When Martin Neary succeeded Simon Preston as Westminster Abbey's Organist and Master of the Choristers in 1988, a distinguished career reached its logical (if dizzying) pinnacle. From his early years as a boy chorister at the Chapel Royal, Saint James' Palace, through an organ scholarship at Cambridge and several subsequent prestigious appointments (notably St. Margaret's, Westminster and Winchester Cathedral), Neary's achievements are the stuff of which church musicians dream. His numerous honors include a Fellowship from London's Royal Academy of Music; and from 1988-90, he was President of the Royal College of Organists.
But to paint a picture of Martin Neary as the prototypical English cathedral organist would truly miss the mark. For he has cast his net far beyond the narrow confines of the organ loft, championing early and contemporary music both within and without the walls of the Church. In addition to a thorough musical apprenticeship and solid academic background, he trained on both sides of the Atlantic as a conductor. An active and well-travelled concert artist, he won second prize in the first St. Albans organ competition, and has garnered considerable acclaim for his many recordings as soloist and conductor.
The following conversation took place at Westminster Abbey.
Mark Buxton: As we sit here discussing your life and work, it strikes me there that is a pleasing symmetry to your career. As a boy, you sang in Westminster Abbey under Sir William McKie at the 1953 Coronation. Today, over forty years later, you yourself are in charge of the Abbey's music. What recollections do you have of those early years?
Martin Neary: Well, I began my musical life at the Chapel Royal, where I was a chorister for some seven years. (Incidentally, that was an unusually long tenure.) When I arrived, Stanley Roper was in charge of the music, although he was later succeeded by Harry Gabb, who also held the position of Sub-Organist "down the road" at St. Paul's Cathedral.
As a Chapel Royal chorister, I was fortunate enough to sing at the Coronation. This was a truly memorable occasion, with a magnificent program of music directed, as you mentioned, by Sir William McKie--one of my many distinguished predecessors here. And in a way, yes, the wheel has indeed turned full circle, as I have just recorded a CD of music from the 1953 Coronation with the Abbey Choir.1
MB: After your secondary education at the City of London School, you went up to Cambridge on an organ scholarship at Gonville and Caius College . . .
MN: Yes, although I began by reading theology, not music. The Professor of Music at the time was Patrick Hadley, a name familiar to many Diapason readers as the composer of the anthem "My beloved spake" and the carol "I sing of a maiden."2 Hadley was Precentor of my college, Gonville and Caius, and encouraged me to change from theology to music. In retrospect, this was a good move, as I'm sure that I would have been too frustrated in the pulpit, not being involved in the musical side of things.
MB:The theological training must have been useful to you in your work as a church musician.
MN: Actually, it has been of immeasurable help to me over the years. As a theologian, I was required to learn Hebrew, which has given me a greater understanding of the Psalms. Wonderful as it is, Coverdale's translation of the Psalter does obscure the meaning of the original text on occasion. The opening of Psalm 121 is a prime example--"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills: From whence cometh my help." This is often taken to mean that the psalmist looks to the hills for his help, and finds it there; in fact, no help is to be found in the hills. The psalmist's help comes from the Lord, of course, as indicated in the following verse: "My help cometh even from the Lord, who hath made heaven and earth."
On another, more practical level, learning Hebrew was an extremely valuable exercise. Reading from right to left developed an independence and mental agility which served me well when it came to playing trio sonatas!
MB: Prior to Cambridge, you studied organ with Douglas Fox and Harry Gabb. During your university years, you were a pupil of Geraint Jones, one of England's foremost Bach exponents of the period, and a teacher of great repute.
MN: Geraint Jones was indeed a great pioneer in the field of early music--Bach in particular. He was also a marvellous teacher; in fact, it was he who really taught me how to play. He had a remarkable knack for knowing just what to do with a piece, even one that he himself didn't play. For example, I remember taking Ibert's Musette to one of my lessons. I'm sure that he didn't know the piece but his comments were so perceptive as to suggest intimate acquaintance with the music. My success at St. Albans would not have been possible without his expert guidance and instruction.
MB: That was in 1963?
MN: Yes--at the end of my Cambridge studies, in fact. In many ways, 1963 was of tremendous importance in terms of my subsequent career. During my last year at Cambridge, I started doing much more choral conducting, and was awarded a conducting scholarship at Tanglewood after a rather unusual interview at London's opulent Connaught Hotel . . .
MB: Unusual?
MN: The "interview" itself consisted of nothing more than a conversation over tea . . . with no less a personage than Aaron Copland. Without any doubt, this was the most useful cup of tea I have ever had!
