Robert J. Powell is one of the most recognized names in contemporary church music. He has a countless number of publications in every genre and has led sessions in conferences across the country. Since 1968, Mr. Powell has been organist-choirmaster at Christ Church, Greenville, one of South Carolina's oldest and largest Episcopal churches. During his nearly thirty-five year tenure, Mr. Powell has taken the program from a single children's choir that led the 9:00 am Morning Prayer service to a comprehensive array of adult and children choirs, instrumental ensembles and a thriving concert series. Prior to his position at Christ Church, Robert Powell served the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine, New York as assistant organist and Saint Paul's Episcopal Church, Meridian, Mississippi as organist-choirmaster. Yet it is his compositions that have done the most to secure his reputation.
Mr. Powell has written well over 1,000 anthems and service music for the Episcopal church. His setting of the Gloria in excelsis is thought to be "The One True Gloria" by many people in the pew. Nearly every church musician has come to rely on the dependable, accessible music of Robert Powell, and with such an encyclopedic output, it is easy to find the perfect piece for even the most difficult situations.
If Bob's reputation is earned through his composition, it is his generosity of spirit that most touches those who know him. His warmth and genuine Christian spirit provide the basis of his career, his music-making and his composition. In his music, Bob weaves together a sensitive spirituality, no-nonsense practicality and a liberal dose of good humor.
At the end of 2002, Mr. Powell will retire from Christ Church, leaving behind a flourishing music program. He makes it clear, however, that he isn't retiring. Bob says that he is looking forward to spending even more time composing and the opportunity to try his hand at substitute playing. In May, I was able to ask Bob about his career and experiences. Following is a portion of our conversation.
Who are some of the composers or teachers that inspired you?
Well, of course Alec Wyton was my mentor and he always encouraged me. He is a wonderful person, and he was always a great inspiration. In fact, when Abingdon Press was first starting their music publishing business, they asked Alec to send them an anthem. He said he didn't want to at that time, but that he had a young student--meaning me--that would send them one, and I did. They took "Ancient of Days" or some anthem that's out of print, so I sent them another. Pretty soon I sent them twelve at once, and they took about ten of them. Finally Earl Copes, who was one of the editors at that time, called up and asked, "How fast does (and he named an anthem) go?" By that time I had written fifteen others, and I didn't even remember it. He had to sing to me over the phone to show me how it goes. I never put [tempo markings] on pieces because speeds don't mean anything to me. I don't play the same speed anyway each time. If you ever see a piece of mine with a metronome indication, it is usually because publishers want it.
Who else besides Alec Wyton?
This will be a surprise: I came up in rural Mississippi playing in what was called a Union church. That is, it was Baptist two Sundays a month and Presbyterian, which I was, one Sunday a month, and Methodist the other Sunday with circuit riding preachers. It was wonderful, and of course all of the congregation came to all of the services, whether it was Baptist or Presbyterian or whatever. So I came up playing the Sunday School piano, like everybody does, it seems. They bought a Hammond organ and said "You can play the thing: it's got a keyboard!" I'd been taking piano lessons, but I said, "I can't play this thing." So I went to a town near us, Greenville, Mississippi, and found an organ teacher. He played at St. James Episcopal on an old two-manual Estey, and I learned how to play on that. He was a wonderful person who was also a band director and a good organist. His name was Walter E. Parks. I would go in for my organ lesson and do the usual things: Eight Little Preludes and Fugues and all of that. Then he'd say, "Now it's time for our composition lesson." And for the same price I'd have another three hours. We did Preston Ware Orem's book and the Prout books, the Percy Goetschius book of composition. It was wonderful fun for me. He was a great influence.
Did you keep up with him?
