Travelogue, Part II
This second installment of my travel journal begins in Peer, Belgium, where I left off in last month's column.
On Monday morning I awaken to a shaking bed: an earthquake! My host seems to be doing everything he can to make this San Franciscan feel right at home. After the midday meal he drives me back to Mechelen where I spend the rest of the day practicing at the carillon school and doing laundry. In the evening I attend the carillon recital at the St. Rombouts tower performed by Marina Nevskaya, a Russian pianist/ composer/organist who has just received her final diploma from the school. After the recital I greet several old friends.
When I return to the school in the morning, Jo Haazen, the director of the school and my former teacher, is there. Jo leaves the office door open and listens while I practice some German dances of Mozart. He interrupts me several times with suggestions on how I can better adapt these transcriptions to a heavy carillon. He reminds me that the man who made these transcriptions plays carillons with bass bells that are much less resonant and lighter than those in the Mechelen carillon.
Later I catch a train to The Netherlands. It rains during my recital in Barneveld, but a few devoted listeners with umbrellas greet me at the tower door when I emerge. The next morning, my host Henry Groen takes me to Wageningen where he must play the carillon during the weekly farmers' market. Since there is no guest recital series in Wageningen, Henry has never heard the carillon from the street, so he asks me to play so that he can go outside and listen. In the evening I play in Ede where a closed circuit video installation enables the listeners to watch me play. One of the advantages of being alone in a tower is that I can take off as many clothes as I want. An hour of vigorous playing on a warm summer evening usually leaves me drenched in sweat. But tonight I stay dressed. They send me off with a bottle of wine in addition to my honorarium.
On Thursday I play in Venlo where for all I can tell there is no captive audience except for Ton, the man who opened the front door of the church for me and pointed me in the right direction. Since practice time on a real carillon has been extremely limited, I seize the opportunity to substitute several of the pieces from my alternate program. Ton didn't have a printed program, so he never knew the difference. We had coffee at an outdoor café on the town square, and then I caught a train to Amsterdam. I visit one of my favorite watering holes, sleep in the next morning, head for Schiphol, and fly to Copenhagen.
Ulla picks me up, we have dinner, I practice a bit on her carillon, and we head for her garden cottage on the outskirts of Copenhagen which will be my home for the next few days. In the morning Ulla takes me to Brøndby Strand, a suburb of Copenhagen, for my noon recital. The Brøndby carillonneur's husband rides up on his bicycle, kicking his feet in the air to display his American flag socks. The Danes love flags. Today I play my new program. It includes John Courter's In Memoriam September 11 which is appreciated everywhere I play it. Lunch is served after the recital, and then we head for the office where Annelise and Ulla make photocopies of my arrangements. Ulla and I head back to the city and I play at Our Savior's Church at 5:00. The tower is stunning and I go up early to soak up the view from the spiral staircase that winds around the outside of the gilded spire.
Sunday is a free day. Ulla is off to Ireland, so I have the day to myself at the cottage. The cottage has no running water, but it does have an electric piano. So, after practicing yoga in the garden, I start composing and arranging music for an upcoming recital. I had very little repertoire for a two-octave instrument, so when I had to send in a program for Cuijk, I said that I would play pieces such as "Three German Dances" and "Chant du Soir" by Brian Swager--pieces that didn't exist until today.
On Monday I fly back to Amsterdam and meet friends for dinner. On Tuesday the weather is hot, so I head for Zandvoort for a few hours to walk on the beach and frolic in the North Sea. Going back to my room in Amsterdam for a shower turned out to be a waste of time, as there is no air conditioning on the train to Enkhuizen. It is a beautiful little port town, the harbor is bustling, and many people are sitting out on the decks of their boats. The carillon is audible from here when the wind is right. But the weather begins changing quickly. A mighty wind off the Ijsselmeer kicks up as I climb the tower. It is an "open lantern" type of tower which means that the top part of the tower containing the bells is exposed to the elements, and I had to scale a few ladders to reach the playing cabin. The rain hit just as I got inside the cabin. The storm blew over as quickly as it had come. The instrument is regal, a lovely historic Hemony carillon. After a drink with devoted, raingear-clad listeners, I caught a train back to Amsterdam.
On Wednesday I headed back to Mechelen and had my first practice session on the great carillon in the St. Rombouts tower. On Thursday I play in Genk where my gift after the recital is a clay bell filled with genever--a locally produced sort of gin. I can't help but sample it on the slow train ride home.