Tanglewood was, of course, a thrilling and stimulating experience, especially since 1963 was Erich Leinsdorf's first year with the Boston Symphony. And thanks to Peter Hurford's good offices and introductions, I was able to play a fair number of concerts in the United States.
MB: And you pursued these interests-- playing and conducting--when you returned from America?
MN: When I arrived back in London, I was appointed Assistant Organist of St. Margaret's, Westminster--here in the shadow of the Abbey--under Herbert Dawson, who had himself been an Abbey chorister under Bridge. When he left in 1965, I succeeded him as Director of Music. I also taught at Trinity College of Music in London, while continuing my own organ studies.
MB: With Geraint Jones?
MN: Yes, and also with André Marchal in Paris. Marchal was a great source of inspiration, with his legendary legato and supreme skill in "placing" notes. He was a marvellous teacher, too.
Additionally, I pursued my interest in conducting by going on one of Sir Adrian Boult's courses, something which proved to be extremely beneficial. Boult's approach was very direct: he believed that the best training for a conductor was, quite simply, to conduct. By this, he meant that the body must convey the musical mind, with the musical thought clearly articulated through the conductor's movements. The same goes for choir training too. At first, one just holds things together, but later, one must shape the performances. A conductor must be much more than a musical traffic cop!
MB: This must have been an exciting time to have worked in London, what with the rapidly growing interest in performing early music with a critical eye to historical detail.
MN: The early music scene was indeed burgeoning at the time. In addition to well-established exponents such as Raymond Leppard, unusually lively musical minds such as John Eliot Gardiner and Roger Norrington were beginning to rise to prominence. As you can imagine, the atmosphere was conducive to new developments and experiments. I started various things myself, such as performances of Baroque passions with early instruments--something very new at the time.
MB: Who influenced you in this work?
MN: Walter Emery and Arthur Mendel, mainly. I had always been interested in their scholarly writings, and they were a major source of guidance and inspiration.
MB: The crop of new tracker organs, generally designed for a more sympathetic rendition, shall we say, of earlier repertoire, must have been an important stimulus too . . .
MN: Very much so. Of course, as musicological research continued to break new ground, conventional wisdom as to what was the "ideal" organ varied greatly. Thus it was that some organs came to be regarded as old-fashioned within a few years of their installation.
MB: Could you give us an example of one such instrument?
MN: The Flentrop at London's Queen Elizabeth Hall [QEH]. This was a good organ, designed for playing earlier repertoire, yet its equal temperament and its pitch (A440) made it almost out-of-date after only a few years. Naturally, this caused no end of trouble whenever the organ was used with period instruments at their original pitch. I shall never forget playing Handel's B-flat Organ Concerto [Op. 4, No. 2] at the QEH, and discovering to my horror that the organ pitch clashed with the Baroque ensemble.
MB: What did you do?
MN: I had to transpose the entire piece down a semitone. (You can imagine how much extra work that entailed!) Since that time, I have always thought of that concerto as being in A . . .
MB: 1971 saw your appointment to Winchester Cathedral as Organist and Master of the Music. This is undoubtedly one of England's most coveted positions, and one which owes much of its lustre to what you achieved during your tenure there. At the time, however, did you ever feel that you might be sacrificing something by moving away from London's thriving musical life?
MN: In some ways, yes, I did realise that I would have to forfeit certain things, in particular playing with the London orchestras. On the other hand, I moved to Winchester with a very open mind. I was only thirty-one at the time, and went there with an "anything is possible" attitude.
MB: What possibilities did you discover (or create) there?
MN: It was clear that there was ample scope for extending the musical horizons. For example, none of the Bach motets had ever been sung by the Southern Cathedral Choirs (Winchester, Salisbury and Chichester), so that was an ideal starting point. At Winchester, we did a good deal of earlier repertoire, including the first British performance of Bach's St. Matthew Passion with period instruments. On such occasions as these, our top line would be augmented by a group of hand-picked singers from the Winchester area.
MB: But you don't do this at the Abbey.
MN: No, we use the choristers only. In this way, the forces employed are more in keeping with those used by Bach. Our complement of men is smaller than Bach's, but the Abbey men are older and have stronger voices, thus compensating for what we lack in numbers.
MB: At Winchester, you were an ardent advocate of contemporary music too, with performances and commissions of works by composers such as Jonathan Harvey--some of our readers will know his exquisite anthem "I love the Lord"-- and John Tavener. Of course, your affinity for the latter's output continues to this day, with the 1988 première (and 1994 recording, I might add) of Akathist of Thanksgiving.3
MN: I have conducted a fair number of Tavener premières, starting with the Little Requiem for Father Malachy Lynch in 1972. That work is very typical of the composer, inspired as it is by vast spaces. I think that this in turn both influences and inspires choirs which perform it.