He died at the keyboard after I left high school. I went to Louisiana State University, and I ended up with Frank Page, the organist at the Catholic student center and a great teacher. He would give us assignments, like harmonize a melody, and I would transpose it and harmonize it six different ways. I was ambitious in those days--you learn not to be after a while, I guess--but it was fun. I studied composition and organ at the school and got degrees in both of them, then I went off to the Army. I went to Atlanta first and was a junior choir director: my first experience with a junior choir. My hometown church didn't have a choir of any kind. In fact, the first choir of any kind that I ever heard was the LSU concert choir. In the army, [I was stationed] first in Atlanta, then in Japan, which was a wonderful experience. The Korean conflict was over then, and I had a choir of Japanese women who worked at the Army base and American soldiers, which sang for chapel services. It was a great experience in choir training. As far as other people who have influenced me? Publishers particularly have encouraged me; I could just go down the line. All of them are encouraging, and of course that doesn't mean they take everything you send them. I'm used to rejections, because obviously everybody can't publish every piece. I understand that. Usually if an anthem is rejected twenty-two times or so, I change it into an organ piece and send it somewhere else. So you get organ pieces out of anthems sometimes. I try to recycle things.
Who are some composers you enjoy listening to?
Amazingly enough, right at the moment I'm on a Dvorak kick. I think Dvorak was a great composer--underrated in a lot of ways. Mahler I have trouble with. Of course there's Bach. My old saying used to be "there are two categories of organ music: all the music that Bach wrote for organ and all the music that everyone else wrote for organ." Bach is always an influence, but you have to be careful with Bach because you can copy him easily and end up sounding like bad Bach. I try to listen to a variety of things, to check out all styles. I try just to sit there and listen and not do too much. I try to keep a balance. You can't do music all the time. I never take music with me on a trip or a vacation. I do not take any manuscript paper. I do not think about it.
When you're not on vacation, do you have set times for composing?
I try to get writing at about 9:00 and I go until about 11:00. Then I go out and have coffee with friends, come back around 2:00 and work a couple of hours, and that's it.
Do you compose four hours every day?
Well, it's like practicing. You lose it if you don't do it. I used to have a good time writing for junior choir when I had a junior choir to work with. Now it's difficult to write for junior choir. I do as well as I can with it, but it was much easier when I actually had one, even though we weren't singing my music, because you know what they can do. It's easy to write for SATB choir when you have one. It's more difficult when you don't. You're in a vacuum writing away.
What criteria do you look for in a text that you want to set?
It has to say something to the people who are going to be singing it and hearing it. If it's a regular anthem, something that rhymes well and makes good sense when it rhymes, and if it's a classical text, something I think I can set, I think that's basic. Also if it has some little dramatic thing in it like They Cast their Nets in Galilee, you can always make a little [motive] out of "nets." "Glory" is always a great word for me to use--"glorious" or something like that--because you can always make it soar out. So the text is very important in writing church music.
Although you have always been involved with the Episcopal Church, you've only done a couple of [settings of the] Magnificat and Nunc dimittis, one Jubilate Deo and of course the things that are in the hymnal. Was it a conscious decision to not write more canticles?
Not a conscious decision. I found that when I first started sending these canticles like "O be joyful" (the Jubilate Deo) or the Benedictus est, there were already many in the catalogs, and most of the publishers simply didn't want another one. How many "O be joyful"s can Concordia have after all?
Have you ever consciously tried to develop a Bob Powell style or a sound?
Heavens, no. I consciously try to make sounds like what the particular publishers publish. Obviously I wouldn't send a Concordia-type piece to a publisher that's used to publishing renewal music. So I have to study other composers' [pieces]--read them through and throw them away so I wouldn't be copying them, but just to get the general style of the music for a particular publisher. Also, I subscribe to a lot of these choral packets so I can see what Augsburg and Concordia or whoever is publishing, and I would write something like that.
With both the texts and with style, it seems like a very practical approach.
Yes, I write for small choirs, as you probably gathered. Choirs of twenty-five because that's what most choirs are. When you come right down to it, most choirs are not of Cathedral ability or size. I just can't write for fifty voices. I don't think in that way.
What about beyond that? Bach and Telemann and composers of their ilk weren't necessarily writing pieces that they thought would last for all eternity. They were writing music for next Sunday. Whereas people like Brahms and Beethoven were writing pieces that they intended to be around for a while.
No, I'm more on the Bach line. I know they're not going to be around forever. They'll be in print five years if you're lucky. If they don't sell, they don't sell. Then the publisher will put them out of print because they have to pay taxes on them whether they sell them or not. My pieces are all practical things and useful for specific occasions. Peace I Give to You, the Paraclete publication, is a Maundy Thursday text. I think the rector [at Christ Church] asked me to write something that we could use on Maundy Thursday, so I wrote that. Of course there are a few commissions here and there, and they want this, that and the other thing. So I say, "Sure, I'll do that." I don't know how to say no. I'm going to learn by the time I'm seventy-five. I might say no, but right now if anybody asks me to do anything I'd be glad to do it. It's fun.
