The present sound of the organ’s principal chorus is generally admired as being rich, dramatic, and full of character; it is as exciting to listen to as to play. At the same time it is undeniably on the aggressive side—quite unlike the principal choruses of any other old Mexican or Iberian organ known to the authors; and given its history, it cannot be said with any certainty whether it now resembles the sound it had either at its construction, in 1735, or at any date between 1735 and the time it fell silent in the 20th century. It may, of course; but then again, it may not. The tonal esthetic certainly appears to have little to do with the character of the Lleno of the de Sesma organ built for the Cathedral of Mexico City in 1695, which contemporary descriptions call “delicate,” or with old descriptions of the sounds of the Nassarre organ built there in 1734–36. But Tlacochahuaya is not Mexico City. In the absence of any historic description of organ sounds in Oaxaca, we simply have no way to form an opinion here.
The dates 1867 and 1890 are to be found in the organ and seem to refer to repairs or changes. It would be logical to suppose that the stop action was added at one of these times, but we have no idea what else might have been done—for example, in a century of fast-changing tastes and social upheavals, attempts to make the organ louder or softer by manipulating the pipes or the bellows weights could easily have altered its character significantly. The poorly functioning reed stops fall under particular suspicion here. And lastly, we have one bit of anecdotal evidence about the organ’s sound: among the local people the organ has a longstanding reputation for being audible a long way from the church. Whether this implies a loud organ or quiet rural surroundings is anyone’s guess.
5. Summary and Conclusions
At this point it will be helpful to condense the facts we have discussed into a chronological table:
1550s: Dominican convent established and church built with gallery, in which there almost certainly stood an organ
Between 1660–1803 (1730s?): brick vaults added
1714: major earthquake
1720s and ’30s: several organs similar to Tlacochahuaya’s built for nearby churches
1735 or before: organ perhaps built as 4' instrument with no reeds?
1735: either an existing organ was rebuilt, or a new organ was constructed, adapting an existing chest to accommodate two façade reeds; 4' stopped converted to 8' stopped; case presumably painted
1735 or later: reed stops possibly added, perhaps at different dates
1737: church renovation completed, which included the west façade, new towers, and new access to the raised and expanded gallery
Probably after 1800: drawstops added
After 1850: keyboard replaced
After 1859: conflicts between church and state render many church properties derelict
1867: work of unknown scope done on organ
1890: work of unknown scope done on organ
Between 1890–1990: organ becomes unplayable, about 50% of pipework disappears
1990–91: Tattershall intervention: organ dismantled, cleaned and repaired, new bellows made, blower added, missing pipes replaced in conformity with surviving old work
So what we find is hardly surprising, yet easily lost sight of: that while there are enormous gaps in our information about the Tlacochahuaya organ, we can be certain that there have been changes made over its long history. Furthermore, some of the changes we know about significantly altered the organ’s overall sound. Whether or not it was carried through to completion, the chest was apparently first designed for a reedless 4' organ with a stopped unison rank that could have been considered part of the plenum. Its suppression in favor of the existing 8' stopped register and the provision of reeds obviously made large differences, both in the way the organ sounded and in the way it had to be played. (The impetus for providing an 8¢ foundation might have had to do with a decline in the use of traditional counterpoint and the introduction of the new-for-Oaxaca Italian basso continuo style.) In addition, we know the wind system was altered in 1990, though we cannot judge its effect; and we doubt that the reeds always sounded the way they do today. We have no way of knowing when and how the pipes’ footholes may have been adjusted; we have some evidence of altered cutups; and we have no idea what was thought to be the right wind pressure for the organ at any point previous to 1990. In short, we must admit that while the organ’s sound is generally beautiful, integrated, authoritative, and convincing (the reed stops excepted), it is a sound determined by the esthetic of our own times and our acceptance of it is a result of our own esthetic standards,31 not those of 1735 or any other point in the organ’s past; for this is all that is possible given the fragmentary state of the evidence about the organ’s past that we have.
And so it is with all of the playable old organs in Mexico—as well, we might add, as with a great many of the playable old organs in the world. When we look closely at the history of these instruments we most often find a long and imperfectly documented history of interventions and alterations, whose exact natures tend to become less clear the more carefully we examine them, and all we can finally say with certainty is that when most of these interventions were newly finished the organs probably conformed, for the moment, to the esthetic standards and musical needs of their day. But, these things being in constant flux and organs being complicated machines that often require more maintenance than they get, the “ideal” or “original” state of an organ becomes a shifting and amorphous thing about which we pontificate at our peril. This means that the reconstruction or restoration of an old organ is not to be undertaken lightly, for if it is to do more than add another layer of changes to an already much-altered instrument, both the research and the funding for the project will have to be extensive.
If there is a moral to this story, it probably has to do with the irresoluble conflict between, on the one hand, our fully understandable and respectable desire to have playing instruments and beautiful music in the sublime settings places like Mexican baroque churches afford, and, on the other hand, our sense of historical responsibility to our musical past, which demands of us the utmost in scholarship and restraint before we think of altering irreplaceable surviving artifacts—the nature of which we may well understand less perfectly than we believe. The decision of whether to rebuild, restore, repair, alter, replace, copy, throw out, or simply leave intact under a hopefully protective coat of dust (which may not prove impermeable to the ravages of weather, wood-boring insects, nesting animals, and curious tourists) is one that requires the most careful thought, from as many viewpoints and with input from as many knowledgeable people as possible. This becomes of especial concern as we continue to document the many still-little-known old organs of Central and South America, for one thing about which we can be reasonably certain is that among them we shall find instruments of great rarity, exceptional age, and extraordinary potential beauty. The temptation to hear what they might sound like can be overwhelming, and an incompletely researched, inadequately-funded “restoration” fueled more by enthusiasm than knowledge can easily result. Yet once a project has been carried out on an organ, the instrument is changed, it is not likely to be changed again any time soon, and eventually undoing the change, should further reflection find it desirable, will probably be more difficult than was changing it in the first place. Surely these kinds of considerations, which are implicit in every organ project in any part of the world, deserve our utmost conscious attention.
