Reflections on a Rich Summer

After living in Atlanta for two years, I am still flabbergasted by how early schools start up again after the summer (the very beginning of August), having grown up beginning the new term at the end of the month, if not at the start of September. But as the ’23-’24 year has now begun for many, I suppose it is a good opportunity to reflect on the summer I’ve had.

It’s certainly been a good summer for music and networking, starting out with my brief visit to the national conference of the Association of Anglican Musicians (AAM) in June in Dallas. Although my AAM membership is still pending, I was engaged to play an organ recital on the wonderful Juget-Sinclair instrument at Christ the King Catholic Church on Monday of the convention week. Always mindful of my limited number of Sunday mornings off from my job, I decided to fly in on Sunday evening, the day before, expecting that I’d have ample time that evening and the next morning to prepare for the recital Monday afternoon. Of course my flight was severely delayed, due to weather. There’s nothing like trying to get your head into recital prep mode while starving and tired, but I was able to fit in a couple of hours of practice before collapsing into bed, feeling awful about the coming day. Things looked up the next morning, and after some seriously focused and efficient practice time, the concert itself went rather well (even after a cipher almost ruined everything, 45 minutes before showtime). There can hardly be a more intimidating audience than one of 200 organists and church musicians, but I managed to ride the adrenaline wave and was, unusually, happy with my effort. Afterwards, I spent a lovely time socializing late into the evening with dear friends and colleagues. It was a joy to spend time with the composer of one of the pieces on my program, Jessica French; I was so happy she was able to attend the concert. There were several other meaningful reunions, like with Richard Webster, my first director of music. I wish I could have stayed for the entire week of workshops and music, but even that small taste of the AAM-ish made an impact on me. While I enjoyed the American Guild of Organists convention last summer in Seattle, the AAM conference, being on a slightly smaller scale and catering specifically to Episcopal and Anglican musicians, felt more intimate and welcoming to me, personally. I participated in many stimulating and affirming conversations about the passion for good liturgy and music shared and valued by AAM members, and I felt reassured that the field of church music isn’t quite dead, yet, even amidst challenging professional relationships, dwindling church attendance, and movements away from ‘traditional’ music. I look forward to attending future conferences in the coming years.

Hard at work on the Aeolian organ in gorgeous Duke Chapel

The next highlight of my summer was returning to Duke University Chapel and the RSCM America Carolina choral residency for girls, teenage girls, and adults. Last year I went as composer, when the choir premiered my new set of responses, but this year I had slightly more responsibility as the course organist. Getting thrown back into the intensity of rehearsals and services that I miss so much from my time in the UK was absolute bliss for me. Even if I didn’t sleep very much and was on high alert from needing to be “on” during fast-paced rehearsals (with a few challenging accompaniments to play), I had such a good time. It was really great to work with Matthew Owens (I was relieved that I could keep up with him, for the most part!), and I got to hang out with some wonderful, like-minded colleagues. There were several aspects of the week I found especially inspiring: one, the Aeolian organ in the Chapel is rather gorgeous. It’s one of those instruments where every stop makes a beautiful sound, even if it may be hard to get the balance just right out in the room. I loved getting to spend so much time practicing on it each day. And then the number of attendees, both young and old, was encouraging. It was very special to make music with a choir 80-strong, half of which were under the age of 18. I spent quite a bit of time reflecting on my own association with RSCM America, first as a chorister, then an organ scholar, and now the real-deal organist. I suppose all that’s left is to be the music director, which I would love doing (I’ll give myself a few more years to build up my name and reputation, first)! Even with the long and intense days of rehearsal, there was plenty of opportunity for networking, usually over food and (many) drinks, and I made a number of connections with people that I hope to encounter again in the future. When I say networking, an aspect of that sort of socializing certainly is to make contacts for future professional engagements, or to ensure that my name ‘sticks’ in someone’s memory, but for me I also think of networking as making a meaningful personal connection with people whose rather niche interests overlap with my own; in other words, I think I actually made some friends, which I am finding harder and harder, the more distance I put between myself and my time at university!