How much lead time do you require to have something ready?
To write a piece? The Suite for American Folk Tunes was written in two weeks for Austin Lovelace. He said he needed something for organ and brass, and would I write him something. That was lucky. Sometimes it takes a month. The organ duet went along about six months.
What about a typical anthem?
A typical anthem is a week. I do like Searle Wright used to suggest. Just put it down quickly: everything that comes into your mind, put it down. You can always go back and fix it later.
How much editing do you do?
Very little. [laughs] Once it's in the ground there is very little revision made. It's not like Mozart where I hear it in my mind. I just keep improvising on the piano until it comes. I think John Ferguson said something like that--that you keep hitting away until it sounds right to you. And when it sounds right to you, then you go on to the next measure.
So you always compose at the piano?
Almost always. Sometimes at the organ. It's more difficult to compose organ pieces at the organ for me. It's easier to do it at the piano. All the choral pieces are done at the piano. Other people go out to the middle of a lake on a boat and write a piece, but I can't do that.
When you write organ pieces, do you ever . . .
Do I ever think of timbres? Not really. I hear a flute maybe once in a while, and maybe a reed here and there. But I never hear a timbre particularly, because it's all the notes. That's the important thing to me: the notes themselves, not the sounds. I leave it to good interpreters to decide what to make it do. They make it sound right. A good interpreter is really re-creating the music. The person that interprets it is like a composer. In fact, Walter Erich pays the same amount of royalty if you arrange a piece as if you write a piece, because an arranger is just as important as a writer and sometimes more important than the writer of the piece.
So in your view, a sensitive performer can be an arranger.
That's exactly right. I don't want them to change the notes, although, my notes are not written in stone. I have no problem with people who change a note here or there. They say, "Did you mean this?" I will usually say, "What do you want? What sounds good to you?" And they'll say whatever it is and I'll say, "That sounds good to me too, so let's just put it down." Everything is flexible in this world. That's because I'm a parish organist, and you've got to make concessions.
What is the typical process you go through in writing an anthem?
The first process is to find some kind of text. That's basic. Richard Rodgers did that, and I feel good about that. Richard Rodgers didn't think of "Oh! What a Beautiful Morning" without having the text in front of him. Then the second thing is how are you going to divide the text--will you divide it into verses, will it be a long piece that you'll have to divide into some kind of sections? You have to have breathing points, and you have to figure out where the poet meant it to come to the end of an idea. Next process is to see if the first line gives you any inspiration. Does that phrase give you a tune in mind? Then you get your tune and you have your first inspiration and then it goes from there. Then bang away, and after a while it begins to sound right and take shape. I usually write the middle part first then add the introduction after I've written everything else, because you have something to draw from then. I try to avoid clichés. It's so easy to get clichés when anthem writing, particularly in concertato writing. You just do the same thing: there's going to be brass playing an introduction and everybody's going to sing unison, then the second verse is going to be different, and the third verse will be a harmonized verse for the choir, and the last verse will be unison-descant-plus-coda. I try to avoid doing that. One great anthem is Harold Darke's Christmas anthem "In the Bleak Midwinter" which is a hymn anthem, but it's very cleverly done because you don't have this four-verses-of-the-same-thing. Each verse is very different from the others. To me it's a very good hymn anthem.
What is the balance between inspiration and craft in your composition?
Inspiration--that's a hard question. I think Rutter said at one of those conferences that once you get the first idea, the rest of it is easy. Which is quite true, but it's a whole lot better if you have a good first idea. The inspiration is the first thing you get--the first idea. If you're going to write a pastorale and you get a little pastorale theme--a measure or so, a motive--then that's the inspiration part. Then the rest of it is craftsmanship. Well, of course, all of it is inspiration, but the rest of it is extension of the idea.
I think it was Schoenberg that said composition is 5% inspiration and 95% perspiration.
That's right. Exactly.
But do you feel that the first idea is always inspired? Or do you feel like you can craft a good motive?
