ORGAN SPECTACULAR IX

Composed between 1710-1730, by Tomaso Antonio Vitali (1663-1745).

Tomaso Antonio Vitali was the son of Giovanni Battista Vitali, the most illustrious composer in Bologna. The younger Vitali followed in his father’s footsteps; he was also successful as a teacher. The younger Vitali would be all but forgotten today, however, were it not for this remarkable Chaconne, which was not published until 1867, over a century after his death. That version, arranged by violinist Ferdinand David, contained modulations that were so unusual for music of the early 1700s – from G minor to B-flat minor and E-flat minor – that many musicians questioned its authenticity.

We now know that the Chaconne is truly an 18th Century piece, based on the manuscript’s age and its handwriting. In addition, we know that Vitali’s father composed chaconnes containing changes of key, though not as daring as his son’s. There remains some question, however, of whether Tomaso Vitali was actually the composer, because the manuscript ascribes the violin part to “Tomaso Vitalino” – who we assume is Vitali, partly because no other composer’s name comes closer, and because the manuscript dates from a time when the spelling of names was quite fluid.

A chaconne is a piece based on a short, repeating bass line that typically descends. The most famous are Bach’s stupendous Chaconne from the D-minor Violin Partita, and Pachelbel’s ubiquitous Canon, which despite its name is both a canon and a chaconne. The chaconne’s repetitious quality means that the composer is increasingly challenged as the piece gets longer: it’s not difficult to compose six variations on a bass line, but creating sixty independent variations – as is the case here – is another matter entirely!

Vitali’s Chaconne simultaneously looks backward and forward. On one hand, the form itself had its heyday in the 17th Century, when Vitali’s father was composing reams of them; in the days before composers developed techniques to organize large stretches of time through changes of key, the chaconne’s repetition was a simple solution to the challenge of composing large yet musically coherent pieces. On the other hand, the boldness of Vitali’s modulations looks forward to the most audacious passages in Mozart and Beethoven. It’s not surprising that these modulations caused the piece to be viewed with suspicion, but it’s also not surprising that a composer conceived the idea of a modulating chaconne, as it’s an effective antidote to the form’s inherently static quality. The modulations provide a welcome sense of departure and return.

The question of authenticity has led violinists and orchestrators to treat the piece very freely. The manuscript consists only of a violin part, a bass line, and figures – numerals that would have told an 18th Century keyboard player how to harmonize the piece. David’s original publication took many liberties with the manuscript, and subsequent arrangers have tended to add to, rather than subtract from these alterations; unlike many Baroque pieces, there has been no strong movement to strip away these glosses and return to the “true” Vitali Chaconne. This freedom has helped keep the piece a vital and living part of the repertoire. The arrangement being performed in this concert, by the Italian composer Ottorino Respighi, is one of the most glorious.

Note by Mark Arnest.

Composition date unknown, by Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741).

A common item of trivia in the orchestra world is to note that J.S. Bach, for all his fame in nearly every genre of music common during his time, never wrote an opera. Antonio Vivaldi, by contrast, is one of the earliest composers on record who seemingly made an effort to compose for nearly every type of music that was popular during his time. He composed for large ensembles and small ones; instrumental music and vocal music; both sacred and secular.

Despite these efforts, Vivaldi has a gap in his output of nearly the same importance to Bach's: His over 800 works include nothing originally written for solo keyboard - which in his day usually meant organ, harpsichord, or spinet. The only exception to this rule seems to be when a harpsichord could subsitute for stringed instruments - as in the case of RV780 - or when the organ would be paired alongside another instrument in a double concerto, as is the case here.

Even then, RV767 is an alternative version of a piece originally conceived for two violins (RV765). This kind of  re-formulation was common, as Vivaldi's unidiomatic compositional style frequently involved melodies that were easily transferable between instruments. When you look up RV767, you will most commonly see it presented as a double concerto for violin and organ; today, we have chosen the still-popular, though less common practice of playing the piece as a double concerto for flute and organ.

Note by Jacob Pope.

Composed in 1924 and 1940, by Joseph Jongen (1873-1953).

Joseph Jongen was a Belgian composer, organist, and pianist. As a child prodigy, he entered the Liège Conservatoire at age seven and studied for sixteen years, winning many prestigious awards and establishing himself as a composer. In his early career, he served as the organist at the Grand Séminaire, Liège, and later at St. Jacques, Liège, a post he shared with his younger brother, Léon. After winning the prestigious Grande Prix de Rome in 1897 for the composition of his Cantata Comola, Jongen undertook a four-year tour of Europe, traveling to Berlin, Bayreuth, Paris, and Rome. During these years, he studied with Richard Strauss and heard the music of Johannes Brahms, Gabriel Fauré, and Vincent d'Indy. 

