I recently took the opportunity to hear a well known french organist (with the initials O.L.) at Davies Symphony Hall. I leave out his name simply because I want to write freely and not concern myself with any possible impact on google searches for the artist.
One of my hesitancies about going to this particular concert was that several of the pieces on the program seemed too familiar, such as Schumann's "Study in A-flat major, Opus 56, No. 4". It seems as though everyone is playing that piece these days, and for good reason I might add. An incredibly lyrical piece and one of my favorites. But if I've heard it, probably everyone else has too. But maybe novelty is not the main reason to go to a concert. So I went anyway. Just hearing what is possible on the 5 manual Ruffati always seems to give me pleasure.
One of the most unique things about this concert, to my ears at least, was the way Bach's BWV 540 "Toccata and Fugue in F Major" was played. It sounded at first like the organist was having great difficulty with sticky keys. But they seemed to stick in a regular fashion, rhythmically tied to the beat, and therefore likely intentional. I had not heard this piece played that way before, but the organist seemed quite serious about his otherwise effortless playing. Then it dawned on me, perhaps these were the notes inégales (French for unequal notes) of the French baroque organ tradition. If so, it was worth the trip just to hear them played authentically. Not that Bach is French mind you. But it's hard to get more historically authentic than hearing someone who has studied with Gaston Litaize, a blind organist-composer who studied with Marcel Dupré and Louis Vierne and championed the notes inégales. Not that I plan to or could play this way, but this piece was simply one more reminder that notes on paper aren't intended for strictly mechanical interpretation. Viva la liberté!
Or more accurately, notes formerly on paper, because the entire concert was played by memory. The concert included pieces by Widor, Dupre, Alain, Langlais, Duruflé, and Litaize's playful "Scherzo". I'll never know the title of the familiar sounding encore, the person I asked afterward in the foyer did not know either, and seemed irritated that I should be so bold as to inquire.
One of the highlights of the evening was the organist's final improvisation on submitted themes. The only words spoken during the entire evening preceded his improvisation, and were something to the effect that "someone should be bringing them shortly", and soon after a distinguished gentleman walked on stage and handed him some paper presumably containing the three themes for the evening's improvisation. After glancing at them, and after what seemed like an extraordinary length of time and thoughtful setting up of new stop combinations, the organist played the three themes first in their simple elegance, and then with an introduction complete with spine chilling crashing chords. Now if my ears do not deceive, someone must have had a sense of humor. Three seemingly incongruous themes were submitted. "San Francisco", "Now Thank We All Our God" (or "Nun Danket alle Gott"), and "A Mighty Fortress". I must confess, for a good all over feeling I much prefer the simpler version of "San Francisco" played on the Castro Theatre organ prior to showtime. There, the music is a rousing, enthusiastic piece which makes everyone in the audience feel proud to live near the namesake city and builds anticipation of the movie to come. However, in Davies Hall that evening, the tune for "San Francisco" was accompanied by a martial rhythm, a near sinister snare-like pedal and chilling reeds sufficient to scare a small child. But the performance was mesmerizing anyway. I forgot that it was improvised until at one point I heard all three themes played simultaneously. The complexity of what was going on in the organist's mind boggles mine just to imagine. Then I had the kind of thought that makes me glad I attended. Wasn't Bach a great improviser too? And Beethoven? Perhaps the highest pinnacle, the greatest achievement, made possible by years of study and practice, is not to reproduce another composer's works flawlessly, but to be able to improvise like this. Viva la virtuosity!
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