Merton College Chapel on a sunny morning

The final trip of my summer, from which I just returned, was one my of semi-annual pilgrimages to the Motherland. The first order of business was singing in the wedding choir for my dear friends Maks and Sarah, and getting to visit Oxford for the first time. When meeting other wedding guests (or other singers/organists later on in my visit), I was grateful that, through shamelessly name-dropping the cathedrals where I was once organ scholar, I could add a bit of legitimacy to my own name and musicianship. Similarly to when organists ask each other who their conservatoire professors were, sharing your musical ancestry carries a good deal of weight when making an impression on a new acquaintance, for better or for worse. Sometimes it is about who you know, and since that’s part of the game, one may as well play it that way… Anyway, the wedding ceremony featured a bunch of choral bangers, which were a delight to sing. I also loved hearing very talented musicians (the best ever rendition of RVW’s ‘Love bade me welcome’, as well as fantastic organ playing) and also enjoyed the high church liturgy. The reception was great fun, and I managed to survive my first ceilidh. Whilst in Oxford, I managed to catch an organ recital and an Evensong, which let me see several of the college chapels. I also made a pilgrimage to Blackwell’s to spend £80 on various sheet music, and I enjoyed the Ashmolean Museum. On top of that, I got to spend time chatting with my wonderful hosts, AKMA and Margaret Adam, who are old friends from my childhood in Evanston. 

View of the stage of the Royal Albert Hall before one of the BBC Proms

After the various delights of Oxford, I made it to Essex to see my family there. Especially after spending a good deal of time with them towards the beginning of Covid three years ago, getting to Colchester feels like going to a home away from home, for which I am very grateful. After that, I headed to London to see a wonderful Prom at the Albert Hall (Yuja Wang and Belshazzar’s Feast with Klaus Mäkelä conducting - not too shabby!) and also had lunch with my dearest friends from Peterborough, David and Penny. Then it was on to Cambridge for a final couple of days.

Coe Fen Cows

Whenever I get to the UK, I try to spend a lot of time outside (far from Canadian wildfire air!); this time I went on the loop from Cambridge to Grantchester and back, through Coe Fen and the calm meadows. Other Cambridge highlights were seeing some of the beauty of St John’s College and briefly playing the chapel’s famous organ, which features in many of the recordings that I obsessed over when I was a younger choir nerd. I also popped down to London again to hear my colleague Andrew Senn’s wonderful choir sing evensong at St Paul’s Cathedral (a building which never fails to take my breath away). It was especially delightful to catch up with Simon, my colleague in Truro for a term, who put the organ through its paces. 

The beautiful chapel of St John’s College, Cambridge

I was struck by several conversations I had this summer with friends new and old about the state of our field today. Depending on your opinions, there are pros and cons to working in America vs England, like differences in remuneration, resources, liturgy and repertoire, traditions and history, architecture and acoustics, instruments, and more. As they say, the grass tends to appear greener on the other side! I have friends on both sides of the Atlantic who have burned out, sometimes directly from working for the church, rather than in secular music. These people are hugely talented musicians, and while they still love the repertoire and the tradition, the Episcopal Church or the Church of England or whoever it is has left them unsupported in critical areas. I can observe how some of these people who have transitioned to new career paths are happier; they have nights and weekends free like “normal” people, and they can choose to make music how and when they want, rather than resenting whatever set-up they may have known previously. I find it very sad that the church has failed these people, and I hope that those who have power in these institutions are able to sort out why this is a persistent and recurring problem for so many, and how to better address it. The complex webs of compassionate management, combined with pastoral care, combined with financial prudence and the maintenance of and caring for historic buildings, are a lot to juggle. On top of that, several denominations are taking their sweet time to commit to stances on various social issues; I find it hard to work for an institution that officially stands against some of my own personal views. However, I am not burnt out yet, and I still have perhaps naive hope that working for the church can be a choice that is rewarding and fulfilling, in the long run.

