Visiting a concert hall earlier this week I was shown into
the auditorium. The organist was
practising for a concert that evening, but my guide continued to talk and walk
about the hall as if it was unoccupied. “Let
me show you on to the stage”, she told me, but, in a whisper, I declined,
indicating that I felt we should keep a little quiet out of respect for the
musician at work there. Far from taking
the hint, my guide called up to the organist; “I’m just showing someone around –
could you just give us five minutes?” In
his favour, the organist did stop and graciously remove himself from the hall,
but that was enough for me. I have no
time for a hall where such gross discourtesy is shown to those whose job it is
to attract paying audiences through their performances. I walked out without a word leaving my guide
both bemused and, I suspect, greatly offended.
I do not care. Anyone with such
attitudes deserves all the opprobrium she receives.
Would she have behaved the same way if a pianist, a violinist, a string quartet or even a full orchestra was rehearsing? Of course not. It is the sad lot of organists that nobody takes them seriously and, if people assume anything, it is that organists either do not practice seriously or, because they sit with their backs to the hall, they are in some way unable to hear what is going on behind them.
The old console at Bangor Cathedral was behind the choir stalls and partitioned off by means of a curtain. Visitors used to come in and inspect the carvings on the choir stalls and, if I was practising, they would often simply pull the curtains aside and stare. One hideous American even started to climb through so that his wife could photograph him at the organ. I soon put a stop to that with language which should never be heard in a place of worship, even if Americans are brought up with it on movie screens. But, invariably, the errant visitors were offended. Surely the organist was part of the furniture, just like the choir stalls; after all they had pretended to drop a coin in the gift box at the back of the cathedral and felt they were entitled to part-ownership of the place and all its fixtures and fittings.
I well recall the years at Dewan Filharmonik Petronas in Kuala Lumpur when, as Resident Organist, I was not only contractually obliged to play the organ for several hours each week, but had sufficient concerts in a month to necessitate considerable amount of practice. As the only working pipe organ available to me, I had no choice but to use the hall, and always arranged rehearsal times with the hall bookings department (they used to have such a thing before the imbeciles came in and took over with their confirmed belief that all music making was as easy as pressing the play icon on their i-Pods). That didn’t stop the idiots in the office marching in to hold impromptu meetings away from the prying ears of their juniors, or the daft ignoramuses from the Business Development department marching in with prospective clients in tow. More than once I was asked to stop while a guided tour was given, and it was almost standard practice to come in, call up to me and ask me to “play something” to show off the organ to the visiting groups. (What did they think I was doing?)
And it didn’t stop with stupid office staff. Musicians were equally insensitive to the situation. Often my rehearsing was interrupted by an errant horn player or trumpeter marching on to stage and trying out various finger combinations for a single passage to be played at an audition elsewhere sometime in the distant future. I even had a recital interrupted by a chamber ensemble walking on to the stage unaware of an organist high in the gallery and an audience low in the stalls. Did they apologise? Not a bit of it. They waited off stage and when I finally came backstage after the recital all they had to say was an impatient “Are you finished yet?”
Indeed, it was the utter disregard for an organist’s work which finally drove me away from the instrument. Invited to perform the Saint-Saëns Third with the Singapore Symphony, the conductor asked during rehearsal for a different registration in one of the movements. The organ of the Esplanade, being computerised and therefore pretty inflexible, needed to be completely re-set and I used the 15 minute break to do this. Yet a moronic trombonist decided that was the time he wanted to rehearse a passage from a piece not even in that week’s concert. “Will you shut up?”, was his comment when I tried to test a re-registration. I explained that I had no option but to do this at that point, at which he came over, threatened physical abuse, swore profligately and then stormed off to the Orchestral Manager to demand I be removed. The complete refusal of the Orchestral Manager to get involved and the pointed hostility directed towards me throughout the subsequent rehearsal from the trombone, eventually decided me that I was too old for such things and have withdrawn from serious organ playing ever since. Thin skinned? No, just tired of the contempt heaped on organists by all and sundry.
Dame Gillian Weir used to have a reputation for intolerance of interruptions while practising, and I used this to ensure that, when she was rehearsing in DFP, the security staff kept everyone out of the hall. I also recall Jane Parker-Smith becoming quite angry when musicians walked into the auditorium during her practice session. Perhaps because they are women people listen to them, but they certainly don’t listen to us men, and both musicians and general public alike seem to think that, because the organ is static it is not a credible musical instrument. Organists are treated much as workmen painting the wall, and it is assumed they are able to get on with their work regardless.
