Travelogue
From Philadelphia immediately following the national AGO convention, I hopped on a plane to Belgium to begin a two-month recital tour in Europe. Here follows an assortment of reflections as I proceed along my way, to be continued next month.
The intense six-month period of preparation was a challenge: a myriad of details to arrange for the 26 carillon and two organ recitals, dates, programs, lodging, travel, etc.; preparations for being away from home and work for 12 weeks; selecting music that will actually work on most of the varied instruments that I'll be playing--and learn it all!
Dear friends from my Fulbright years (1984-86) at the Belgian Carillon School meet me at the airport in Brussels and whisk me off to their home in Mechelen--it will be my pied-à-terre for the next few months. After dinner it was time to visit the carillon school for a session on the practice console. The dimensions of the standard European playing console differ significantly from the more ergonomically-conscious American consoles. Instead of our standard two-octave pedalboard, Belgian and Dutch carillons normally have a 11/2-octave pedalboard which is shifted quite a bit to the right in relationship to the manual keyboard. The distance between keys in both the manual and pedal keyboards differs, as does the keyfall.
A good dose of melatonin seems to have helped me get a good night's sleep and to minimize the effects of any jet lag. On Monday I return to the carillon school to practice on the lightweight carillon in the tower of the Hof van Busleyden adjacent to the school. Alas, there is no opportunity to rehearse on the carillon in Turnhout before this evening's recital. This is a bit distressing, as the console is rather uncomfortable for tall carillonneurs like me, predating the European standard. I must remember here, when playing chromatic ("black") pedal notes, to shift my knees off to the side lest they block the manual keys. The bells are enchanting, however, made some 230 years ago by the Belgian founder Vanden Gheyn.
Tuesday is a work day: more practice at the carillon school, including organ music on the piano, plus typing the text of the Flemish Carillon Guild's website (www.beiaard.org) which I had translated into English during my "spare time" during the AGO convention last week.
On Wednesday I validate my Eurailpass and take the train to Nivelles, south of Brussels in the French speaking part of Belgium. After the short walk to the Collégiale Ste. Gertrude, the organist Robert greets me. I am eager to practice for my Sunday recital. The 38-stop organ was built in the French classic style by Patrick Collon of Brussels. I set to work. The positif is a bit stiff, but the grand orgue plays like butter. Over the course of my practice sessions here I notice my technique adapting to the action. The tension that plagues my hands from practicing at home on an organ with horrible action begins to melt away. I draw the grands jeux and slide the G.O. manual towards me to engage the coupler: a treat for my ears, yet more work for my fingers. At one point while playing, the manual inches forward a bit, and excruciating sounds emanate from the organ. Yikes! I must now also concentrate on "pulling" the keys toward me so as not to disengage the coupler during performance. But it is worth the effort. DeGrigny is coming alive for me. As an undergraduate and master's student I could never get excited about French baroque organ music. Give me a Skinner with a 32' bourdon purring under some lush strings and a vox humana, or a fiery swell box and a 32' bombarde, and I was in seventh heaven. Who wanted to play Couperin with a wimpy American cornet? But then I went to France, and Monsieur Clicquot taught me a lesson or two, and now the sounds and the feel of this instrument are reminding me, teaching me more. I have the uncanny feeling that this instrument has a soul, that it is alive, that it is communicating with me when I listen carefully.
On Thursday the train takes me to Goes, a small but lively town in The Netherlands. Sjoerd, the resident carillonneur, leads the way up to the carillon cabin, and at one point we traverse a gangplank over the vaulted ceiling of the church below. We hear the organist practicing on the Marcussen. Once I've climbed the final ladder and squeezed by a huge wooden beam, there is just enough time to position the bench, set out my scores, and adjust the carillon: an adjuster above each key brings the clapper to the desired position. Since the connecting wires expand and contract with temperature changes, this adjustment is usually necessary before each recital. With the key fully depressed, I prefer that the clapper be as close as possible to the side of the bell without actually touching. This prevents the clapper from grinding into the bell (not a pretty sound) and ensures that the lightest of strokes will actually make a sound. The playing console here in Goes is old and rickety, and again the pedals are much too close to the manual, but by now I'm accustomed to moving my knees out of the way without missing the pedals. Sjoerd was enthusiastic about my playing, and with the president of the local "friends of the carillon" we went to his home on the canal for a few beers before I had to catch the last train back to Mechelen. Trains are off schedule tonight: I miss my connection in Antwerp, wait 90 minutes for the next one, land in bed at 1:45 am.
Friday: The 8:42 train takes me back to Nivelles where I have the luxury of practicing from 10 until 3. I am amazed at how focused my work is today. Perhaps because the pressure is on? Perhaps because I don't always have the opportunity to play such a fine instrument? Back in Mechelen, Koen picks me up again and drives me to Louvain. After a light meal, we head for St. Pieter's Church across from the impressive city hall. As we enter, Koen warns me to duck my head--which has bumped into something once or twice a day so far. I conclude that Europe was not built for tall people. Koen mentioned that a tall Dutchman had gashed his head there last year; sure enough, the concrete floor was still stained by huge drops of blood.
