Marcussen & Sø Much (Danish) History

National and regional borders so often seem permanent and fixed, although many of today’s borders are recently set — and continue to move even during our lifetimes. North and South Carolina’s borders were last adjusted three years ago (in 2017), Alaska was ratified as the 50th state only in 1959, and Germany’s and Belgium’s current borders were only finalized in 1990 and 1995, respectively.

Even the idea of a nation with stable borders is a concept barely two centuries old, yet our identities are uniquely connected to the current national/regional lands as well as those of the past. Alongside the identity adjustments that border changes can provoke are also the different business and tax obligations that come along with them.

IMG_1625I was ruminating over such things as we crossed the northernmost border of Germany, leaving the Schleswig-Holstein region to enter South Jutland in Denmark. This border has shifted nearly a dozen times over the last 150 years. Today, Northern Schleswig is part of Denmark while both Southern Schleswig and Holstein belong to Germany (the area north of Hamburg’s Elbe River and west of Lübeck). However, in the past, these regions have been subject to claims by Sweden, the Holy Roman Empire, Prussia, and Austria, as well as those of Denmark and Germany.


From the 1100s until 1864, Schleswig was a fief associated with Denmark and, until its 1815 incorporation into the German Confederation, Holstein was a Danish-ruled duchy while simultaneously being a fief under the Holy Roman Empire (complicated enough?). The Napoleonic Wars of the early 19th century stoked German nationalism, especially in the southern part of Schleswig, where nationalists wanted to unify the Schleswig-Holstein region into a single part of Germany (spoiler alert: they pretty much succeeded later). The Danish-disposed population in the north wished for a tighter connection to Denmark, and nationalists there argued that the region had longer identified as part of this Scandinavian country.

In 1848, Prussia supported the rising tide of Germanic allegiance, helping German nationalists to fight against Danish troops. Peace terms in 1852 gave Denmark the entire Schleswig-Holstein region, but conflict was never far away. Merely 12 years later, the Second Schleswig War (also known as the German-Danish War) broke out between Prussian/Austrian and Danish troops. The resulting Treaty of Vienna gave both regions to the victorious Prussia and Austria but, dissatisfied with sharing the spoils, the victors fought each other. The “last man standing,” Prussia, gained control over this part of northern Europe. Less than a decade later, in 1871, the German Empire was formed and, once again, Germany and Denmark fought over the region, to little solid conclusion.

Finally, after World War I, preferential referendum were held in the northern and southern portions of North Schleswig. The northernmost portion voted to become part of Denmark by 70% and the southern portion indicated preference for Germany by 80%. Both plebiscites were respected and each region joined the respective majority’s choice, splitting Schleswig in two. After World War II, Germany’s Schleswig region joined with Holstein as a single state (to the joy of 19th-century German nationalists, I’m sure), and these borders have remained thus for the past 75 years. I’m sure you can hear my sigh of relief (and I think I can hear yours)!

Smørrebrød – yes that is very raw beef!

In crossing into Denmark, our destination was the little town of Aabenraa (population 16,350), on a fjord off the Baltic Sea. We had a scrumptious lunch of Smørrebrød (typical Danish open-faced sandwich) in the center of Aabenraa’s pedestrian zone, only a few blocks from something one does not expect to find in the middle of a little town: an organbuilding workshop!

Marcussen, now Marcussen & Søn, has had its shop in Aabenraa since 1830, when founder Jürgen Marcussen and his new partner since 1826, Andreas Reuter, moved it from outside of Copenhagen (as Marcussen & Reuter — no relation to the American Reuter firm). Extraordinarily, this organ-building workshop has been running for 214 years and the Marcussen family is still in charge of the company – the 7th generation!

IMG_1576Finding our way into the Marcussen shop itself felt like seeking entrance via a secret passageway. The house number is attached to a main door on the street (*which isn’t the shop entrance!*), but the “Marcussen & Søn” plaque is almost hidden, attached to the sides of what looks like an old carriage entrance a few meters away. This “little door” opens to reveal a grand courtyard; the heart and center of the Marcussen workshop. The cobblestones complete the “old world” feel, even as they make walking a bit treacherous.

Walking beneath the words Soli deo gloria that adorn the shop doors, Dave and I had the privilege of meeting Claudia Zachariassen, president of Marcussen & Søn, and Daniel Schmidt Christensen, co-owner. We toured this collection of old, winding buildings, which perfectly match the Affekt of the courtyard, where Marcussen makes their new instruments and rebuilds and restores older ones.

On this Sunday afternoon, the shop was quite empty, but one could imagine how busy it would feel (and how often collisions would be nearly avoided in the narrow hallways and stairwells) when the full contingent of Marcussen employees are working. Neither the cramped interior nor the calm courtyard give indication of the myriad of border changes that Marcussen has weathered since their founding in 1806, finding themselves in Germany one decade, Prussia the next, and Denmark after that. Methodologies, production, and even advertising have had to change, adjusting to the market in which they found themselves after the dust of each conflict had settled. Marcussen’s identity as a Danish firm is strongly evident in their work and ideology, but this identity has undeniable Germanic influences in their style – due to both changing borders and proximity, just as a start. Blood runs deep, and so does history.

The daylight was quickly fading (only 8 hours of sun here in late January), so after two hours at the shop, we drove north to Århus. The second-largest city in Denmark has always felt like the younger sibling to the capital of Copenhagen – and somewhat acts like one, competing with the the “City of Spires” for such titles as “largest” and “tallest” and “greatest.” Four times smaller than Copenhagen, Århus calls itself the “world’s smallest big city” and it feels like that: quite manageable, very charming, larger than one initially thinks, and full of history.

First founded as a Viking settlement in the 8th century, Århus and its natural harbor (the Bay of Aarhus) together formed a popular market town and destination on the Baltic Sea until growth stagnated during the Swedish Wars of the 17th century and, later, the German occupation in the 19th century (due to the previously-mentioned Schleswig Wars). By the middle of the last century, when the northern Schleswig region was returned to Denmark, Århus had already taken its place as the second largest city in the country as well as the heart of the western Denmark region.

IMG_1639We stayed the night in a very compact Cabinn Hotel (catchphrase: “All you need to sleep”), and I’m still trying to figure out how “All you need to wash” could fit into one tiny single-use package of liquid. I’m also still unsure how one can properly wash in something resembling a sub-mariner’s bathroom, as I was strongly reminded of the bathing facilities on the 1950 USS Albacore submarine, now in a museum in Portsmouth, New Hampshire…

There are times when I am quite grateful to be 5’3″ (not something an organist in Europe often says).



Monday morning found us entering the Århus Cathedral, which was first built in the 12th century and completed in 1300. Only 30 years after it was finished, however, the original Romanesque building tragically burned down, alongside much of the town, and it had to wait another 120 years to be rebuilt. Finally, the Cathedral rose again, expanded and in Gothic style — and it is this building, mostly completed in 1500, that we visited. Currently, the Cathedral is closed to the general public during weekdays due to the most exciting of events: their instrument is being rebuilt and expanded by Marcussen & Søn. Fortunately, they kindly made an exception for an itinerant organist and organbuilder.

IMG_1595The Cathedral’s glorious Gothic interior sends geometrically-painted ribbed vaults soaring upwards, contrasting with the whitewashed walls and clear windows that make this room seem far brighter than the rather foreboding clouds outside would seem to allow. Scaffolding hid the organ’s magnificent 1730 Lambert Daniel Kastens façade, but ornate, gilded carvings peaked out from behind the metal grill, hinting at that which adorned its west end for almost three centuries. No stranger to things ornate or things old, this cathedral holds a number of frescos (220m2, to be


exact), all but one painted between 1470 and 1520, and a stunning altarpiece, by Lübeck artist Brent Notke, which was dedicated in 1479. 

The white-ish scaffolding made the west end seem brighter, but taking a look behind that metal “curtain” gives an idea of what this museum-restored façade will look like when it is finally revealed in the coming months. I could not have chosen a better time to try climbing scaffolding for the first time, and the tour of this fascinating instrument behind its façade made every step more than worthwhile.

Lambert Daniel Kastens, a student of Arp Schnitger, built an organ of 43 stops over three manuals and pedals for the Århus Cathedral in 1730, of which only the façade and a few ranks (mostly in that façade) remain today. 150 years and an unsuccessful rebuild in 1855 later, local Århus builder Johan Andreas Demant was contracted to build a new organ in 1876, still with 43 stops over three manuals and pedal and, reportedly, classical tonal leanings.

Source: wikipedia

Barely half a century later, this longest cathedral with the tallest tower in Denmark needed the largest organ. The Cathedral selected Bavarian-born organbuilder Theodor Frobenius for the new instrument. Frobenius’ romantic stoplist was almost double the size of the Kastens and Demant instruments, with 83 stops over four manuals and pedal.

It is back to the Frobenius organ’s tonal proclivities and stoplist that Marcussen & Søn are seeking to return this instrument. In the 92 years since that organ’s 1928 completion, it has gone through a myriad of changes, another example of an instrument forced to follow the progressively-more-rapidly changing fashions of the last century. In 1940, following the newer inclinations of the Organ Reform Movement, Frobenius’ organ was expanded with mutations, and in the late 1950s, the pipework and voicing was drastically altered to favor contrapuntal lines. Twenty-five years later, tastes were changing again and the Cathedral’s organist sought a more romantic sound, sparking yet another rebuild of the instrument.