After bingeing an embarrassing number of Sex and the City episodes on the flight from London to Atlanta a few days ago, I arrived back to my own country, where climate change looms ever nearer with more frequent natural disasters, and politics are more fraught than ever. My first obligation at work the day I got back was to attend a training on how to react to active shooter threats. What a juxtaposition from my time in the UK! And while I adored seeing Oppenheimer, the threat of warfare and nuclear destruction is certainly still “a thing” for all of us in the world today. It all seems rather grim. I think for myself, I will aim to stay sane by throwing myself into music; I have a few recitals coming up this season that give me the chance to re-work dormant repertoire and learn new pieces, and I will try to hold on to what got me hooked on choral and organ music in the first place. As my hair begins to gray and a new decade looms imminently in a couple of months’ time, my feelings from this summer: of belonging, of inspiration, of affirmation, and of collegiality, should help keep my spirits high as I return from summer mode to the “real world.” 

Wading Through the Triduum's Rich Routine

The cyclical nature of the liturgical year allows for the building of memories tied to very specific moments in one’s life. Christmas is a highlight for many people; even for those who wouldn’t opt to worship regularly in the other 51 weeks of the year, many are drawn back to church for Midnight Mass. Some twice-a-year worshippers also stretch to include Easter Sunday (the term “Creasters” is sometimes used to describe such people). 

As a church musician, and someone who goes to church for work every day, let alone every Sunday, I find Holy Week and the Triduum (the period of three days that begins with the liturgy on Maundy Thursday, reaches its high point in the Easter Vigil, and closes on Easter Sunday) a highly evocative time for me. Every year I find myself reflecting on past versions of the same or similar liturgies, and because I have been participating in Holy Week liturgies for a couple decades now, I’ve accumulated a fair number of memories, many of which pop up unexpectedly after being triggered by a psalm verse, hymn, anthem, or prayer. Having hopped around a few different denominations, I’ve also developed preferences when it comes to different hymn harmonizations, anthem settings, and other liturgical elements. It’s not truly Holy Week without experiencing several favorites: Duruflé's Ubi caritas, Sanders’ setting of The Reproaches, Lotti’s Crucifixus, Bach’s O Mensch bewein, and so many heartfelt hymn texts. And what a powerful moment in John 20, when the risen Christ exclaims, “Mary!” 

Because I began singing as a chorister at the tender age of 8, my memories of Holy Week go hand in hand with the shifting stages of life. I used to throw my voice at Allegri’s top Cs on Good Friday, and sometimes I featured as Pilate in the chanted Passion Gospel, but as I got older my responsibilities changed, especially after taking up the organ. I recall a few Holy Weeks that coincided with Spring Break from school, which annoyingly meant none of the choristers could travel that week. Secretly, I was quite happy to spend more time at church and less at school, as the choir was my only real source of social life. After leaving Evanston for Rochester and while holding ‘real’ organist jobs for the first time, Holy Week was of course an intense time, especially as degree recitals and juries beckoned at the end of April. Even so, participating in as many liturgies as I could was always a priority during the Triduum. The next chapter, having begun in the last couple of years (i.e., life after school and organ scholarships) has maybe taken away a bit of the novelty of Holy Week that I enjoyed in my childhood; now the magic of the liturgies competes with the stresses of preparing to present a large volume of music in quick succession; will I utterly flub the final bars of the Widor Toccata? Will the brass mis-count their entrance again in the hymn introduction? Will the choir remember all of the intricate details we worked so hard to iron out in the past weeks’ rehearsals? Will the office photocopier hold out long enough to print the hundreds of orders of service needed for the long weekend?

Inevitably, some of the memories that surface each year during this week are unpleasant or frustrating. There was the champagne reception late on Saturday night after the Easter Vigil one year when an adult member of the back row drank too much and acted inappropriately to a young chorister (thankfully, another adult stepped in and I have since recovered). Or the Maundy Thursday when it was announced that a long-serving volunteer and member of the congregation passed away, coloring the service with an extra dimension of sadness. Or the particularly unpleasant Easter brunch at which a relationship ended. Or most recently, the gaping absence of services in the spring of 2020, when COVID denied us all the opportunity to worship together, leaving us to make do with archival recordings and hastily put-together broadcasts. Especially in the UK, where it marks the end of a school term, Holy Week has sometimes coincided with a changing of the musical guard and the pressures that accompany that transition for everyone involved. Still, even if the stakes feel higher due to these varied associations, the profundity of the scripture, music, and liturgy (ideally) overcomes such stressors. 