Oh, I think it has to be a certain amount of inspiration. It comes from God, I believe. I have no idea where these ideas come from. If I had some great well that I could put my hand in and draw one out, I'd do it. But it just comes. And sometimes you sit down at the keyboard and you say, "Okay, I'm going to be inspired now." And I wait for inspiration to come, and it does not come. I think Austin Lovelace said once that this stuff cycles. Sometimes you can really hit it right off and other times you sit there for a day or two or a week and you have no idea--no ideas. It's funny.
Do you ever receive inspiration unexpectedly? The cliché is waking up in the middle of the night with this great idea that you have to write down, but perhaps also when you are driving around town or,
[interrupting] No. Well, actually that's true. I have driven around town and gotten a good inspiration, with the radio off, of course. Sometimes driving from home to work you can get an idea and then you go in and put it down. Sometimes you play a service, and services are really quite inspiring in more ways than is normally thought. Sometimes you get an idea in the service, and I used to write them down after the service was over, at least a snippet of it. For a while I recorded some of them then tried to transcribe it, which is difficult. I like to play church services because I don't get nervous there. You have to keep going. You can't go backwards. Improvisations often turn into real pieces. I think that happened with lots of composers, not just me.
I remember coming over from Furman [University] to hear your service playing because it's so excellent. As you hear other church musicians play services--and struggle through services--do you have advice to share?
Well, in the first place I would say that relationships should be the first priority. Relationships are so important. After all the staff meetings and all the going to music conferences and all the practicing and all the choir training and all the other things, in the end the most important thing in all are the relationships. There are two ways of presenting God's word. One of them is by what the priest and the liturgy says. But equal to me is what the music says. It is an equal partner in proclaiming the word. It's another way of proclaiming Christ's gospel. Secondly, lots of people play too slowly for the church itself. Obviously if you are in a resonant building you have to play more slowly, but most churches are not resonant buildings. Some don't give the congregation a chance to breathe. Alec Wyton taught me a great thing: he said you must play with the text. So I was taught by him to play by the text itself no matter what the music does. Although I remember bad occasions when I've not done that. At St. John the Divine, when I was assistant there, [I played] 13 verses of "O come, O come Emmanuel" until people started looking at me wondering when I was going to quit. I had lost my place and wasn't playing by the text. So I learned the hard way. The other advice I have is to give the same amount of time between the verses each time. I also never ritard until the end of the last verse. I think if you ritard at the end of the introduction, you confuse the congregation. They don't know what speed it's really supposed to be.
What about larger issues in service playing? What about pacing the service, planning your registrations?
You have to be like you're on television. You have to be right with it right away. There are two [issues] there: you have to be with it when you're supposed to be with it and not have a grand pause while everybody looks for things or while you look for music, and people in general don't understand that silence is a part of music. A quarter rest is a beat of silence for example. And there are times in the services when there should be silence and not music. Silence is music in a sense.
Do you feel like there is a particular liturgical aspect that some weeks could be silent and other weeks could be musical? Or are there some times which should always be silent?
Depending on the service itself, I think there should be some moment of silence. Particularly in preludes that people play for funeral services when they want continual music or in a communion service where they want continual music. I don't want continual music in a communion service. If I were playing four pieces, there wouldn't be a modulation between numbers 1 and 2 or 3 and 4. I play one piece and put it down. You want to give people's ears a chance to breathe even though they're not singing. It comes back to participation. Participation does not always mean that people have to be yelling at the top of their voices. One form of participation is when we are all singing "Praise, my soul, the King of Heaven" and are just having a great time. We are participating--great. But if an organist is playing a great organ piece, like Bach, and we are all into it, we are also participating even though we are just sitting there. That's a form of participation.
That's something that in the liturgical world seems to divide the Roman church, which emphasizes active participation, and the Anglican world, with what you are talking about.
Yes, that's right. With Evensong, the congregation is not singing all the time, but they are involved in all kinds of ways: emotionally, spiritually we hope--every kind of way. And that's the point of these kinds of services to me anyway. That's a very difficult concept for many people. They only feel like if they are singing that they are participating in music making.
Are there ways musicians can foster that sense of visceral participation?
If they have a chance to write a little article in the bulletin or newsletter, that's always helpful. Tell it to the choir; tell it to the clergy. The clergy listen and if they understand, the whole church ends up understanding.