On Saturday I practice again in Nivelles and have dinner with friends in Mechelen. The recital goes well on Sunday, and Robert and I celebrate with the local beer of choice: "Jean de Nivelles," named after the jacquemart that is perched atop one of the towers of the Collégiale, poised to strike the hour bell. Monday is free for chores like laundry, making a bunch of train reservations, practicing the alternate carillon recital program, and having dinner with Mimi. I rented a room in Mimi's home for a year when I was a student at the carillon school. Back then I dropped out of the local Dutch language course after the first meeting, much preferring my evening chats with Mimi. Learning with her, and my other Flemish friends, was faster and more enjoyable. On Tuesday I took advantage of my Eurailpass and hopped on a train to Amsterdam for the afternoon and on to Haarlem to hear Wolfgang Zerer's recital in the St. Bavo Church as part of the summer organ academy. I ran into Marianne of Dresden whom I had met while studying at the academy two years ago, so we headed to the Carillon Café to catch up. A few hours and a few bottles of Westmalle (delicious Belgian Trappist beer) later I headed back to my room in Amsterdam.
Riding first class on two TGVs to Chambéry in the Savoy region of France made the long train rides more tolerable, although having to get off in Paris at the North station and traipse down to the Gare de Lyon was annoying. Chambéry carillonneur Jean-Pierre Vittot calls his instrument the "Cavaillé-Coll" of carillons. It is a "grand carillon" in the American tradition with the extended bass range to G, and 21/2 octaves of pedals. The Paccard bells sing gloriously from the chapel tower of the Château of the Dukes of Savoy. In my opinion it is one of the most beautiful sounding carillons in the world. Unfortunately, rather than serving the performer, the key action is more of an obstacle. It did not take kindly to the rapidly repeated notes in my rendition of the "Preludio" from Bach's Partita for solo violin (S.1006). I had transposed it from E up to A, a lighter range, and took a slower than usual tempo, hoping that the action could keep up with me. But alas, a C-sharp gave way early on, so I stopped. Jean-Pierre insisted that I continue, but I figured that I needed that C-sharp about 100 times in the Bach Prelude alone, so I pleaded for repairing the carillon. It wouldn't have been the first time that I had crawled up amidst the bells to fix something during a recital. It looked to me as if a screw had merely come loose. Jean-Pierre went to retrieve the bolt, knocked his head on a rather large bell, returned with the bolt and another mysterious-looking part, and promptly declared that it was broken. So I played the rest of the program, without the Bach, and without the C-sharp.
This was the first of five recitals in the festival week "Campanaires Chambéry." A camera crew was in the playing cabin, with several bright, hot, lights, filming the performances which were to be projected onto a large screen adjacent to the Château. Unfortunately the threat of rain prevented the unfurling of the screen, although the filming and bright lights continued. From the playing cabin sound system, Jean-Pierre announced each piece on the program with brief program notes. A wonderful dinner of Savoyard specialties and Chignin Bergeron wine completed the evening.
Another long train ride on Thursday took me back to The Netherlands. Changing trains and train stations again in Paris, I had just enough time to get some fresh air, sunshine, and a baguette sandwich on a short walk from the north station past the Place Franz Liszt, the Church of St. Vincent de Paul, and the Square Cavaillé-Coll. Once in Roermond, my host's nephew Wouter meets me at the train station and escorts me to the city hall to check out the carillon: light, bright, easy to play. Whew! After dinner we meet up with my e-mail pen pal Inge and her daughter Sonja who come upstairs to watch me play and then take me home to Gelsenkirchen. Inge and I have been practicing German and English together for a few years now. Friday is free to spend with their family, and we attend an exciting flamenco performance in the evening. Inge brings me to Oirschot for my Saturday afternoon recital. It is a very nice medium-weight carillon with good action. After a few Duvals (devilishly strong Belgian beer) with the carillonneur and the mayor of Oirschot, my next host Erik takes me to Peer where I will play on Sunday evening. The Peer carillon is now one of the nicest in Belgium. The transmission system is well done and the recently installed playing console is the American standard--unique in Belgium. It is comfortable to play and very responsive. The American pedal range plus the extra treble bells here enable me to play my original transcription of Francisco Tárrega's Recuerdos de la Alhambra rather than the compromised "Euro" version that I've had to play in most venues. The warm Petit & Fritsen bells sing well from this tower, making the tremolando style of playing live up to its Flemish monicker, gebonden zang (legato melody).
Here is the program that I've been playing in most places:
Prelude III, Matthias van den Gheyn; Evocation, John Courter; Preludio (Partita for Violin, S.1006), J.S. Bach; Variations on a Slavonic Theme, John Pozdro; Klinget, Glöckchen, klinget (from The Magic Flute), Laudate Dominum (from Vesperae Solemnes de Confessore), Four German Dances, W.A. Mozart; Sweelinck Fantasy, Albert de Klerk; Burlesca, John Ellis; Recuerdos de la Alhambra, Francisco Tárrega; Variations on "Ode to Joy," Brian Swager.