I think it’s important to appreciate and acknowledge these bits of nostalgia, but I do my best not to get too drawn in by them, as the themes of the Triduum are far more important. This year, I have been especially mindful of how many stories mirror that of Christ’s, being put to death as an innocent man. I would imagine this year’s celebrations and commemorations are especially hard for families still reeling in Nashville, for refugees the world around, and for those in Ukraine and elsewhere experiencing an unrelenting war. The narrative of this week allows us to reflect on those in this world who suffer as a result of choices made by others who wield power over them: from war, from guns, from the bigotries of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, and from every other injustice. Just as the anticipation of Advent is necessary for a fuller appreciation of Christmas, the anxiety, sadness, and confusion of Lent and Holy Week is what makes Easter all the sweeter. May we all reach that sweetness in due course, after weathering whatever wilderness we find ourselves in. 

Noli me tangere -Titian

Summer 2022 Recap: AGO, RSCMA, and New, *Published* P&R

It’s been an eventful and fun summer, and I’ve been very grateful to have had the opportunity to participate in several edifying musical gatherings. First off, in June I headed to the UK (these are becoming bi-annual trips!) to see friends and family in Colchester, Peterborough, and Truro. As always, I felt right back at home and enjoyed the cooler weather, many trips to cathedrals and pubs, and lots of top choral singing. 

Not long after returning to America, I prepared to travel a few time zones west, to Seattle for the first time, in preparation for the 2022 National Convention of the American Guild of Organists. I was lucky enough to play music of Howells and Mathias for the opening Evensong, under the direction of Zach Hemenway and the glorious choir of Epiphany Parish Seattle. You can read more about my experience at the Convention here:

Finally, in the middle of July I drove the five or so hours up to Durham, North Carolina, where I attended the final rehearsals and services of the 2022 RSCM (America) Carolina Course for Girls and Adults. This year happened to be the course’s 25th anniversary, and I had the immense honor of having been commissioned to write a set of Preces and Responses for use at the final Evensong of the week. It was a joy to hear my music sung by a choir of more than fifty voices, and I also had the pleasure of spending time with some of the choristers, young (over dinner) and old (over martinis) alike. The responses were commissioned by my old boss, Dr. Robert Poovey, with whom I worked as a Master’s student at St. Paul’s, Rochester, and he did an excellent job leading the choir. The recording from that final Evensong is on YouTube, and if you’d like to hear the P&R on their own, they can be heard here and here. Aside from my own selfish enjoyment of hearing my music in such a glorious building (Duke Chapel is worth a visit, if you’re ever in that part of the country), it was also encouraging to see so many young people with true enthusiasm about choral music. It reminded me of my own nerdy delight at being a part of RSCM courses, over 15 years ago. 

Käthe (center) with proctors Mary and Emily, after a successful first RSCM America course in Denver, 2006

One other perk of being asked to write music was the chance to share it more widely with the choral world, and thanks to generous support from Sarah MacDonald and Selah Publishing, I’m pleased that the Preces and Responses are now available for purchase. I never thought I’d be a “real” composer (and still don’t feel I deserve that title in any way), but I wonder now if perhaps these responses should be accompanied by a set of evening canticles; stay tuned… 

The beautiful title page of my new Responses, featuring an image made by the uber-talented Sarah MacDonald

If you’d like to look at a sample copy or order your own set of my Responses, you can find more information here: https://www.selahpub.com/Choral/ChoralTitles/410-981-PrecesAndResponses-Kaufman.html 

Now I am looking ahead to another program year at Glenn Memorial, complete with choir rehearsals, planning meetings, and lots of organ practice. In addition, I have a small but mighty studio of organ students, and I am looking forward to starting my new role as Chapel Organist at the Candler School of Theology, which is a short walk away from Glenn, across Emory’s campus. Things are looking good! 