Any musical practice is hard intellectual and physical work which is seriously disturbed by any interruption no matter how well meant; and that applies every bit as much to an organist as to a full symphony orchestra.
Would she have behaved the same way if a pianist, a violinist, a string quartet or even a full orchestra was rehearsing? Of course not. It is the sad lot of organists that nobody takes them seriously and, if people assume anything, it is that organists either do not practice seriously or, because they sit with their backs to the hall, they are in some way unable to hear what is going on behind them.
The old console at Bangor Cathedral was behind the choir stalls and partitioned off by means of a curtain. Visitors used to come in and inspect the carvings on the choir stalls and, if I was practising, they would often simply pull the curtains aside and stare. One hideous American even started to climb through so that his wife could photograph him at the organ. I soon put a stop to that with language which should never be heard in a place of worship, even if Americans are brought up with it on movie screens. But, invariably, the errant visitors were offended. Surely the organist was part of the furniture, just like the choir stalls; after all they had pretended to drop a coin in the gift box at the back of the cathedral and felt they were entitled to part-ownership of the place and all its fixtures and fittings.
I well recall the years at Dewan Filharmonik Petronas in Kuala Lumpur when, as Resident Organist, I was not only contractually obliged to play the organ for several hours each week, but had sufficient concerts in a month to necessitate considerable amount of practice. As the only working pipe organ available to me, I had no choice but to use the hall, and always arranged rehearsal times with the hall bookings department (they used to have such a thing before the imbeciles came in and took over with their confirmed belief that all music making was as easy as pressing the play icon on their i-Pods). That didn’t stop the idiots in the office marching in to hold impromptu meetings away from the prying ears of their juniors, or the daft ignoramuses from the Business Development department marching in with prospective clients in tow. More than once I was asked to stop while a guided tour was given, and it was almost standard practice to come in, call up to me and ask me to “play something” to show off the organ to the visiting groups. (What did they think I was doing?)
And it didn’t stop with stupid office staff. Musicians were equally insensitive to the situation. Often my rehearsing was interrupted by an errant horn player or trumpeter marching on to stage and trying out various finger combinations for a single passage to be played at an audition elsewhere sometime in the distant future. I even had a recital interrupted by a chamber ensemble walking on to the stage unaware of an organist high in the gallery and an audience low in the stalls. Did they apologise? Not a bit of it. They waited off stage and when I finally came backstage after the recital all they had to say was an impatient “Are you finished yet?”
Indeed, it was the utter disregard for an organist’s work which finally drove me away from the instrument. Invited to perform the Saint-Saëns Third with the Singapore Symphony, the conductor asked during rehearsal for a different registration in one of the movements. The organ of the Esplanade, being computerised and therefore pretty inflexible, needed to be completely re-set and I used the 15 minute break to do this. Yet a moronic trombonist decided that was the time he wanted to rehearse a passage from a piece not even in that week’s concert. “Will you shut up?”, was his comment when I tried to test a re-registration. I explained that I had no option but to do this at that point, at which he came over, threatened physical abuse, swore profligately and then stormed off to the Orchestral Manager to demand I be removed. The complete refusal of the Orchestral Manager to get involved and the pointed hostility directed towards me throughout the subsequent rehearsal from the trombone, eventually decided me that I was too old for such things and have withdrawn from serious organ playing ever since. Thin skinned? No, just tired of the contempt heaped on organists by all and sundry.
Dame Gillian Weir used to have a reputation for intolerance of interruptions while practising, and I used this to ensure that, when she was rehearsing in DFP, the security staff kept everyone out of the hall. I also recall Jane Parker-Smith becoming quite angry when musicians walked into the auditorium during her practice session. Perhaps because they are women people listen to them, but they certainly don’t listen to us men, and both musicians and general public alike seem to think that, because the organ is static it is not a credible musical instrument. Organists are treated much as workmen painting the wall, and it is assumed they are able to get on with their work regardless.
Any musical practice is hard intellectual and physical work which is seriously disturbed by any interruption no matter how well meant; and that applies every bit as much to an organist as to a full symphony orchestra.