So, a large part of Marcussen & Søn’s hard work today is in the realms of Nancy Drew and Sherlock Holmes: looking through Frobenius’ records and notes (in Danish, German, and Swedish) to search for and deduce information that may have long been lost. There is never a dull moment in organbuilding!

Enthusiasm for this challenge is evident in the energy of the Marcussen team, Kristian Krogsøe (the organist of the Cathedral who treated us to a mini-performance on the stops that were thus far speaking in January), and the organ consultant, Anders Johnsson.

Doubtless, a return to Århus to hear the organ and explore the Cathedral more will be necessary after they finish their work in late summer 2020!!

Our 18 hours in Århus were far too few, so after a coffee and some very tasty (and expensive) Danish pastries, we returned to Hamburg Airport for our flight back to the southwest, arriving with plenty of time for a beer and wonderful rehashing of an incredible weekend. A weekend full of instruments, food, and time with dear friends, every second sent far too quickly! For certain, however, more time in Denmark next time!!

Raising a glass to wish you all safety, health, and good food, dear friends!



P.S. If you’re curious to read more about Marcussen & Søn’s work on the Frobenius organ in Århus, I’ve just had the privilege of writing an article about it for the April 2020 edition of Choir & Organ, which should be released in the next couple of weeks!


48 Hours in Hamburg

Source: Quora

Those of us hailing from the USA and Australia are often fascinated by the variety of national and regional identities over western Europe’s comparatively small geographic area. In the States, although it may feel as though we have at least a half dozen different countries within our national borders, there is still something of an overarching feeling of “homogenous nation,” one not equivalent to the European identity, although countries on the European side of the pond are comparable in size to various United states. If you overlay a map of the USA over that of Europe, much of the western and (southern) central parts of the latter fit within the area of the lower 48, with a bit of eastern Europe as a bonus.

So, when low flight prices gave Dave and me the idea to travel from one side of Germany to the other (roughly the distance across Montana) it was a no-brainer to hop on that 1.5 hour flight for a long January weekend in the north, finally granting us the privilege of experiencing some of the beautiful instruments that Hamburg has to offer… with the unexpected bonus of sunny weather.

The principal churches (Hauptkirchen) in Hamburg, all of the “Evangelical” Lutheran persuasion, have been part of the fabric of the city’s spiritual and political structure for nearly 500 years. Hamburg embraced Lutheranism during the reformation, officially on May 15, 1529.* Since then, these five churches (Sankt Petri, Sankt Nikolai [now rebuilt, although the former building’s tower still stands at its original location], Sankt Katharinen, Sankt Jakobi, and Sankt Michaelis) have shared the history of this city for half a millenium through plague, war, French occupation, fire, urbanization, Nazism, British occupation, flood, the Iron Curtain, and German reunification and have all been built, destroyed, and built anew alongside the city. Hamburg, a metropolitan center of trade, sprawls along the banks of the Elbe, crowned by the six church towers of the five Hauptkirchen and one former Hauptkirche.

*In Germany, one registers either as Evangelische (Lutheran Protestant) or Katholische (Catholic) or neither so that the government knows to where (if anybody) to send your “church tax.”

Sankt Jakobi topped our list of churches to see first. This 1689-93 Arp Schnitger organ is one of the largest of its kind in northern Europe, at 60 stops over four manuals and pedals, and is a pilgrimage point for most organists (and organbuilders). It has survived in the current form partially thanks to Hans Henny Jahnn, who “rediscovered” it early in the interwar period and organized events that exposed the German organ scene to this instrument (in service of the Orgelbewegung) and funded his own restoration of this instrument. Although the front pipes had been taken down and melted in World War I, the windchests and all internal pipework were removed and saved before the church was completely destroyed in 1943 bombings of Hamburg. The last decade of the 20th century saw Jürgen Ahrend reconstruct the 1689-93 Schnitger in the new 1963 church building, giving us the privilege of seeing, hearing, and playing it today.

Incumbent Kantor Gerhard Löffler sensitively performed a program demonstrating those glorious Schnitger reeds, after which I spent an extraordinary two hours exploring the instrument, reveling in the sonorities and in that sensitive Ahrend action! Those sounds followed me through dinner and into my dreams…

A curious 1950 console from the 1961 Kemper organ in Sankt Jakobikirche is stored and visible for intrigued organ enthusiasts as one ascends to the organ loft. With incredibly detailed carved heads on the drawknobs, this Spieltisch (German for console, literally translated as “playtable”) is equally fascinating for both woodworker and organist!

The next morning featured a trip to Sankt Michaelis (affectionately nicknamed “Michel”), which is an exceptional example of an Hanseatic baroque church built explicitly in Protestant style (rather than built by Catholics and used by Protestants post-Reformation). A colleague has fondly called the interior a “cupcake” because of the beautiful gilding-encrusted interior and white walls. Under a single roof are instruments by G. F. Steinmeyer & Co (1960-2, residing within the 1912 case of the former Walcker organ), by Klais (a Fernwerk in the ceiling, from 2009), and by Marcussen & Søn (1914), all unified and playable from a single remote console in the gallery. Additionally there is a two manual organ by Freiburger Orgelbau Hartwig & Tilmann Späth called the “C.P.E. Bach organ”, a continuo organ built in 2017 by Klop, and a 1917 Johannes Strebel organ, installed in the church’s crypt in 2008 within a new case by Späth (and titled the “Felix Mendelssohn organ”).


To say this is a “wealth of organs” is an understatement. The diversity of sound, style, and actions made my morning there a joy-filled education – even if I was only able to play three of the available seven (!) instruments on this visit. Klais did a brilliant job in restoring the pneumatic action of the 1914 Marcussen & Søn instrument to its state prior to a dramatic alteration in the 1950s, and the extremely stable temperature and humidity in this gigantic room (seating 2,500) allows the surround-sound effect made by playing the Marcusson, Klais Fernwerk, and Steinmeyer organs together from the remote console to be absolutely thrilling.

Kantor Manuel Gera brilliantly demonstrated the instruments in the nave and showed us around inside the cases… and also gave me the joy of a last-minute invitation to play for the daily noonday service, which features approximately 15 minutes of organ music, a prayer, and a hymn. There’s something special about beautiful music filling this light-filled room that has withstood fire, war, lightning, and ongoing renovation to this day. The architecture and instruments still inspire and brighten the lives of all with the good fortune to visit!

For a total change of pace, we wandered towards and along the Elbe River, stopping to marvel at the striking, wavelike façade of the Elbphilharmonie, Hamburg’s concert hall, and finding excellent coffee throughout the Speicherstadt. For those who, like me, treasure exploring new places by walking, the Speicherstadt is a must-see (must-wander?). Meaning the “City of Warehouses”, this is the largest warehouse district in the world and the extraordinary jumble of historic buildings from the late 19th- and early 20th century features Neo-Gothic red brick façades and charming details. At least half-destroyed in Operation Gomorrah, the 1943 Allied bombing of Hamburg, the Speicherstadt has been painstakingly restored and many of the buildings are still used as they were originally intended: as warehouses. This is a quiet part of the city, at least on a Saturday afternoon in January, and the buildings facing each other across rivers and canals in a city where there are more bridges than in Venice, Amsterdam, and London combined.

From meditative wandering in the Speicherstadt, we visited a sobering place: the former Hauptkirche St. Nikolai, a late 19th-century neo-Gothic church designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott and destroyed alongside much of the city of Hamburg in the previously mentioned Operation Gomorrah. Its unmistakable spire, crypt, and wall- and column-less nave now comprise a memorial dedicated “to the victims of war and tyranny between 1933 and 1945.” An elevator brings visitors to a viewing platform at the top of the tower, which had served as an orientation marker for Allied bombers. There, carefully composed descriptions and comparative photographs reveal how parts of the city were destroyed and rebuilt.

The crypt below the nave is a museum detailing history of World War II and especially focusing on the 1940 Coventry Blitz, the 1940-1 London Blitz, and the July 1943 Operation Gemorrah, when Hamburg was destroyed through bombings that lasted 8 days and 7 nights and caused one of the worst firestorms of the war.  Throughout the museum was an extraordinary sense of self-awareness, especially in the written descriptions. There was a feeling of desperation that this all be known so that the terrible events leading up to the need for the bombing and subsequent destruction of this city never happen again. Even the tower itself is a constantly visible admonition against repeating history, since it remains as a “finger of warning” to any who might try to wreak such destruction against other humans again.

Mere sentences on this blog cannot encompass the feelings of being faced with horrors on this scale, and the importance of learning about them in order to prevent them. While reading and seeing such things weighs heavily on the heart and soul, remembering and working against such darkness is an essential part of being human.

Two months after our visit, Dave and I are still digesting all that we learned at the Sankt Nicholai Kirche, and yet, on that Saturday afternoon, time necessitated that we make a hard turn away from internal musings to visit somewhere jarringly more touristic and significantly lighter: the Miniatur Wunderland, residing in the Speicherstadt and so heavily advertised that it is impossible to ignore.