How do you approach polishing a choir or your own playing but avoid it being a performance?
Automatically when the choir sings it's a performance of a sort. And of course you want the best; we all want the best of every kind of music. Every presentation of a choir or organist is a performance by the very nature of what it is, and you want it as perfect as possible. I'm not sure there is any sort of a thing as perfection in this world in this way, but anyway you want it as perfect as possible. Then you've got a good performance. But does it relate to the what's going on with the rest of the service or is it just a performance? You have to be very careful that it relates textually and that it creates the right ambiance. You must be a team player and not isolated. That's what I mean by relationships. You are related to the people who are in the service, the congregation, the clergy. You are related to proclaiming the gospel, and you are not just doing a little performance somewhere. This isn't something you can just slop around. You have to do it quite well. And hope for the best. Pray a lot.
If it is a performance, it sounds like Søren Kierkegard's idea that in a service the musicians and the clergy are just the prompters, the congregation are really the actors and the audience . . .
The audience is God. God is the audience and so you want to make sure that you do as well as you can to please God. And the congregation is involved in it too. When an anthem is sung or an organ piece is played, everybody in the church building is involved in some way. As long as you think of being involved with them and them being involved with you, then what you're doing is proclaiming God's and Christ's gospel. Then you're not doing performances. You are helping along their spiritual worship. Which is why choosing anthems is so important.
How much of your time throughout the year will be spent choosing anthems?
In my best days, I spent a long time and looked at a lot of pieces. Not only as a composer but to see what we could use--that's what I'm paid for. And it goes throughout the year. I'm kind of like the publishers in that in July I should have my Christmas music ready and at Christmas I should be at least beyond Easter, so you are always ahead of the game. You are never living in the present; you are always sort of living in the future in this business. That way if you're going to have brass you can get it arranged. You don't have to sort it out the last week, and they are out there with their stands open and no music on them.
How would you describe your technique for improvisation, and how do you prepare your improvisations for a Sunday service?
If I'm going to improvise a prelude, now this is a strange technique, I take the hymn book upside down, and the bass becomes a soprano part and improvise on that. Other times I take a part of the tune and change the keys and go into different sequences of that just like every hymn prelude you've ever seen: you do your introduction, you do your tune, you do your tune with echoes in between. There are hundreds of techniques. You just try to keep a little form so you don't keep splatting away. You just have to study books by Gerre Hancock, David Cherwien and others.
Do you consciously have to rein in your counterpoint to make sure your voice leading is good, or do you now find that natural?
I don't think about counterpoint or harmony or any other thing. The notes will lead you to another place. So you go down another path. That's the fun thing about improvisation: where the notes will lead you. As you're going along, you think, "I've got this note," you don't think, "This is B-flat and it's going to go to so and so." The note itself, the chords and the notes just kind of lead you to the next thing so you don't have to. And that's where form becomes very important, because then you don't just go wandering off anywhere. What you actually want to do is get back home sooner or later.
In your longer improvisations, is it common for you to do free improvisation not on a hymn tune?
Of course, I'll do that. You have to be sure in a longer one that you contrast things: soft and loud, fast and slow, high and low. That kind of contrast is very important. I remember I [played a service] once in Columbia, and they had an electronic organ there that only had two sounds: loud and soft. It was a long procession with all the priests in the whole Southeast it seemed like. It went on for about twenty or thirty minutes, dealing with this organ which only had loud and soft. That's all it was. And finally you get to just playing chords because you just run out of . . . [shudders]. It was one of those horrible experiences. I was glad when it was over.
In both improvisation and in composition, do you find it difficult to come up with interesting textures?
For me it is sometimes difficult to come up with interesting textures. Sometimes you have to use things that you would normally not find in a piece written for organ by Franck or somebody. Use the Vox humana not like a Vox humana is usually used, but like a snarly something. I'm pretty conservative, I'm afraid. I use strings and flutes and diapasons in a kind of normal way, but every once in a while I try to break out of it. High and low is important. Most of us play in the middle of the keyboard all of the time. Those Thalben-Ball preludes have a lot in the high register and in the low register. Obviously he was dealing with what I'm struggling with. Of course you want to use the tune in the tenor or in the bass rather than always in the soprano, and have little frills around it.