As you say, Jonathan Harvey was another "Winchester" composer. (His son sang in the Winchester choir, incidentally.) My first contact with Harvey's work came when I played his Laus Deo for organ. There's an interesting story behind this: it takes only four minutes to perform and Harvey wrote it in a mere twelve hours. I spent more than thirty hours learning it!
Regarding "I love the Lord," he gave us this anthem in memory of his mother. It is a very simple, straightforward work, but worthy of Britten, I feel.
In my early years at Winchester, the new Bishop asked me to write a work for his enthronement using the text "TheDove Descending."4 I decided to ask a "real" composer instead, and approached Jonathan Harvey, who was teaching at Southampton University. (Southampton is situated in the Diocese of Winchester.) He responded by writing a fascinating piece--"The Dove Descending"--although it posed some problems . . .
MB: Because of its technical challenges?
MN: Not only that, but also because there was considerable resistance to contemporary music. It was very unfamiliar terrain at the time, and the music was too difficult for many choirs. Today the situation is very different, because choirs have achieved a greater fluency in contemporary performance. The boys learn the music very quickly--a far cry from the early 1970s--and our men are able to read it at sight.
MB: That must be a prerequisite for professional men in cathedral choirs . . .
MN: Yes, especially here, given the sheer volume of music the Abbey Choir has to perform.
Incidentally, I should add that one of the gripes about "The Dove Descending" was the leap of a major tenth (E flat to top G) at the beginning of the piece. Not to be dissuaded, I reminded the trebles of a Mozart piece in their repertoire which required negotiating an even larger interval--that of a twelfth!
MB: Before continuing our Winchester discussion, might I digress--since you've mentioned trebles--and ask you about the training your boys at the Abbey receive?
MN: We have regular daily rehearsals. Nowadays, the training of choirboys proceeds with rather more vigor and liveliness than before, due in no small part to our greater understanding of how to work with a chorister's voice. Each boy receives individual training from myself and a voice coach, and we give them regular "check-ups." In my work at Winchester and Westminster, I have delighted in the challenge of working with boys aged 8-13. It is fascinating to see just how far one can take their voices, and I regard this aspect of my life as a great opportunity and blessing.
MB: As you look back on your time at Winchester, are there any special highlights?
MN: I think that 1979 was a banner year for us, signalling as it did the 900th anniversary of the Cathedral. One of my projects for 1979 was to arrange the first North American visit by an English cathedral (as opposed to collegiate) choir for twenty-five years. We were privileged to sing at several prestigious venues, such as the National Arts Centre in Ottawa, Washington's Kennedy Center and Carnegie Hall in New York.
Now thereby hangs a tale. Carnegie Hall had an electronic organ which gave out on us just before the concert was due to begin. This necessitated a radical revision of our program, and our tour manager was dispatched in haste to search out suitable repertoire at our hotel. Luckily, we had a piano at our disposal, and it gave suitable service in several pieces--Mendelssohn's "I waited for the Lord," for example. However, piano accompaniment is considerably less suited for Purcell's "Jehova, quam multi"! We all felt that the opening words of the anthem--"Lord, how are they increased that trouble me"--were very appropriate that evening!
Fortunately, we received good reviews for the New York concert, and the tour itself was a great success. As a learning experience, it proved invaluable for future visits.
MB: You appear to have enjoyed your good musical relationship with North America.
MN: Oh, very much so. I spent a sabbatical in the United States--at Princeton--in 1980, and was Artist in Residence at the University of California/Davis in 1984. I have done some guest conducting in North America and have always enjoyed playing recitals during my visits there.
MB: Towards the end of your Winchester period, the Choir took part in the first performance and recording of another contemporary work: the Requiem by a certain Andrew Lloyd Webber . . .
MN: Our participation in the Lloyd Webber brought us a great deal of press and media coverage. The exposure was very good for Winchester, of course, but I hope that it was also beneficial for cathedral music in general. Likewise, our tours and appearances at the Proms. Events such as these bring cathedral music to a wider audience--and that cannot be a bad thing, after all!
MB: Earlier, we talked about your contribution to contemporary music at Winchester. How are you pursuing this interest at Westminster?
MN: I have set myself certain goals for my time here, one of which is to commission ten new masses with today's liturgies in mind. By that, I mean that the Sanctus and Benedictus must be concise.
MB: How is this project progressing?
MN: Well, Jeffrey Lewis has written a fine mass for us, and Francis Grier's contribution, Missa Trinitatis Sancte, is a winner in every way.5
MB: And a commission from John Tavener.