This model railway has over 15,000 meters of track, more than 4,000 buildings, nearly half a million human figures and LEDs, 1,300 trains, and takes up almost 1,500 m2 of floorspace. That’s almost 16x the floorspace of Dave’s and my apartment here in Germany, and the railway is still expanding (unlike our apartment). Construction began in 2000 and now sections include miniature recreations of recognizable vistas from almost a dozen countries/locations, including Hamburg, central Germany, Venice, South America, Scandinavia, Provence, the USA, and Austria. While I’m not normally one for overly-advertised tourist traps (and this has been “voted the most popular tourist attraction in Germany”), it was undeniably impressive. There were little jokes in the form of Adam and Eve appearing in an apple delivery line, the entire cast of Star Wars exploring one of the hillsides, and Staus (German traffic jams, a legendary headache for anybody driving here). Designers showed off their prowess with the Scandinavian exhibit using real water and a working lock to transfer boats between sections of the exhibit and with an airport that had planes that took off, disappearing into the distance, and landed before taxiing to various parking spots. I took too many photos to post here without overloading the server, but I’m glad to share at least a few!

I’m still not sold on going to tourist traps, but this was worth seeing – especially with my (only slightly) train-obsessed husband!

For our final morning in Hamburg, we visited the fourth of the five Hauptkirche: Sankt Katharinenkirche (I was fortunate to visit the fifth Hauptkirche, Sankt Petri, during a visit in 2016, but Dave will have to wait for the next trip to see that Beckerath organ!). The base of Sankt Katharinen’s spire (from the 13th century) and the outer walls (from the mid-16th century) survived World War II and the church was reconstructed in the 1950s. Heinrich Scheidemann and Johann Adam Reincken were both organists here and Johann Sebastian Bach played the organ during his visit to Hamburg while auditioning at the Jakobikirche. Famously, according to Bach’s student and biographer Johann Friedrich Agricola, the great Bach was delighted with the organ — especially with the speech of the two 32′ stops, a Principale and a Posaune (Agricola, Musica Mechanica Organoedi). Although all but 1,016 pipes from the organ were destroyed along with the interior of the church in World War II and a new organ by Kemper (now removed) was built and installed in 1962 (using half of those remaining historic pipes), Flentrop Orgelbouw carefully recreated the instrument, researching the work of the nearly half dozen builders whose work had comprised the former organ (1605/6 Scherer, 1631 Fritzsche, 1647 Stellwagen, and 1671 Besser [who built those 32’s that Bach reportedly admired]). This gigantic labor of love and historical inspiration was completed in 2013, at least partly made possible through the parish’s raising of over $3.2 million euros for the work.

A fascinating study in recreation, this instrument, coaxed into existence on the basis of so much history, made for a poignant visit. So much of this city has been re-created, so many of these instruments have been made available to us, allowing us to learn from them, and we all have a responsibility to give back to this imposing history through our living and our music-making.

48 hours were all we could spare for Hamburg during this visit, but we next rented a car for an even quicker (22-hour) foray into western Denmark. However, that will have to wait for the next post, since this one is already too long…

Wishing you all a warm, safe, and healthy start to Spring spring,



Just a few changes…

One of the best parts of keeping a blog is the “second point of view” that develops in your mind; one that keeps track of interesting occurrences, funny stories, and your own silly missteps with the intention of sharing them later. The natural irony in this is that you start amassing so many memories and ideas that the physical and necessarily time-consuming act of actually writing them down gets continually placed on the back burner by the next wave of events (or the enjoyment of the next mixed metaphor). Then more experiences and hilarious happenstances come along and the “backlog” becomes like the 6AM TSA security line when you have a flight to catch at 6:20AM: never moving forward, somehow always getting longer, and full of interesting people that you wish you had more time to get to know.

It’s a new year and, while we’d never know the difference without this rather arbitrary midwinter marking (well, who am I to say it’s that arbitrary? – the new year has started on January 1 since something like 150BCE), such a thing does offer the perfect excuse to get back on (or off) various bandwagons. This is one I’d very much like to get back on, especially as the next year looks to be one with travels and experiences I really should and want to share, if you’re willing to read about them (and because I know how much my wonderful Nana loves to continue her own fabulous travels through these paragraphs and photographs!).

Photo by: Andrew Prior of Hopping Lane

In case you missed the plethora of pictures that appeared online in September (and please skip this paragraph and the next if you’re [understandably] tired of hearing of such things), I got MARRIED just over four months ago to — of all things — an ORGANBUILDER. Cue celeste-filled English choral anthems, French Romances, and a lifetime of discussing (debating?) how one can also listen to the interpretation and the pieces as well as the sound of the instrument (current solution: it’s easier to divide and conquer). I’ve never been one for waxing on, but Dave Brown is (and I’m completely biased) not only thoughtful and charming but brilliant with the ability to both keep me laughing and on my toes. His “punning” capacities have sharpened my reflexes to the extent that my father claims he can no longer keep up.

He can.

Our wedding, at the Church of the Advent in Boston, was full of so many dear friends and family hailing from near and far, and we felt so much love from all those who were there with us both in person and in spirit. The glorious Choir of the Church of the Advent, with Mark Dwyer and Jeremy Bruns at the helm, gave the gift of music that lifted us from the mundane into the extraordinary: Howells: Collegium Regale (Kyrie/Gloria, Sanctus/Benedictus, Agnus Dei), Walton: Set me as a seal, Duruflé: Ubi caritas, Murray: God is love, Wesley: excerpt from Blessed be the God and Father. The church outdid itself, with friends in the congregation both serving as acolytes and adding their joyful smiles to the gorgeous day by attending the service. Father Sammy Wood, former associate rector of the Advent and now rector of St. Bartholomew’s in Nashville, flew back to Boston to marry us and Father Sean Ferrell of Champaign, IL, who did our marriage counseling, joined as intercessor. An extraordinary number of Dave’s family and friends were able to fly all the way from Australia and Thailand to join us (including both of his sisters and all five nieces and nephews!). We are so grateful for the support and love that everybody shared and are still reliving this incredible day.

Photo by Andrew Prior of Hopping Lane

After three weeks in Australia for a little honeymoon and visiting lots of family and friends (that’s a whoooooole different blog post), one week of re-packing, and one more Stateside concert, we moved back to Germany, where we are now mostly settled (besides having to move out of our apartment from tomorrow until February 15 — another long story).

In order to uproot his life and move to Germany for a year, Dave looked for work in organbuilders’ shops on this side of the pond. We’re both thrilled that he’s working for Glatter-Götz Orgelbau here in southwest Germany, where he is helping to build instruments for Marietta, Georgia and New York City (two new organs for Trinity Wall Street). The Glatter-Götz shop is in Pfullendorf, a tiny town an hour and a half south of Stuttgart and, although the German train system is a thousand times better than that in the USA (no exaggeration there at all), there isn’t a train from Pfullendorf to Stuttgart (where I am continuing my studies until this July). So, we are living in the little town of Tuttlingen, population ~35,000, which is on the direct train line from Zurich to Stuttgart and a mere 20-minute drive from the Lake of Constance. I’ll pinch myself for a moment: we’re equidistant from Zurich and Stuttgart, with no need to change trains, and we can see the Alps from the top of a neighboring hill. For us Americans, Europe can be absolutely mind-boggling, in the best possible way!

Burg Honberg

Tuttlingen, with a charming name that makes both German and English speakers giggle just a little bit, nestles between hills outside the easternmost edge of the Black Forest. On the hill in the center of town sits a privately-owned (but open-to-the-public), ruined castle from the 15th century that was fully destroyed in 1645, during the Thirty Years’ War, and later looted for its remaining stones. Two hundred years later, the towers were rebuilt (although not in the original style) by the Verschönerungsverein Tuttlingen (“Tuttlingen Beautification Association”) and, today, the castle offers a perfect view over the area.

Tuttlingen, from Burg Honberg

A German city with more than a half million residents and one that with fewer than 40,000 don’t just differ in quantity of pharmacies, grocery stores, and restaurants (arguably, the number of bakeries seems about equal). From the capital of this region to a smaller town, moving here has offered a wealth of learning experience every step of the way, whether in daily living or bureaucracy. The linguistics, we’ll leave for another day!

A few surprises of moving to more rural southwest Germany:

  • Even if you have heard this before, believe it: in Germany, cash is king!
  • People are EARLY to things. A half hour early to an organ recital! To church! Before the grocery store opens!
  • There are NO QUEUES in the Auslanderbehörde (foreign office)! NONE.
  • People are NICE in the Auslanderbehörde. I’m still shocked!
  • People are always willing to help, if you don’t mind diving into unintelligible German to ask.
  • H&M is in the pedestrian center of downtown but one needs a car to get to dm (an equivalent to Walgreens).
  • If you speak English in a restaurant (even if it’s not to the server), they will expect you to tip like an American.
  • At least 1/3 of the cars on the Autobahn are from Switzerland.
  • It’s a good thing to be recognized by the lady in the bakery.
  • When arriving, the train will always be at least 5 minutes late and miss the bus into town. Plan accordingly.
  • The 10:00AM train always departs at 10:02AM. The 8:59AM train always departs at 8:56AM. Don’t ask why.
  • Okay fine, one linguistic one: nowhere is dialect more prevalent than in train rides north to Stuttgart during the month of December, when everybody takes a weekday off to visit Christmas markets when it will be “less busy.”
    • Where Christmas markets are involved, “less busy” is always relative.