Is there anything else you want to say?
Well, I just hope we continue to get a bunch of great young organists coming along who are going to go into church music and who work as well as they can in choosing music. When you choose music you want the very best of every kind, whether it is renewal or not renewal or classical or not classical. You don't want to choose second-rate anything. As I said in a 1967 interview I was re-reading the other day, I don't think there is really any one style of church music. I certainly don't think in this day and age that there is any "Episcopal" church music as there was twenty years ago. I think the renewal is here and--I know my colleagues are not with me on this, and that's all right, I'm retiring anyway--I don't have a great objection to blended services--that is to say, [services] with some renewal music in it and classical as well. At Christ Church on Sunday at the big service, it occurs mostly in the communion sung by the choir alternating with classical hymns from the hymn book. A lot of it is played on the piano, and some of it is played on the organ. We almost never use guitars or the string bass or the recorders in the big service. There are two other renewal services in the week, where all renewal music is appearing. I don't have any problems with this because everybody doesn't like Bach. That's just a plain fact. Like all organists, I wish it were otherwise. Everything that I like--Tallis and Byrd and everybody--I wish everybody would like it as much as me, but they don't. Some of them really get a lot out of the different songs, and we think my colleagues here do it here very tastefully so the whole service blends, and I guess the word "blend" is about the right word for it. You have a service where something in it appeals to everybody. In the beginning I was resigned and thought, "Well, that's what it's going to be," but the truth is the whole service becomes an entity, a unity. Without the renewal music, that particular service isn't right. Now at the 11:00 service, which does not have any renewal type music, to put it in there would not be right. We're a big enough church that we can have five services on Sunday, so it's easy. People, like water, seek their own level; they find the service they like and go to it. In these large churches it's necessary that services have their own character--that every service doesn't sound like the last one anymore than every Episcopal church in Greenville should sound like the next one. This [individual character] is its appeal: the spiritual appeal of people. I feel that the renewal music has its place, at a certain time but not all the time. I don't mean just out at the campfire or something. I mean in a church service on a Sunday morning. I think it has an appeal and a place.
You've drawn a clear distinction about doing it tastefully and not using guitars and so on.
That might be a failing. I know of churches which use guitars and flutes and violins and everything and dress it all up very nicely. In a sense we're bringing the secular world into the sacred and in a sense we're not. Music that Vivaldi wrote, the guitar concertos and so forth, was not a lot different than the Vivaldi Gloria. It was the same style in and out of the church. That has always swung back and forth as everybody knows. I think God uses all kinds of music to proclaim His gospel and to draw people to him. So I think that secular music--that gentle secular music--is useful. Songs such as "As the deer" and so on make an appeal that deals with the spiritual side of the person. I think it is important that we acknowledge that. These pendulums swing. A lot of the stuff the Roman Catholics had in the sixties has gone away, and some of the Roman Catholic churches that I know of are now swinging back to Gregorian Chant and to their heritage that they have from that, which I think is wonderful. I think classical music, like the Brahms motets, appeals to me, and if I were going to a service, not as an organist, I would go to Church of the Advent in Boston and hear the music played and sung there. As I said, people seek their own level in music. I know there is a terrible controversy raging about it. People say, "I'm not going to do it, I'm not going to have it." Well, it's not easy to say that. I think we have to deal with it the best way we can. We have to make it useful to God's purpose--not our purposes but God's purpose as we see it.
Given that there does seem to be such controversy about it, are you still optimistic about the church?
I am. Lots of my friends are not optimistic about church or church music, but I am because I know these things cycle. The really fine [examples] of any style of music or any style of worship is going to stay. It has stayed over the years. We still sing "A mighty fortress" for example. Any church should present the classical hymns: "A mighty fortress," "O God, our help in ages past," all the Lutheran chorales, the hymns in the 1982 Hymnal and the 1940 Hymnal. These should always be in the forefront of everything that's done. Then when the other music comes in, you actually have the icing on the cake in a sense. I am optimistic about church music. There are lots of great teachers, and there are lots of great players that really are church organists as opposed to performers. All you have to remember is to work with people--the relationships--that's the main thing. That doesn't just mean the choir members. It means the clergy and the staff, the program staff, the janitorial staff, all of them. And then you find out how things get done easily.