Wielding The Power That Music Holds

While working as a church musician in an increasingly secular society, where identifying as Christian can be misconstrued as identifying as a narrow-minded, gay-hating hypocrite, I’ve learned to answer the questions “Do you believe in God?” and “Are you religious?” in several different ways, depending on who is asking. If a friend my age inquires, and I expect they might react with scorn if I identified as a “believer” (what a horrid term that is, by the way), I might say, “Yes, well, I love the ritual and music of the church, but I’m not so sure if I believe in God.” If the question comes up in an interview, I might finagle my answer into something like, “For me, I experience God through music, by way of producing it in a communal context and through offering my own solo interpretations…” In other contexts, I might just say “I don’t know, but I prefer to keep that kind of stuff private, thank you very much.” The fact that music has always been attractive to me and integral to my personal identity is undeniable and not in question, but what I have been trying to figure out recently is how that plays into my faith; the two have always been intertwined and contribute to each other, but are they even separate at all? 

A favorite phrase that echoes in my head often is “Music is something of the spirit.” Music has the ability to circumvent logic and skip straight to your sinews, to your gut. It is evocative and incredibly powerful; look at the often-shared stories and videos of Alzheimer’s patients miraculously engaging with songs from their youth. Or perhaps there’s a certain song you encounter on the radio, which always brings you back to a moment in your past, or an important person in your life. Everyone recognizes this power that music holds - what culture in the world doesn’t place some sort of value in music or chant? 

I think people tend to resonate most strongly with music that they know well, though this is not always the case. But I’d hazard a guess that if you quizzed the average symphony attendees about their favorite piece on a program, the overwhelming majority would respond with the well-beloved Mozart or Beethoven symphony, rather than the new, more modern world premiere, simply because the former is something they’ve heard before. After enough time living with a piece of music, one can enjoy and look forward to all its twists and turns over and over, just like a favorite book or film. 

For those who don't identify as musically-inclined (though I do think it is innately human to encounter God/anything profound through music, and not just for those with degrees in it), I am convinced that “academic” tastes in music can still be made accessible, especially when properly introduced. After doing my weekly organ videos for my church’s YouTube channel, I can’t tell you how many people (mainly non-organists) expressed some sort of appreciation for my digestible introductions to the pieces performed — and some of this music was very niche, even for organists! This demonstrates to me that good music in an approachable context can serve everyone, especially in church. 

Something I find complicated about my own sacred music preferences is how specific they are. There is an unwritten list of composers, styles, and eras that I find far more convincing than others, and I am quick to look down upon those not on that list. But who am I to judge any piece that someone likely poured their heart, soul, and talent into creating? Am I still being an advocate for organists and worship leaders if my preferences are misunderstood as simple snobbery? Has my training, first as a chorister and then at a music conservatory, made me less qualified to lead a congregation or choir in singing, because my views might be seen as loftier than that of the average Joe? The last thing I want to do is discourage anyone through my music choices.

This harkens back to the debate about what sort of music we should be making in church. There are SO many strong opinions about this, and each one is likely tied to the tradition with which someone is most familiar: 

• Church music should be an extension of what we encounter in our daily life; why make it any different from what we might hear on the pop station of a radio? [As I write this, a neighbor in my apartment complex is blasting some Christian Praise music. I can’t actually make out the words, but the repetitive chord progressions and pulsing beat are unmistakable.] 

• Church music offers something sacred and separate from our earthly lives. It is an offering to God, and we need to offer our very best and closest attempt at perfection, because that’s what God deserves. 

• God doesn’t care how in tune we are when we sing praises; loosen up a bit and just enjoy the communal fellowship in song. 

• Music shouldn’t be too fancy, or else it distracts from the real point of church: the Gospel. 

• If the music is too complicated, it will just alienate the congregation. 

• We need not dwell so much on hymns; let’s skip a few verses or play the tune quicker, so that the service doesn’t take up more than an hour of our sabbath day. [This one really bugs me; please don’t forget that hymns are prayers and poetry, “to sing is to pray twice”…]

• Music should be for everyone to take part in. It’s divisive and alienating for the choir to sing while the congregation only gets to listen. 

• The actual musical notes really don’t matter; it’s all about the sincerity of the performance. 

And so on and so forth. 