So, as we all head off into this new year, I can’t wait to share in your adventures and thank you for joining me in mine. It’s already proving to be one heck of a ride!


But I only wanted to practice! Part 4: Musikhochschule für Musik und Darstellende Kunst Stuttgart, Germany

Musikhochschule für Musik und Darstellende Kunst Stuttgart, Germany
(Accurate to my understanding as of January 2019)

Practice facilities: 7 separate practice rooms / 9 practice organs
– mostly 3-manuals. two 2-manuals. one 1-manual
– all tracker/mechanical action
– mostly flat or concave and straight pedalboards
– four organs with swell shoes
– most instruments with 56 or 58 notes on manual and 28-30 notes on pedal; 1 organ with 61 notes in the manual and 32 in the pedal (fortunately!).
– one instrument with a short octave

Building hours: Exterior doors are open daily from approximately 7AM – 10:30PM BUT one can stay as late as they like or be let in by a security guard in “off hours.” (hours curtailed for holidays)

Number of students: approximately 40-45

Availability: every day beginning at 10AM, students may sign up for practice time on a sheet posted outside of the organ practice rooms for the following day: 2 hours on each weekday, 3 on each day of a weekend or holiday, with each hour in a different room.

The facilities of Stuttgart are extraordinary. Each of these practice organs are historically-inspired or are themselves historic, which allows students to take a lesson with these mechanical teachers every time they enter a practice room. In a single one of these rooms, you will find a 1997 Ahrend organ in the style of North Germany/Arp Schnitger, a Kern organ built in the French Classical style, and an anonymously-built Italian organ of the late-18th-century (complete with graffiti from long before its arrival in Stuttgart).
Walk next door to discover an instrument built in 1997 by Goll and inspired by 19th-century French organbuilder Aristide Cavaillé-Coll — but with some unique sonorities of the late German Baroque and Romantic eras. Next door to this is a nod to the geographic location of Stuttgart: a Schwäbish-inspired instrument built in 1998 by the organbuilder Mühleisen, whose shop is a half hour from Stuttgart. Up one floor is an organ from 1996 by Rohlf that teaches “perfection of playing”: it doesn’t hold back in letting an organist know s/he has incorrectly struck a note. Upstairs once again is a treasure: the so-called “Bach-Orgel,” a Central Germany/Silbermann-style instrument built by Wegscheider.
All the way downstairs in the bowels of the building are two “workhorse instruments”: the former main teaching organ of the previous conservatory’s building, built in 1972 by Weigle and a testament to organbuilding in the 1960s and 1970s, and a 1986 Wiedenmann instrument that has a special challenge to offer a student who wishes to practice. The pedalboard is offset by one note, making on feel as though they are always needing to shift to the right to accurately play the notes!

Brain flexibility is something we all should practice just as much as notes, history, or interpretation, since you never know what kind of new ergonomic (or not-so-ergonomic) positions we will have to deal with when meeting a new instrument. Switching between each of these vastly different mechanical/tracker-action organs, their uniquely-positioned pedalboards, and their varied consoles serves as practice for being able to readily change techniques in a very short amount of time – in fact, at the music school, one only has an hour before they switch both instruments and styles!


The above schedule is where we students sign up for practice times; Saturday – Sunday – Monday are on the left sheet and Tuesday – Wednesday – Thursday – Friday on the right. The leftmost column indicates the hours (8AM – 10AM as start times) and the topmost row indicates the practice rooms.

Despite a very high number of students here in comparison to the available number of practice organs (both in the organ performance and Kirchenmusik [sacred music] programs), the practice situation is not nearly as dire as could be imagined. Since the music school is basically accessible 24 hours a day (!), staying late or arriving early is a viable option if a student needs more than their 2 reserved hours of practice – if they’re willing to wake early or stay up late… This is also an excellent option for one who is jetlagged: I sometimes will stay and practice until the last few U-Bahn (aboveground tram/local public transportation) trains leave town, which is around 12:30AM. Staying later than this would be an option, but the trains don’t restart until around 4AM, when I preferably like to already have been asleep for an hour or two!

Additionally, if a student does not arrive for their practice time during the booked practice time hours, a room is fair game either for the student before to practice longer or for a wandering student to take the extra practice time. I could easily see this becoming a comical game of “claim the practice room” as students roam the hallways to see if practice rooms have become abandoned!

If a student is 15 minutes late to their practice time, then the room is free to whoever arrives first, or the previous student can stay for the rest of the hour. I’ve had several instances of reserving one room after another and preferring the first room (and hoping to stay there for two hours). When the next student has shown up 13 or 14 minutes after the hour, I’ve gotten in my daily run by sprinting to my next reserved room to make sure I’m there before the clock strikes 15 past! This is probably the best possible way to make sure the next 45 minutes of practice is very efficient: having gotten up and moved around, there is far more attention and energy for the remainder of one’s practice time.

If one prefers daytime practice sessions, the most challenging aspect of this system comes into play: these practice rooms are also the teaching instruments for lessons. Teachers and classes have priority, so, when a student arrives for their lesson saying that they want to play Bach today, anybody who has reserved practice time on the Bach-Orgel at that time has to move their practice time elsewhere or forfeit that time. All the warning the practicing student has is a teacher walking in and saying “Wir haben einen Unterricht” (“We have a lesson”). This is why, on the above room reservation sheet, you see open slots in the three leftmost columns (the most common teaching instruments) on weekdays from 9AM – 5PM. Most students don’t reserve times that they will most likely lose! Even more “fun” are the teachers who teach on Saturday and Sundays without warning… here, they keep us on our toes for practice time!

Fortunately, organ students may also reserve pianos for practice, an essential part of practicing, especially for French music.


Performance/practice facilities on campus and in town:
– Rieger organ IV/P/81 in Konzertsaal in the music school
– an English organ II/P/13 in Kirche St. Katharina

Very few churches in the city of Stuttgart are directly connected to the Musikhochschule, but I’ve discovered that meeting the organs in town is quite simply done by contacting the organists of said churches. They are often thrilled to have somebody visit and get to know the organ, and sometimes will offer assistance in finding additional practice spaces — or suggest other extraordinary historic organs in the area(, the region, or the country) to visit! Living in the heart of Europe has distinct advantages: Strasbourg is a mere 1.5 hours by train, Paris only 3, London, Zurich, and Copenhagen are each an hour flight away, and there’s a direct train to Hamburg every few hours (although it does take 5 hours to get there). I have moments of sitting back in shock upon realizing how amazing it is to be here – and how grateful I am to be able to be here.

Sharing the 1997 Ahrend organ with visiting                      organists and organ-lovers!              Photo credit: Dee and Andrew Prior



But I only wanted to practice! Part 3: Conservatoire à rayonnement régional de Toulouse, France

Conservatoire à rayonnement régional de Toulouse, France
(Accurate as of May 2016)

Most cities and towns in France have a Conservatoire de [insert town name here], which is essentially a community music school with the addition of dance and theater as focuses. These regional conservatories often have age restrictions (depending on the degree level, but typically under 30 years old) and accept students of all levels after an audition. Private lessons are the primary focus, but other parts of music study (solfègeécriture, etc) are available. Students pursue a sort of diploma program with 3 levels of cycles that precede the final two diplomas: cycle spécialisé and en perfectionnement. I pursued the latter diploma, which is an equivalent to the American Artist Diploma. Only the two national conservatories in Lyon and Paris have adopted the American degree monikers of Bachelor, Master, and Doctorate, and a student typically attends either of these after studies in the more local conservatories.

Toulouse has been called the Capitale mondiale de l’orgue (world capital of the organ) because of its proliferation of truly extraordinary historical instruments, primarily in the French style. Paris-based instruments often changed with the prevailing fashions while instruments outside of the French capital more frequently remained in their original conditions, whether because they were loved as they were or, more practically, because there were no funds to “update” these historical monuments. This fortunately leaves us with hundreds of organs throughout France — hundreds of musical windows through time. Southwest France, including Toulouse, being far from the destruction zones of both world wars, has an especially high number of these, making the Toulouse-centered corner of France a veritable organists’ playground.

Because of these historic instruments, practicing in the environs of Toulouse is the goal, rather than practicing at the conservatory itself. However, when there for a year of studies, one still must learn repertoire and prepare for concerts and competitions — and I, for one, didn’t want to drill notes on a 200+-year-old instrument. A practice session of repeating one measure ad-infinitum doesn’t teach nearly enough about the organ and the space!

Practice facilities: 3 separate practice rooms / 3 practice organs
– two 3-manual. one 2-manual
– all tracker/mechanical action
– all flat pedalboards
– one organ with swell shoe
– all instruments with 56 notes on manuals and 27 notes in pedal

Building hours: Monday – Friday from 8AM – 10PM (closed on holidays and vacations – or without warning in case of a strike!)