MN: Yes. In 1995, we celebrated the 750th anniversary of Henry III's substantial contribution to the Abbey's fabric. He enlarged the building in 1245 in memory of its founder, Edward the Confessor. To mark this, a major work was commissioned from John Tavener. Entitled Innocence, it is a work for all humankind, using Jewish, Christian and Muslim texts.6
MB: 1995 was very much an annus mirabilis at Westminster Abbey, with the 300th anniversary of Purcell's death. The Abbey marked the tercentenary in grand style; but that is material for an article in itself . . .
MN: . . . We would have enough material for a series of articles, I'm sure!
MB: What a good idea. . . .
Mention of Purcell brings us back to your long-standing advocacy of early music. What is your approach to maintaining and nourishing the tradition of earlier repertoire here?
MN: I agree with the truism that tradition depends on maintenance. So, in order to perform this repertoire with greater stylistic fidelity and conviction, we now have a chamber organ by Kenneth Tickell. It will be of great use not only in Purcell, but also in English music of the 17th-18th centuries.
MB: A useful supplement to the renowned Harrison & Harrison . . .
MN: Indeed. The Abbey now houses two splendid examples of British organbuilding. The Harrison & Harrison instrument was built for the 1937 Coronation, and has undergone certain modifications since its installation. The most recent work was carried out under my predecessor, Simon Preston, and included the addition of an unenclosed Choir, some new mixtures and the Bombarde division. This has resulted in a superb accompanimental organ which is very rewarding to play.
For obvious reasons, the Harrison is less at home in music of a "chamber" nature, so our new organ fills what was a noticeable gap. It plays at various pitches - 415, 440 and 465 - and comprises Flutes at 8' and 4'; Principals at 4' and 2'; and a Sesquialtera beginning at Middle C. As you can see, Cornet Voluntaries are possible. There's also a device enabling the player to cut off the stop, permitting echo effects. Kenneth Tickell has voiced the instrument according to our express wishes, and it is a much-valued addition to the Abbey's musical resources.
MB: Tickell is an organist himself, of course.
MN: And a very fine one at that: an FRCO, no less!
MB: I see that there's some controversy in British organbuilding circles at present, stemming from the fact that non-British companies have been awarded several recent contracts of note. (I daresay that a similar situation on this side of the Atlantic would occasion vociferous comment from our North American builders.) Yet in some respects this is nothing new in British organ circles: after all, European firms have been building organs in the United Kingdom for several decades now. Do you have any comments?
MN: Well, I welcome the work of what are sometimes referred to as "foreign" builders Many of these organs are eminently superior when it comes to playing the repertoire, although they do not always meet every demand made of them. I do believe that the importation of instruments from abroad has, in some way, encouraged native builders to cast aside the insularity that was so prevalent in their ranks some thirty years ago. This is heartening, I must say.
MB: Before we end our conversation, would you be good enough to share some thoughts on current North American organbuilding with Diapason readers?
MN: I always admire what the best North American builders have achieved, especially when faced with unhelpful acoustics. Fisk's instruments have always given me great pleasure, as have those by the Canadian firm of Karl Wilhelm. I haven't yet seen the Meyerson Symphony Center Fisk in Dallas, but am greatly intrigued by the excellent reports I hear. I certainly look forward to playing it one day!
The writer wishes to thank Martin and Penny Neary for their gracious hospitality and generous assistance in preparing this article.
Notes
1. Music from the Coronation of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Westminster Abbey Choir; Martin Baker (organ); London Brass; English Chamber Orchestra/Martin Neary (Cantoris Soundalive CSACD 3050).
2. Highly recommended too is Hadley's (unjustly) neglected symphonic ballad for baritone, chorus and orchestra, The Trees so High.
3. Akathist of Thanksgiving. James Bowman, Timothy Wilson (Counter-Tenors); Martin Baker (Organ); Westminster Abbey Choir & BBC Singers; BBC Symphony Orchestra/Martin Neary (Sony SK64446).
4. This work was commissioned by the Dean & Chapter of Winchester Cathedral, and first performed there at the enthronement of the Bishop of Winchester, the Rt. Rev. John Vernon Taylor, on February 8, 1975. The text is taken from T.S. Eliot's "Little Gidding" (Four Quartets); the anthem was published by Novello & Co. in 1975.
5. Francis Grier's Missa Trinitatis Sancte is included on Westminster Abbey Choir's recording A Millenium of Music (Sony SK66614).
6. Innocence was premièred on October 10, 1995. It is featured on the Abbey Choir's latest recording, Innocence and other works by John Tavener (Sony SK66613).