Friday's recital is on the two-octave carillon in Cuijk, The Netherlands, and is the debut of those little ditties that I wrote in Copenhagen. On Saturday I watch the gay pride parade on the canals of Amsterdam. These floats literally float! On Sunday I head back to Belgium, stopping in Mechelen to practice in the school before going on to Nivelles for a 4:00 recital. A television crew is there to film the recital and interview me afterwards. I had a surprise reunion with Guido, a colleague of my best friend in Mechelen, and his partner Francis. They came to the champagne reception, and I ended up having dinner with them. Guido took me to the train station in time to miss the last train home by the blow of a whistle accompanied by the evil grimace of the conductor. I've learned to maintain an intrepid, adventurous spirit. Guido graciously lodged me in Brussels, and I was back in Mechelen in the morning in time for a shower and my 11:30 rehearsal at St. Rombouts. Then I made my way quickly to Louvain where I played a program of 20th-century carillon music during an International Congress of Musicologists. The carillon in the University Library--having English bells--is an anomaly in Belgium. Wtih 32 bells from the original instrument cast in 1928 by the Gillett and Johnston foundry of Croydon, it is now a five-octave instrument, enlarged in 1983 with 31 new Eijsbouts bells. It is a heavy instrument, the second largest in Belgium, and the G&J bells give it a warm character. The action seems rather stiff at first, but by the end of the first piece I feel like I've figured out what I need to do to get the expressive effects that I want.
Back in Mechelen, I have a nap before my evening recital there. Playing in Mechelen is usually the high point of my summer recital tour. Mechelen is known as the mecca of the carillon art. The serious listeners sit quietly in the courtyard of the cultural center. The Monday evening summer recital series is a tradition that started here in 1896. The carillon is very heavy; the Eijsbouts bells are perfectly tuned in equal temperament; the classic enclosed bell chamber has vaulted ceilings and louvered openings projecting a homogenous sound; the awesome tower is high (about 450 steps to the playing cabin) and majestic; the sound is rich and resonant. Every carillon effect, except the tinkling sound of really small music box-like bells, is possible here: from thunderous fortissimo to cantabile to a whispering pianissimo. My program includes the Passacaglia of Jos Lerinckx, a masterpiece for carillon that sounds best with this wide range of effects. Lerinckx was a Mechelen resident and died just last year. I played his Variations on "There Were Two King's Children" on my examination recital at the carillon school in 1986. On subsequent visits to Mechelen, Jos often gave me scores of his organ and carillon music, and then he would talk my ear off in a most delightful way. I was sad that Jos was not at the base of the tower after my recital to greet me as usual, but the other "Mechelaars" were most appreciative of my performance--especially the Passacaglia
It has been a busy month, and I'm ready for a little vacation, so in the morning I catch a train to Paris where I spend the day before boarding a night train to Barcelona. Here I have a week to explore the city, view the famous art nouveau architecture of the likes of Antoni Gaudí and Montaner, get food poisoning from a rotten paella, and recover on the beach in nearby Sitges.
The playing resumes in Hannover, Germany. The sisters of the Henriettenstiftung, on the 100th anniversary of their order, installed a carillon in the courtyard of a hospital and home for the elderly. Cast by the F. Schilling bellfoundry of Heidelberg in 1940, the 49 bells hang in a very low tower, just above the playing console which is on ground level. The bells have a particularly sweet, round, resonant tone. About 100 people show up for the recital, and the sisters remind me that many others are enjoying the program from their rooms. I spend an extra day in Hannover as guests of the sisters, eating hearty meals, getting plenty of rest, practicing many hours on their organ, and making some carillon arrangements. The press was in attendance and promised to post a report on <www.citypix.de> from the recital on 14.08.02.
Saturday afternoon's recital is in Almere-Haven near Amsterdam. The Dutch being masterful at holding back the sea have created a new city where there once was water and marsh. So, everything in Almere is very new, relatively speaking, in stark contrast to the historic architecture in most cities here. The carillon in the Harbor area of the city that I'm playing this year dates from 1979, whereas the city center carillon dates from 1985. The city is happy to support the carillons as part of its effort to build culture and community in Almere. The action is very light and sensitive, making one think of a harpsichord. I am taken by the contrast between the delicate nature of this instrument and the large movements that my fists must make to get from key to key and press them all the way down. On some instruments you can fling the keys down with the flick of a wrist, but to play this one sensitively, I must dpress the keys most of the way, feel the weight of the clapper, and then play. I conclude that even more control and virtuosity would be possible if the keyfall were significantly reduced, eliminating a lot of wasted motion. Nonetheless, it is a delight to play. Some people from the audience and the local carillon committee join municipal carillonneur Frits and me for a beer. Frits and I stay for dinner, and I enjoy the opportunity to talk shop with a colleague whom I haven't seen for several years.
To be continued.