Number of students: approximately 20-25

Availability: at the start of the academic year, we signed up for regular practice slots. Mine were Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday from 8AM – 10AM, with a 1.5 hour slot on Wednesday afternoon. We could swap with other students if out of town or unavailable for our particular time.

(A thousand thanks to Celina Kobetitsch for photographs of practice organs at the Conservatoire de Toulouse!)

At the conservatory, organ students do not have the droit (“right”) to practice on pianos unless they are in the piano program. One of the organ practice rooms also has an upright piano – but of course, practicing on that would be during the reserved time, not in addition to.

In order to access a practice room, one has to leave their student card at the entrance desk in exchange for the room’s key. If, at the end of one’s practice time, the next student does not come, one can stay until the student after them arrives. I quickly learned to bring snacks to my morning practices (although I’m still not sure if that was permissible), since the “gift” of someone not arriving might mean double the amount of practicing that day… although this made it a tad difficult to plan the day, and the day’s meals! Also, the entrance desk (with the keys) closed for lunch from 12PM – 2PM, so one had to be sure to arrive before the guardien/ne/s took their lunch breaks (beginning anywhere from, on one occasion, 11:37AM onwards) or you’d be left without a key and without a practice room.

Since my scheduled practice time was from 8AM – 10AM, I often finished my schedule work mid-morning, allowing for endless exploration of beautiful Toulouse – both its cityscape and culinary offerings!

Performance and practice facilities (in the city of Toulouse):
– 1889 Cavaillé-Coll III/P/54 in Basilique St-Sernin
– 1981 Ahrend III/P/33 in Musée des Augustins
– 1848 Cavaillé-Coll/1970 Kern III/P/47 in Cathédrale St-Etienne
– Pleyel pedal piano in Église du Gésu
– 1888 Puget III/P/47 Église Notre-Dame de la Dalbade
– 1677 Delaunay/1750 Isnard/1982 Grenzing IV/P/51 in Église Saint-Pierre des Chartreux
– 2005 Daldosso II/P/28 in Temple du Salin
– 1885 Puget III/P/25 in Église Saint-Exupère

Most churches in France are open to the public for touring, visits, and meditation throughout the day. Unlike many American churches (although exceptions certainly exist on both sides of the Atlantic), these churches prefer that the organ not be played for most of the day, especially since administration offices often abut or are in the churches themselves. Even French organ music on beautiful, historic instruments gets old, it seems?

Because of this, the available practice times for most churches were from 12PM – 2PM (when administrative workers have lunch) or overnight, if a key could be procured. This was the case for St-Sernin, the Cathédrale St-Étienne, and Église Notre-Dame de la Dalbade. Practice sessions for these spaces were reserved in advance, in a kind of rotation system with other students. One might have a single two-hour session in a local church in two weeks, or be lucky enough to be locked into St-Sernin (with the bats) for the whole night.

For other instruments, the situations varied: the Musée des Augustins was available from 8AM until the museum opened at 10AM, the Église du Gesu was closed to the public so mostly available for practice if one knew who had the key, Église St-Pierre des Chartreux was open all afternoon if you got there first, Temple du Salin could be reserved, and Église St-Exupère was a good option if you could sweet talk the priest and play softly.

(As an aside; arriving at the Cathédrale St-Étienne’s swallow’s nest organ, which clings to the wall almost 60 feet above the church’s floor, is an astounding experience. One first climbs the most interminable set of stairs in Toulouse — a stairway so long that Renée Darasse-Laroyenne, titulare at the Cathédrale from 1946-1986 [Xavier Darasse‘s mother], insisted that a second light switch be installed halfway because the timer on the one at the bottom of the stairs would expire before she reached the top — to arrive at a landing where the only option is to cross the roof. Finally, one proceeds down a harrowing catwalk from which one is on display for all tourists visiting the cathedral at that moment. “No photos, please!”)

The Cathédrale is also where I developed a bit of a practice “twitch.” There was a signal used there (and elsewhere, of course) if somebody in the building wanted the organist to stop playing. This person would clap; a far better method than shouting at the organist – there is always ambient noise (talking) in these public spaces, so a shout isn’t distinguishable from the hum of voices. Whenever I was practicing in the Cathédrale, if somebody clapped their hands, that nearly always meant to stop practicing immediately — even if one had just arrived for the two-hour session. A group of pilgrims may have arrived for prayer, there might be a noontime funeral service, or somebody may have forgotten to communicate that there was no practice time that day. Even today, when somebody claps during my practice sessions, I can’t help myself: I stop playing.

Despite being comfortable in the French language, my status as an expatriate caused challenges in finding practice spaces, since I simply didn’t have an initial social foundation to open doors and access spaces. The sheer number of hours needed to adequately prepare a competition, especially coupled with wishing to learn new music (shocking!) made 2 hours, or even 4 hours, per day on a practice organ seem too short, no matter the level of mental preparation and planning I put into such sessions (SUCH a “first-world problem,” I admit!). The key? I discovered the incredible kindness of friends and fellow organ-lovers, creating this social foundation and finding people with whom I now stay in contact years later. I often traveled for a weekend away practicing, or practiced on a piano and electronic organ in the home of a friend.

Practicing in Toulouse required creativity, strategy, and thought to adequately prepare to play varied instruments elsewhere, especially those not of the French Romantic or German Baroque styles. It was in Toulouse that I discovered pretending to hit pistons on an organ without any combination action so as to not be shocked when having to do so on an instrument that had it. When playing a concave/radiating AGO/RCO pedalboard once again (mostly standard in the USA, Canada, and England), I had several instances of overshooting when leaping in the pedal, before I reminded myself that the lowest and highest notes of the pedal were closer once again!

International organists coming to France for study typically have a different expectation to that of a standard degree program: they study in France to add depth to their understanding of French organ music. The unparalleled access to historic French instruments in Toulouse and its environs fulfills this need to play and learn from the original instruments and, furthermore, allows students to study both the instruments and the culture, adding breadth to their studies. Beyond this, the student can be as creative as s/he likes to be sure they are prepared for instruments in other styles, traveling to play other instruments or pretending that an instrument has something it does not. This Capitale de l’orgue is indeed the modern capital of French organ study, with a wealth of both instruments and beautiful views to boot!

Église St-Exupère

But I only wanted to practice! Part 2: Oberlin Conservatory, Ohio, USA

Oberlin Conservatory, Oberlin OH, USA
(Accurate as of May 2015)

Nestled between cornfields is the first institution that I’ll explore this week: Oberlin College and Conservatory in Oberlin, Ohio, USA. For a town with a population of 8,000, the 3,000 students cause quite a stir when they add more than a third to that population upon arriving in September and take it away again when they depart in May — quite a lot of people arriving and departing twice a year! I always quip that “there is little to do in Oberlin besides practice and study” and while this is a (slight) exaggeration, the organ practicing facilities make it easy to do just that.

Practice facilities : 14 separate practice rooms / 14 practice organs
– mostly 2-manuals. one 1-manual.
– mostly tracker/mechanical action, but a few instruments with electro-pneumatic action
– mostly concave and radiating (AGO/RCO) or flat pedalboards
– one organ with swell shoe
– mostly full compass instruments (61 notes on manuals and 32 notes in pedal)
– two instruments with short octaves in the manual and pedal

Building hours: daily 7:30AM – 12:00AM (curtailed on holidays or vacations)

Number of students: approximately 15-20

Availability: always available, no sign-up needed for practice spaces

Piano practice rooms freely available, although sometimes one had to do a few “rounds” to find a free one as an instrumentalist or vocalist was leaving!

Never having to wait or sign up for a practice room is a blessing that I never appreciated until I had to do both. Oberlin’s resources are pretty incredible: not only are there nearly as many instruments as students, these instruments are themselves excellent teachers. Carefully maintained by the university’s organ curator, the practice organs are used and used well.

Throughout the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, Oberlin played host to approximately 60 organ students, for which this quantity of instruments was essential! Stories abound of having to wait in the hallways with hopes that somebody might abandon a practice so another student can have a few hours of practice, as I believe there was no sign-up process to reserve rooms (correct me if I’m wrong!). Since many organists these days are, like me, Double Degree students (where they pursue both a Bachelor of Arts and a Bachelor of Music degree simultaneously), the proliferation of instruments makes a seemingly impossible situation possible: it allows us to practice when we have a few spare seconds, instead of having to spend the entire day doing homework in the hallway while waiting for a free room!



In addition to the practice facilities, the performance facilities on campus can be reserved in advance for an hour or two per day by signing up at the conservatory.

(A thousand thanks to Matthew Dion for the photos of Oberlin’s practice rooms!)


