenor clef, the fourth line is in fact C) – the B flat transposition is essential for most of the wind instruments. Alto clef is the equivalent of the D transposition. Soprano clef (C clef on the bottom line of the staff), never explicitly used in modern music and seemingly the least useful, is the E flat transposition, bread-and-butter for saxophones and thus for jazz charts.

Transposition (likewise tested in the AGO exams at all levels) is in turn an essential element of improvisation, as I described recently. Improvisation is, I think, the most liberating of musical skills, allowing the player to make her own music, customized to the occasion at hand. Besides this, it frees the organist from the printed page when accompanying congregational hymns, it improves one’s understanding of the “written” music composed by others, and it is a doorway into writing one’s own compositions.


A question remains: how does one learn to read the clefs? When I learned the clefs for the AGO exams, I did a lot of sight-reading at slow tempi. I now think that it would have been better to take one piece at a time and learn it thoroughly. This is how we all learned to read treble and bass clef: we played pieces that were written in these clefs, practicing them until they were ready for performance.

Thus, when I play the Komm, heiliger Geist, I solidify my facility with alto clef. For this reason, I play this and many other of the Bach chorales from the Dover edition entitled “Bach Organ Music,” which contains the Schübler Chorales, the Orgelbüchlein, the Third Part of the Clavierübung, the Eighteen Leipzig Chorales (and the Trio Sonatas, which use only treble and bass clef). There is a good bit of alto clef in these chorales, and occasional tenor clef -- an important example of the latter is the “Wachet auf” from the Schübler Chorales. The Kalmus editions of the Brahms and Buxtehude organ works are also useful for the clefs.

I recommend the book “Preparatory Exercises in Score Reading” by R. O. Morris and Howard Ferguson (Oxford University Press), for work in the clefs as well as the stated purpose of the book.

Learning to be a Musician involves a lifetime of effort. There may appear to be shortcuts, but there is no substitute for careful study, including the development of skills for which one cannot at first see any use.