When I began studying music, I did it all by myself; while my parents loved listening to classical music, they never expected me to take music lessons, let alone pursue a career in music. All they did was buying a little “Bontempi” electric organ with a 2-octave keyboard for the right hand and a bunch of “chord” buttons to be played by the left hand (a bit like an accordion). It looked like this:  

I quickly picked up some easy tunes and I figured out how to decipher the basic “scores” that were included with the manual. I probably wouldn't have gone further if my dad hadn't gifted me a music tape with a recording of Bach's organ music played by Werner Jacob. The effect that music had on me is hard to overstate. Let's just say that I began drawing pipe organs on a notebook, pretending my pick-up sticks were pipes of a gigantic cathedral instrument (in multiple colors, no less!) played by one of my Playmobil figurines. I was hooked. 

I started practicing with renewed intensity, still by myself; I only learned the basics of music theory in middle school, and shortly later my parents decided that it was time for me to get some formal training. My father knew a church organist and he took me to him for a first assessment of my self-taught skills and to get some advice on where to go from there. For the first time I was put in front of a real pipe organ console (a 2-manual instrument built by Mascioni in the 1950s) and I had the chance to try some of the stops with the organist by my side. The tunes I knew seemed too pedestrian for that majestic instrument, so I started improvising. I let each stop inspire me, and I went along as my tutor added new ones to the mix. I can't say how well or how poorly I managed, but the organist was clearly pleased and emphatically stated that I had “the touch” (“il tocco”). 

I think what he meant to say was that I had already started to develop the unique playing techniques that separate organists from other keyboard players: shifting fingers on the same key to achieve better “legato” and instantly adapting to the acoustics of a large space, for example, using the naturally-occurring echo effect to your advantage. Other instrumentalists also have to worry about similar issues, especially when they play in a concert hall, but not as much as organists. What I really was doing, as I realized many years later, was simply imitating how other organists played Bach in the tapes I listened to over and over again; Bach was my real teacher. I still think that everything one needs to know about organ playing can be learned by listening and by studying Bach’s music. 

Bach’s influence was also reflected in the way I improvised. After learning one of his “little” preludes in C minor, for example, I realized that I could use the same harmonic progressions within different patterns to obtain different and ever-changing results; I learned how to build the typical “broken melody” effect that gave the illusion of polyphony when in fact there is only one voice playing; I listened to Bach’s elaborations on basic choral tunes, how he built ornate melodies that soared above the basic harmonic structure of Lutheran choral tunes. Bach was like a great “sponge” that had absorbed only the best features from an astonishing array of musical styles and traditions, and all that was now available to me (and to countless other performers and composers who were smart enough to study his craft).

No other composer has ever mastered an instrument like Bach did with the pipe organ. Beethoven and Chopin achieved similarly glorious results with the piano, but it is not quite the same thing. We must consider that the organ was the biggest and most complex piece of machinery ever built before the industrial revolution. Bach was fortunate to have such a prodigious instrument at his disposal, whereas Beethoven and Chopin were still dealing with instruments that were far less advanced in their engineering and components. Of course, the piano sported a dynamic keyboard and other nifty features like the “sustain” and the “soft” pedals; I do not mean to underestimate it. I am simply saying that, for Bach, the timing was impeccable, while both Beethoven and Chopin had to deal with notable shortcomings in the response of their respective instruments. Beethoven in particular was well known among builders for pushing the capabilities of his pianos to their limit and sometimes beyond - he was responsible for quite a few broken instruments. Chopin, too, struggled to find a piano that suited his way of playing; he finally found a match in Pleyel, but it is easy to notice the enormous difference that separates the best Pleyel piano from a modern concert grand, and we can only wonder what Chopin would have accomplished had he been gifted a Steinway, a Fazioli or a Bösendorfer from the future.   

It is an unfair comparison, I’ll admit. After all, the organ had been evolving for thousands of years since its first appearance as a glorified foghorn to entertain the circus-going crowds in the ancient world, while only a few decades separate Beethoven from the first piano prototypes built by Cristofori in Florence. Bach himself had the chance to try some of the first “pianoforti” and gladly acknowledged their potential; he even gave some technical advice to those early piano makers, but when it was time to play (and compose) he had many better-developed keyboard instruments right at his fingertips… No pun intended!

Some of those instruments did not pass the test of time, like the clavichord or the pedal harpsichord; it is a shame, but we must also understand that Bach never was too fixated with one particular instrument (well, maybe he did have a slight predilection for the organ): my dad used to say that Bach wrote “cosmic” music, i.e. music that transcends earthly means and shoots straight to the stars. After reading quite a bit about his life and works, I would say that Bach’s musical mind operated in a rather abstract framework, largely unencumbered by the idiomatic traits of any single instrument. For example: he was a choral director and had to deal with professional and semi-professional singers for most of his life, and yet he treats the voice just like any other instrument, with little concern for tiny details like the need to take a breath every now and then.

It is for similar reasons that I am not particularly taken by the historical performance movement. Granted, performers should know how music was performed in Bach’s time, and be aware of the main features (and flaws) of the various instruments that were available to him, but such knowledge should not turn into a limitation (the exclusion of the piano, for example), nor prevent experimentation. The Matthäus Passion conducted by Richter with a huge number of instrumentalists and choristers sounds AMAZING and it brings me to tears every time I hear that opening choir. Historically speaking, it is an absurdity, and the tempos Richter takes are surely too slow; but who cares? I think Bach would have loved it. 

Well, this post has ballooned way beyond my intentions and if you made it this far, I salute you. As a reward, here is a picture of the latest pipe organ I played just yesterday afternoon, at the Church of the Covenant in Cleveland’s University Circle. It is a cute “positive” organ built by Flentrop and it sports three ranks of pipes (8’, 4’, and 2’) that can be engaged by pulling levers positioned on the left side of the instrument (not visible in the photo). Tiny organs like this one are perfect for playing continuo or (like in this case) accompanying a singer: the fabulous Anna O’Connell. Interesting fact: the pipes you see in the front panels are purely decorative and do not produce sound: the real pipes are all inside! Ciao!