Performance/practice facilities (on campus):
– 1974 Flentrop III/P/44 in Warner Concert Hall (North German Baroque-inspired)
– 2001 Fisk, Op. 116 III/P/57 in Finney Chapel (French Cavaillé-Coll-inspired)
– 1981 Brombaugh II/P/15 in Fairchild Chapel (17th-century German/Dutch style, meantone)
– 1984 Bozeman & Gibson, Op. 24 II/P/23 in Peace Community Church (Bach/Silbermann-inspired)

Performance/practice facilities (in town):
– Brombaugh organ in the First United Methodist Church (North German Baroque)
– Gober organ in First Church of Oberlin (tracker, German-inspired)

Spaces like Finney Chapel and Warner Concert Hall are busy with numerous performances by a myriad of instrumentalists and vocalists throughout the semester, especially in November/December and April/May, but Fairchild Chapel (with the Brombaugh organ) is very often available, and arrangements can be made to practice in the local churches – or, if one is desperate, they can practice on the instrument at their church, since most students work at churches throughout Lorain County.


Even ideal situations have some omissions or drawbacks, and Oberlin is not an exception in this. What the campus does rather obviously lack are instruments in both the English and American styles – rather striking for an English-speaking school! Through the mid- and late 20th century, when most of Oberlin’s instruments were installed, the fashion was to look towards northern Europe for instrumental inspiration. This is evidenced by the fact that 3/4ths of the performance organs give obvious nods to Dutch and German organbuilding styles. When a student graduates, they have had limited exposure to instruments with divisional pistons or electro-pneumatic action (at least on performance instruments in the case of the latter). When thrown “into the deep end” of Anglican choral accompaniment, English organ repertoire, or perhaps given a bit of Leo Sowerby, a student with a solid basis of Bach, Sweelinck, Weckmann, and Mendelssohn may have to do a bit of research before settling in comfortably.

The Fisk in Oberlin’s Finney Chapel gives an opportunity to use divisional pistons, but since it is built “in the French style” (where one can use the pedal ventils* to play a Widor or Vierne Symphony), there are no toe studs. The only option for changing stops with the feet in “American mode” was to use the sequencer. Some students did take advantage of the “French mode,” but many of us simply used the sequencer in the pedal and manual for everything, not necessarily knowing that there were important techniques to learn for work after graduation!

What Oberlin does give is a solid foundation of learning from instruments in this northern Europe style, as well as nearly unlimited practice time. The majority of the students are undergraduates, so in the “prime time” for creating a solid foundation of technique and style.


*Ventils are a method for quickly changing sounds while playing the organ, primarily found in 19th-century French organs. Before technology allowed organists to save their personal registrations and quickly change stops/sounds with merely the touch of a button, organbuilders would place some pipes (the louder and higher ones, such as trompettes, mixtures, etc.) on a separate wind chest, the wind of which was controlled by a foot lever above the organist’s pedals. When the organist wanted to add some of these stops in the middle of a piece, he would draw the stops for theses sounds, then engage the foot lever at the opportune moment, causing air to rush into the windchest of the other stops, allowing them to speak and thus adding extra sound without lifting a hand from the keys! Many French instruments still have this system as the only option for stop additions.

But I only wanted to practice! Part 1: Introduction

Despite what a Belgian immigration officer thought when I told him I was there to play an organ recital, most organists don’t travel with an instrument. It probably shouldn’t have taken three immigration officers to remember what an organ was, to confirm that it is not easily brought with a single musician via aircraft, and then to finally (begrudgingly) allow me into the country, but that just goes to show that more people need to attend organ concerts!

Italian Baroque organ from the late 18th century by an anonymous organ builder, Stuttgart Musikhochschule

Pianists also fall into the category of musicians who play instruments that are imprudent for travel. However, with an organological history that stretches back to the 3rd century BC, the pipe organ has just about 2,000 more years of history — and of building variety — than its string-and-hammer cousin.

To organists’ amusement and frustration, there is a seemingly limitless number of variables that can cause “making friends” with a new organ to be less-than-easy:

  • variable number of manuals
  • variable number of keys on the manual (keyboard)
  • variable number of keys on the pedal
  • variable number of stops
  • variable style(s) of stops
  • differences between the names of the stops and how they actually sound (some have identity crises where the stop’s name might be French and yet it sounds German)
  • non-standardized placement and height of the organ bench (or the inability to adjust the placement or height of the organ bench – especially grievous for those of us who are vertically challenged)

    Wanamaker organ, 1904 (with additions), Philadelphia, PA, USA Source: Wikipedia
  • sometimes unreliable placement of the pedals (there’s nothing like realizing you have to re-orient yourself so that “center” is slightly more to the left than usual when you play a “D” in lieu of the expected “C”. Imagine the center of the piano being offset by a note, or even by a few notes)
  • odd placement of the manuals (despite my short stature, I have encountered organs where my knees hit the lowest manual. What do my taller colleagues do?!)
  • varying depth of manual and pedal key beds
  • drastically differing weight of keys (nothing like a little weightlifting during practice time)
  • differing point in key depression where the pipe begins to speak
  • differing point in key depression at which the pipe is fully speaking
  • sometimes audible mechanical noise of the keys (a little extra unintended percussion only works in certain repertoire)
  • how the key weight, depth, noise, and pipe opening changes when manuals are coupled (when manuals play together)
  • if, when manuals are coupled, some pipes open earlier than others
  • how easily and quickly one can repeat the same note
  • how and how quickly the pipes close when a key is released
  • the fickle church’s acoustic, that can also change without warning when an audience is present
1691-2 Arp Schnitger organ  St. Martinikerk, Groningen, The Netherlands Source:

These are only a few of the variables that can affect solely the act of playing notes – I’ll spare the disinterested from jargon-filled explanations of swell shoe existence, placement, or smoothness, stop placement, combination action (or lack thereof), piston placement, lack of pistons, lack of divisional pistons, placement or existence of sequencer, necessity of stop assistants if no pistons are there… I could go on, but suffice to say that the organ is the instrument of the insatiably curious, the easily distracted, and, arguably, the mildly masochistic.

With all these variables, it’s extremely helpful to practice on a variety of instruments, because the more experience in rapidly changing technique and approach to an organ one has, the more easily one can adjust while traveling!

console-schantz siesta key chapel
2017 Schantz organ, Siesta Key Chapel, Sarasota, FL, USA Source:

To give a sampling of how some schools have tackled the “organ practicing challenge,” each day this week I’ll post a description of the practice possibilities and accessibility of the three universities (in three countries) I have attended, since these are the solutions I know best. Each school has used their unique resources to respond to the needs of students by purchasing and maintaining instruments, providing facilities to house the instruments, and ensuring availability of these facilities (hours the practice building is open, whether or not a practice/performance space is shared with other instrumentalists, etc.).
1435 organ by an anonymous organ builder, Basilica of Valère, Sion, Switzerland Source:

The descriptions that follow aren’t meant to be exhaustive, but they are meant to be thorough, so please don’t hesitate to write if something is blatantly missing. They are also descriptions of what I had when I attended each school. Resources change, instruments are added, and sometimes instruments are, unfortunately, no longer able to be used. The solutions described are only three among countless. Surely, there are as many solutions as there are institutions that teach organ, so I’d love to hear about yours; my hope is that these posts might prompt others to share their universities’ answers to the “organ practicing challenge,” and help us all to find some pretty spectacular solutions to a unique situation!

2010 Blancafort organ, Santa Maria de Montserrat, Spain



A Different Kind of Christmas

Three years ago I was able to spend December traveling throughout France; I wandered the streets of the sparkling “Capital of Christmas” (known as Strasbourg for the rest of the year), the marché de Noël in Toulouse, and, of course, came to Paris as the winter solstice arrived. Christmas Eve and Christmas day were spent in rural France, enjoying locally grown and homemade meals. Christmas in France isn’t subtle in any way – bright lights, emphasis on family time and the meaning of the season, and certainly big business.

If anything, here in Germany, Christmas is even bigger.IMG_5991

Known throughout the world for the Weihnachtsmärkte (Christmas markets) that pop up in the last week of November until a day or two before Christmas, Germany plays host to over 85 million visitors in the span of one month, all of whom come to see what it is that makes these villages-within-cities so special. Frankly, the influx of tourists has gotten so large that Deutsche Welle, Germany’s version of NPR, posted an article last year begging visitors to stop coming. This doesn’t seem to have deterred anybody – so I recommend that, if you do visit next year, plan your market time on week days, not weekends!

Even Stuttgart’s Hochbahnhof (train station) is sure to be bedecked with decorations!

Stuttgart’s street corners grew both greenery and little lights, while ornately decorated stalls popped up throughout the center of the town. Selling everything from Glühwein (mulled wine), Stollen, and Flammkuchen (an Alsacian specialty that, grossly oversimplified, ressembles a pizza) to candles, carved wooden figurines, and handmade brushes. Suddenly, walking through the Schlossplatz (the park in the center of the town) took nearly a half hour instead of the usual 10 minutes – initially because of these distracting and scrumptious delights and, later, because of the sheer volume of people there. I quickly learned to visit earlier in the day (the markets opened at 11am) because as the day wore on, the markets became a game of dodging wine-toting, Bratwurst-eating shoppers. Perhaps a new Olympic sport?