Jongen was hailed for his virtuosity and strength as an organist. He was admired for his depth of interpretation and compelling improvisations. Jongen’s younger brother, Léon, recalled his final improvisation at the Conservatoire:  “My brother chose ... the three themes in question, and for more than half an hour, an astonished jury and an amazed audience were held spellbound ... the jury, enthralled, let him continue ... And when the stretto of a triple fugue brought the 'work' to a conclusion in the manner of a superlative flourish, the hall gave him an unforgettable standing ovation.” 

Jongen’s compositions are characterized by their unique harmonic color. Like Debussy and Fauré, his melodies often grow from a lush foundation of harmonies. Jongen’s eclectic influences formed a style that was unique and personal, described by one London reporter as an “eloquence that is Wagnerian in its flow but French in its atmosphere.”

Hymne, op. 78, was written in September of 1924, originally scored for harmonium and piano. Jongen dedicated the piece to his friend, Émile t’Serstevens, a notary and amateur photographer. Several years earlier, Jongen dedicated a set of harmonium pieces to t’Serstevens after he loaned his beautiful Art-Harmonium to the Schola Musicae in Brussels where Jongen was teaching. The arrangement for organ and string orchestra was written in 1926, possibly as a sketch for his Symphonie Concertante, which he began in the same year. The primary theme is played by the strings at the beginning of the piece, accompanied by rich harmonies on the organ. The secondary theme is played on the organ alone with the Voix celeste, a subtle combination which imitates the quality of strings. The primary theme returns at the conclusion of the piece, this time accompanied by the organ imitating the sound of a harp. 

Alleluia, op. 112, was written in 1940 for the dedication of a new organ located in the concert hall of the National Institute of Broadcasting in Brussels. The organ was built by Maurice Delmotte of “La maison Delmotte,” a long family lineage of organ builders dating from the early nineteenth century. The instrument was Delmotte’s magnum opus, with four manuals and 110 stops. Jongen served as a consultant for its installation. Alleluia begins with a dialogue between the brass and woodwinds. The primary theme, stated by the brass, has a contour reminiscent of Gregorian chant. The piece has a bold and fervent character, including a series of slow build-ups and triumphal entries from the organ.

Note by Joel Trekell

Composed in 2004, by Stephen Paulus (1949-2014).

Surprises abound at the Organ Spectacular year after year in Colorado Springs. Starting in 2015 with the perennial Saint-Saëns Organ Symphony, this little orchestra has presented more works for organ and orchestra then most major orchestras will perform in a century, thanks to the exceptional organists in our community as well as Michael Barone, radio host and productor of Pipedeams, who, about 10 years ago, began a list of works for organ and orchestra (400+), which he describes as “neither scholarly nor in any way exhaustive.” 

In a town with so many churches and organists, we have found a niche that is truly unique. And as you can see, we have decades of great music to go. From the 17th century to the 21st century, from Handel to Hanson, the magical combination of a one-of-a-kind organ, virtuoso organists and your Chamber Orchestra, have brought the greatest works of this genre to life every September.

Adding Grammy award winning American composer Stephen Paulus’ Grand Concerto to our program is long overdue. Prolific and beloved, Paulus was hailed by The New Yorker as “...a bright, fluent inventor with a ready lyric gift”. They weren’t kidding. Paulus composed over 300 works in many genres, including orchestra, chorus, chamber ensembles, solo voice, keyboard and opera, including his best-known work, The Postman Always Rings Twice. During his lifetime, commissions poured in from countless organizations and the world’s greatest soloists.

Before his unexpected passing in 2014 at age 65, Paulus had written four organ concertos. The third of these, his Grand Concerto, was commissioned by the Dallas Symphony, who were in search of a new work to showcase organist Bradley Hunter Welch, winner of the Dallas International Organ Competition in 2003. Twenty-first century it may be, but the musical language remains, without question, tonal and romantic.

It is in three movements: "Vivacious & Spirited," "Austere: Foreboding," and "Jubilant". Beginning in darkness, mysterious organ chords intermingle with the low strings, then quickly building, the movement soon lives up to its description. The second movement is more serious, but later incorporates mischievous scherzando elements, before yielding to an exhilarating, toccata-like finale.

Perhaps the most touching element of the work is the affectionate presentation of two hymn tunes. Come, Come Ye Saints appears in the second movement, a tender back story in honor of his father. In the finale, the violins soar above the drama with one of my personal favorites, O Waly Waly. I desperately wanted to uncover the reason why he chose this much-loved tune but ultimately came up empty handed. Perhaps it was his way of saying - hold onto what brings you love and enjoy the ride to the end! Indeed.

Note by Pamela Chaddon