First Unitarian Church of Pittsburgh
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Of All Things By Martin Marty
When I stand before that throne for reckoning, I expect, however, not to need forgiveness the way most performers will for the breaking of the Second Commandment. They hate music critics. I don't. Let those two paragraphs serve as a transcendent backdrop to my statement of an immanent grudge. Recently the Chicago Symphony was in Madrid, making idolaters of Spanish audiences. Critic John von Rhein reviewed the performance for the Chicago Tribune. It happens that the orchestra did not go on until 10:30 P.M. because of a "scheduling snafu as colossal as the ovations received by . . . the orchestra." Von Rhein admits that a 10:30 start is not really a big deal in Madrid. Try to get dinner before 10 P.M. in that culture. But he still took pains to explain why the orchestra was delayed. "The orchestra concert was bumped to the later slot to make room for, of all things, an organ recital [italics mine, I am proud to say]." Of all things. Would a critic have written not many years ago that the orchestra was bumped "to make room for, of all things, a classical guitar recital by Andres Segovia"? Or that it was bumped "to make room for, of all things, a cello recital by Pablo Casals"? Von Rhein does not even mention the name of the organist. Was she or he a world-class artist, a Segovia or Casals of the instrument, or a second-year organ student? We live in a time of dethronements. Theology was the "queen of sciences" in medieval universities, but now resides at the edges of the disciplines. Fine. The organ was "king of instruments" in baroque worlds. Must it now be relegated to being, "of all things," a bumper of orchestras, played by unnamed artists? Evidently so, unless critics like von Rhein "acknowledge and bewail" their "manifold sins and wickedness" and "do earnestly repent" their grievous misdoings. "The burden of them is intolerable." Will they hence forth walk "in newness of life"? I admit to a bias, as a son of a church organist and as one who has had the good fortune to have been surrounded by, of all things, talented organists. Von Rhein regularly praises people who merely push one bow across four strings or blow two lips' worth of air past three or four valves. Good. They are geniuses. But organ virtuosity is the most demanding of all forms, as the performer takes on several keyboards, a range of pedals, and enough stops to match the instrument panel of a 747. From the organist's effort comes a divine elemental roar, when called for, or a sweetness that, as multilingual malapropist organ builder Walter Holtkamp once said, "would have such emotional force that there would not be a dry pew in the church." The organ bellows judgment and whispers grace, delighting heart and soul, mind and ear so magnificently that, of all things, Spaniards let groups like the Chicago Symphony play the encores. You would never know that, for all the attention the organ gets. Are the critics wary of sacred connotations, since the instrument has many ties to the church? In other words, does a secular instinct rule out attention to the exiled king of instruments? Is that why the organ can be disdained? The churches might counter with praise for the organ, since they once used that instrument to undergird their singing of the Te Deum. But worshipers have also neglected the organ and what it connotes, often turning to guitar- or zither-backed "praise songs" that display and glorify the emotions of the singers, with some mention of God and Jesus thrown in. This is saddening. Among those who care, there is hardly a dry pew left.
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