Esslingen, a beautiful town merely 20 minutes outside of Stuttgart via the S-Bahn, has its own special kind of magic. When the bones of Saint Vitalis were brought to Esslingen at the end of the 8th century, this small settlement quickly grew into a pilgrimage site, a market town and, later, city. Esslingen survived strife in southwestern Germany, including emerging from the Second World War with very little damage, with its half-timbered architecture and two stunning churches giving an idyllic setting to the Mittelalter Weihnachtsmarkt (medieval-themed Christmas market) — a nod to the fact that this town has held this Christmas market since the Middle Ages!

Every turn reveals torches beside smithies, an archery tournament, basket-makers, felt-makers, and traditionally-dressed singers and dancers, adding an agèd tint to the scene. It was impossible to tell who “worked” at the market and who was not, as attendees and stall vendors alike wore cloaks, laced gowns, and feather-bedecked hats. I wonder if many were the same folks who wore Lederhosen throughout Oktoberfest only two months ago. Who knows what attire I’ll see two months from now!

One of the best surprises of these markets is stumbling upon a children’s choir serenading market attendees, amateurs and professional buskers alike giving often unique renditions of carols, and ornately dressed women on stilts. The rivers of people draw everyone throughout the town and between these spectacles, but a quiet corner for a coffee and cake can always be found.


One of the most amazing parts of living in Europe is how easy it is to travel! Three and a half hours after boarding a train in Stuttgart, I was in the train station of Liège, built by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava and opened in 2009. The space-age feeling that you can see in the photos of the incredible, expansive space was extended as I left the track and went underground to the station – through an exhibition on E.T.!


An hour later, I was in Hasselt, a city in the heart of Belgium, with much heart of its own. The weekend I spent there was full of local specialities, hours spent on the 1878 Cavaillé-Coll at the Provinciaal Heiligdom Heilig Hart (stay tuned for a post about this!), and purchasing a new hat in honor of (and because of) the cold in both Germany and Belgium.


Arguably (although not argued by me) considered to be the best beer in the world, Westvleteren XII made an appearance, as did scrumptious mussels, courtesy of my sweet hosts. This beer is made by the Trappist Abbey of Saint Sixtus, in the westernmost part of Belgium, and is so limited that, usually, one can only buy one order per license plate and phone number per 60 days, with one order being one case of beer.

A local Kerstconcert (Christmas concert) at a Lavendelhoevee (lavender farm) capped off my time in this beautiful city, featuring soloists from the area as well as the a cappella men’s choir Het Volgende Punt (literally, The Last Point). Between carols from around the world, beers, and love songs appeared Santa Claus and good spirit!


According to statistics, the world is, on average, safer than it’s ever been. I feel comfortable traveling most everywhere, whether within large crowd or between empty (but well-lit streets), and when tickets have been booked, I always try to follow through. So, when there was something leading me to keep my plans on December 12 to see the beautiful town of Strasbourg on December 12, which had been so vibrant when I visited three years ago, I went. This time, however, I visited a city in mourning from the previous day’s attack.

The streets were empty and all of the markets were closed in this, the so-called “Capital of Christmas.” Soldiers with machine guns walked the streets, both giving an air of protection and a reminder of the potential dangers of living in this world. A minute of silence, held throughout France, brought tourist, local, stranger, and friend together in remembrance and, one hopes, in promise for moving onwards.

The city was still beautiful, albeit quiet, with the combination of architectural styles and languages bringing a feeling of unity to those who did visit on this day. All had a different idea of how to cope with the fear and sadness, and all found their own solace, whether in the company of others, the quietness of the Cathedral, or in being alone.

I was able to visit the Cathedral for the first time during this visit, although time at this organ bench will be for the next visit. Marveling at the sheer immensity of the building, which was tallest in the world from the mid-17th century until the late 19th century, I explored the crèche that ornamented the southeastern wall with symbolic beauty in each detail. Towards the top of my list of things to see was the astronomical clock in the south transept; an astounding mechanical marvel from the 19th century (although there was originally a 16th century clock that now is housed in the Strasbourg Museum). Each hour signals a different intricate figurine to action! The clock is currently under restoration, but still visible, and well worth visiting.

The cathedral’s construction took no fewer than 260 years, following the destruction of the Romanesque cathedral that had stood on this spot from 1015-1176. There is evidence of an instrument in the cathedral from 1260, but the three-manual, 47-stop swallows-nest organ, suspended on the side nave, is a 1981 Alfred Kern instrument, housed in a breathtaking case 1491, built by Friedrich Krebs. Since much of the extant stained glass windows date from this period, the harmony of styles is undeniable.

Eight hours after arriving in Strasbourg, it was time to head home – feeling like it was an important day to come to this beautiful city that was hurting, yet still whole and trying to find light in a dark time.

Back at home, Stuttgart was waiting with its open Christmas markets and bright lights. The Alsacian delicacies beckoned and the children’s train, set up in the center of town, piped steam into the cold air and invited curious sightseers to examine its fascinating details. Between the nearly 300 stalls, a strange, animated Nutcracker (no fewer than eight feet tall) stood as what appeared to be a mascot for at least part of the market, with a nut that rotated from its midsection up to the mouth, through the inside of the statue, and back out to do its rotation again. There’s no way that this didn’t cause many onlookers to question how better to create such an effect!

Stuttgart extends its market to include international foods as well. One of the best things I tried were Flammlachs, which were toted by stalls with Norwegian flags. This salmon was fire-roasted sideways on a wooden plank, right before your eyes, then served either on a plate with sides such as potatoes and salad or given to you on a Brötchen, a “small” bread roll, with pickled onions and mayonnaise. I also couldn’t resist the previously mentioned Flammkuchen on several occasions – as evidenced by the fact that one slice had to be consumed before I could even take the below photograph!

On this Christmas day, as I am back in my childhood home of Maine following a Christmas Eve spent at my most recent home at the Church of the Advent in Boston, all of these different celebrations of Christmas remind me of how this season brings everybody together. Perhaps we might even use this reminder to bring ourselves closer together even other times of the year, when the “Christmas spirit” isn’t evident in storefronts or market stalls. The light is always on, at least in my Christmas stall – although I can’t promise that I’ve adorned it with Santa Claus or polar bears!

From School nach Paris

Also known as: One More Bureaucracy Description before Travels and Musical Ponderings Proliferate

For me, the most challenging part of settling in a foreign country, especially this second time, has been actually feeling settled. There has been this unnerving tendency where, every time that I feel that everything is all set, yet another essential thing that I hadn’t known I needed to do appears. This is all part of life, for certain, but it feels slightly more unnerving when it all feels like it needs to be done now or (for the dramatic part of my brain) something terrible will happen.

Of course, my initial responses to each new challenge have thus far included:

-but I just want to practice!

-it’s lunchtime.

-okay, but I’m late for a train

-why now? There’s Spätzle

-yes, but after coffee

and a few other reasons, all of which are priorities except for, you know, the thing that needs being done.

The most recent thing that I certainly didn’t want to spend time doing was actually matriculating to the Musikhochschule! Needless to say, it was unfailingly more complicated than it seemed like it needed to be. To save internet paper, here’s the reader’s digest version that is about 1/3 the length of my original synopsis:

  1. I had to audition for the music school. The audition took place on 9 October, two days after the semester officially began.
  2.  To matriculate and actually become a student, the school needs a copy of of a valid residence permit.. A valid residence permit requires a Studentenbescheinigung (proof of having matriculated to a university). I loved this logic maze. Fortunately, the way out of the endless circle was having the acceptance letter of the school. With this, I got a residence permit that was contingent upon attending the Musikhochschule.
  3. Although I applied to the school last March (sending in my CV, repertoire list, application, copies and certified translations of university transcripts and diplomas, copy of my passport, and a 30€ application fee), I had to then submit the following in order to matriculate:
    1. Proof of having transferred 1671,40€* to the school’s bank account. When doing this, I was supposed to include my matriculation (student) number, but I couldn’t get that until I was a student – but I had to submit this fee to become a student so… Thankfully this didn’t seem to be a problem?
    2. Proof of health insurance from a state health insurance. If privately insured (as I am through the DAAD scholarship), then I had to include a letter from an approved source excusing me from this health insurance. DAAD, thankfully, has this covered, but I had a panic moment when I was told that the school may not accept the DAAD’s private health insurance.
    3. Copy of a valid residence permit that is for study at this university
    4. Copies and certified translations of university degrees (didn’t I just send this in last March?)
    5. CV (also sent in last March, but why not?)
    6. Suitably unattractive passport photograph for the snazzy student card
  4. This paperwork resulted in an email confirming my documents were correct (oh thank GOODNESS), but that the money had to appear in the school’s bank account before I could matriculate. My bank claimed this would take less than 48 hours. I hadn’t heard anything a week after submitting everything… so I emailed the school’s administration to check that my money had appeared in their account, not in that of a surprised but lucky German on the other side of the country.
  5. The school’s reply confirmed that the money had been received (I do wonder when…) and that my matriculation would be processed “in the next days” and that I could come in “next week” to get my student card and paperwork. It was Monday.
  6. The wonderful international student secretary liaison who has been an angel throughout all of this confusion came to the rescue. She let me know when my student card was ready (otherwise I wouldn’t have known, and could have come to collect it and found that there was no card), and gave it to me on Friday (without her help I wouldn’t have gotten it for another several days).

Exactly one month after I departed the USA (27 September), I received my student card (27 October). Happy almost-Halloween!

Now, why the rush to get this?

  1. To access any instruments except organs (piano, harpsichord, fortepiano) one needs a student card (the rooms are on an electronic system where you reserve and sign in with the student card
  2. The student card gives you nearly 50% off in the Mensa (school cafeteria). It’s a bit frustrating to be a student and still be paying the “guest” rates. My money-saving New England self gets all flustered.
  3. With the student card, you can get a StudiTicket from the Stuttgart rail. This means you pay 207€ to ride all trains, trams, and buses in the Stuttgart regional area for free from September – March. Not bad when it was costing me about 2,70€ each way to get to school (this will pay for itself within a month and a half with me riding the tram once per day). Those tickets add up!!

SO what this extreme amount of writing means is:

I am now officially a student. Thus, in celebration, I can travel to Paris for an overnight and remind myself that I do actually speak a foreign language. Instead of potatoes, pasta, and Schnitzel, today’s meals will be croissants, crêpes, and duck! There also may be an instrument to be played…

Celebratory ice cream

*Of the 1671,40€ that I paid to the school, 171,40€ are administrative and school fees. The remaining 1500€ is a new tuition fee, enacted just one year ago, by Baden-Württemberg (the third largest state in Germany that is east of the Rhine and borders la belle France. Of course it is fondly shortened to BW, and Stuttgart is its capital). This is paid every semester by non-EU citizen and a few other categories of students. A portion goes to support international student assistance at the university and the rest is added to the state budget for continued financing of regional university education. 3000€ (~$3,400) per academic year seems like peanuts when compared to the tuition of most private and public high education institutions in the USA. Oberlin’s tuition alone now sits at just over $50,000 per year.

Here we go again…

Living abroad.

Something of which we all dream — or, at least, of which those of us with a penchant for travel and curiosity about immersing ourselves in other cultures dream. Somehow, I was born with the travel bug, and haven’t yet gotten bored of the myriad of unique places and experiences this world has to offer (to my ever-suffering parents’ entertainment).

Some of us are fortunate enough to live abroad, whether for study, work, or simply general exploration. Some of us are even fortunate (or, perhaps, masochistic) enough to do it twice…

And that’s where this blog restarts.

Two years ago, I had returned to the USA after a year studying at the Conservatoire à Rayonnement Régional de Toulouse in France with the aid of a Fulbright Scholarship. I couldn’t believe the incredible place to which I was moving back: Boston, Massachusetts, to work as Associate Organist & Choirmaster at the Church of the Advent. If there was anywhere to which I could move back after a year in the breathtaking and historic south of France without feeling drastic culture shock, it was here. When asked the equivalent question of “what do you want to do when you ‘grow up,'” I first replied that I have, to my chagrin, been of the same short stature for the last 10 years so that is unlikely to change, and that I was doing one of the things I had always dreamed of doing: balancing a tripartite career of glorious church music, performing, and teaching.

70+ concerts, nearly two hundred church services, and countless flights later, I am establishing a new base, now on the opposite side of the Atlantic: Stuttgart, Germany. Unfortunately, pursuing a Master’s degree (with the aid of a DAAD Scholarship) nearly 4,000 miles and a big pond away from Boston necessitated retiring from that dream position. Mixed feelings were the rule, not the exception… but when when I won the scholarship, it felt like a thumb print signaling that now is the time to pursue both this degree and more European exploration, not “then” (whenever then would have been).

While much of this blog will be devoted to organs, music, and food, there first comes the necessary bureaucracy… which is also a part of cultural immersion! My first experiences in receiving a student visa were in moving to France in 2015. I applied for it in Boston, receiving my passport back weeks before the transatlantic move, and needed to simply verify the visa and have a health check when I finally arrived in Toulouse. The more complicated processes were opening a bank account and signing up for the Conservatoire – but, having been thoroughly overeducated in the French language through a French Bachelors degree, I felt a few modicums of comfort when facing various bureaucrats who wished to get me out the door as quickly as possible.

Germany? It’s an entirely new ballgame, especially given that my studies in this beautiful and grammatically befuddling language have been limited to a stack of German grammar books and watching German movies with subtitles. Was – am! – I ever in for a challenge.

The USA, Australia, Canada, Israel, Japan, and New Zealand are all countries from which one does not need to apply for a visa before entering Germany. In fact, one almost definitely has to apply once they are within the country (entering on a tourist visa). I’m not sure why, but this gives a person — me, in this case — 90 days after arriving to compile all the necessary paperwork for a visa application, and begin the visa process.

What is required for a visa, one might ask? Naturally, that depends and frankly, I’m still not totally sure. I needed: passport, passport photographs (biometric), an Meldebestätigung (more on that below), proof of income (minimum 720€/month), proof of attending the Musikhochschule or University (more below), and proof of health insurance. I did not need to prove my knowledge of German, although that may have drawn a large quantity of guffaws out of the immigration office employee, and the 50€-110€ fee was waived because the German government wants their scholarship recipients here. The DAAD benefits never end!

A Meldebestätigung is a proof of residence. Every time one moves somewhere in Germany, they must go to the local administration office (here it’s the Bezirksamt) to register their address. While the officer notes your information, they also ask your religion, something that leaves most Americans with a raised eyebrow or two – and something distinctly odd in a notoriously non-religious state. Here in Germany, there is a Church Tax (Kirchensteuer) where, when one registers as either Catholic or Protestant (Lutheran), a percentage of their income also goes to that church. This has been law since the last century, and these incomes comprise almost three quarters of church revenues. Here in Baden-Württenberg, the tax is 8% of paid income tax. My landlord’s reply when I registered as Anglican? “Oh, you are lucky! You do not have to pay the tax!”

For German universities and schools of music, the timing of the application process is far removed from that of most of North America. There are two semesters: Wintersemester and Somersemester. For further confusion, the winter semester begins in October and runs until February, while the summer semester runs from March until August. Applications for the winter semester that I’ve just begun were open from March-April. For the summer semester, they are open now – so don’t hesitate on that application! Auditions for the current winter semester took place in June… and because of my scholarship status, I was allowed to wait until I arrived in October in order to take a pro forma audition (thankfully pro forma – packing up my suitcases again would have made for a very unhappy Katelyn). However, this meant that I did not have an acceptance letter until the audition was finished.

Classes “began” 7 October. My audition was 9 October. You might see the irony…

In order to apply for the residence permit, I needed to prove I was enrolled the Musikhochschule. Of course I couldn’t enroll at the Musikhochschule until I had a residence permit. Circles and circles and circles. Fortunately, they could make an exception if I could prove I was accepted to the Musikhochschule (the loophole to escape the endless bureaucratic circle!).

I received my acceptance letter on 10 October, the day after my audition. 11-12 October, I was in Bonn for an orientation seminar for the DAAD, where I garnered a lot of information, the most immediately relevant being that everybody is equally confused about their own immigration status, and not knowing what’s going on is absolutely fine. The best part of the weekend was meeting folks from around the world whose fields of interest varied from 12th century Gregorian chant to ecological studies on scorpions to environmental studies of renewable energy. On our CVs, we had nothing in common besides this scholarship, but the shared passionate curiosity in everything made a basis for endless conversation.

One thing was sure: nobody knew exactly how getting a residence permit was done. Some had a card that looks like a US green card, some had had to wait months to receive their permit, some had needed appointments with the immigration office, and some had just showed up and waited in line.

As someone who likes to plan for everything, I both emailed the Stuttgart   Ausländerbehörde (immigration office) for an appointment, and prepared to show up and wait in line on Monday morning – yesterday! The office opened at 8:30, and I showed up with a book at 7:45. Nothing like a little reading about the Hamburg organ school before adequate coffee consumption has happened (I wear my nerd status proudly, thank you). There were signs everywhere that an appointment was “basically required” (Grundsätzlich nur mit Terminvereinbarung), so I had little hope.

I had the permit 20 minutes after they opened. They accepted my paperwork, gave me an application I didn’t know I’d have to fill out, and called me back in after they had entered my information in their system. Oddly, all the online sources say that, since 2011, Germany no longer puts sticker permits into passports. Several of my DAAD colleagues had these nifty cards that proved their residency. However, my passport, which features a shiny sticker of its own, dated 15 October 2018, begs to differ. Instead of having to wait weeks to do a background check, the DAAD had done all the leg work – I could walk away that day and not return until next year.

Or so I thought. That afternoon, when I was already feeling the weight of stress lifting, I got an email letting me know that I had forgotten to sign something and needed to return (I suppose it’s not their responsibility to tell me all the things to sign, no…). So, this morning, I returned, walked in, was shown two papers I had never before seen in my life (promising to return to the office if I spent more than 6 months out of Germany during my time with the residence permit, and promising to chat with them if I changed majors), and walked away a woman fully permitted to reside in Germany.

Next is the adventure to actually matriculate to the Musikhochschule, but I think that is for another day; the sun is shining and some non-bureaucratic adventures await. So bear with me while I get this blog restarted, and come along to enjoy the fun!