That said, music can be emotionally manipulative, outside of its words. Certain harmonic progressions, suspensions, resolutions, and melodies can be incredibly powerful and provoke visceral responses, some of which may be vehemently resented by a listener! Personally, I get very annoyed if a piece that I particularly love causes me to choke up - this literally prevents me from producing sound, not to mention I run the risk of being observed as sentimental (I’ve worked too hard on maintaining a tough exterior to allow this to happen!). But where do we draw the line between unwanted manipulation and a profound emotional response? Clearly the same piece of music can affect different people in hugely different ways (or even the same person differently when they’re in a different emotional space). Is it unreasonable of me to scorn music that I deem shallow and manipulative, and is it selfish of me to push only the music that I find especially meaningful? Surely there is a middle ground in which everyone in church gets to hear their favorites at some point, while still being exposed to new styles and genres. I think that in my role as a worship leader, I have been entrusted to help choose appropriate music, and I believe my training lends at least some credibility to this responsibility.

In past stints of employment, I have worked in settings where the music does not resonate with my tastes, and I have found it really affects my focus and energy within the context of the service. Am I just a massive snob, or is the infelicitous pairing of music and liturgy (or lack thereof) actually interfering with my personal worship? Does it even matter if it interferes with my personal worship? We tend to associate hymn tunes with specific texts, based on whichever hymnal with which we grew up. When I worked in the UK and found completely different pairings, I felt thrown off (hearing “Love divine, all loves excelling” sung to Blaenwern rather than Hyfrodol was strange, but now I adore Blaenwern and would choose it every time!), and I’ve had similar reactions in my exploration of the United Methodist Hymnal in my relatively new post. Obviously, I am able to play my heart out and lead congregational singing with gusto, regardless of the hymnal in use. But when the music aligns with the liturgy (and my tastes/preferences/associations), then it feels like unreserved worship to me.

I can’t help but wonder, is it a cheap trick when music heads straight for the gut? Does God/the Holy Spirit not do the same thing? For those days when the headlines provide only worry and doom, and God seems far away or even absent, the process of making music in community can still provide a sense of meaning and fulfilment. 

Is it even possible to throw oneself into worship while being on the clock in one’s place of employment? Because of the strength of our emotional connection to music, how damaging can it be to one’s faith to leave a church service feeling resentful or unfulfilled by the musical choices? How on earth should worship leaders cater to everyone’s tastes? 

There are lots of questions above that don’t have clear-cut answers, but I think the key for me is to play every service with the attitude that the music for the day might be life-changing and utterly special for even just one person in the congregation. That one person may not be me, the organist, but in any case, such music should be played with respect and reverence. Ideally, in my opinion, music can touch the majority of the congregation when it is chosen with the themes, lectionary, and liturgy of the day in mind; when it is rehearsed and performed thoughtfully and without stress or anxiety; and when it is offered sincerely in praise of God. 

Guercino’s depiction of St Cecilia - the patron saint of music

A New Chapter!

So much has happened in the past month and a half! It's been a whirlwind: flying down to Atlanta in mid-March to audition, receiving a job offer later that month (what a wonderful phone call that was), and working quickly to make arrangements to find an apartment, and to figure out how to schlep my things (and my cat) down south. Not to mention, I was also lucky to have secured vaccination appointments in April, which were very welcome before the imminent move.

After a stressful week or three of packing, moving, picking out and assembling lots of new furniture, unpacking, and all of the other chores one would expect during a move, I have finally begun to feel at home here in the new flat. After six months living back in the home in which I grew up as a child, it’s felt freeing to have my own space to decorate and organize, as well as a new city to discover. 

Käthe safely getting to know members of the congregation @ Glenn Memorial UMC

And of course, I have started to grow comfortable in my new capacity as Associate Director of Music and Worship Arts (that mouthful is getting slightly easier to spit out as time goes by) - the whole reason for the big move! I'm always delighted when the dynamics in a church seem healthy; it’s not a rarity, per se, but over the years, I've observed my fair share of toxic or uncomfortable workplaces and relationships. I'm so pleased that at Glenn, the energy shared by the clergy and staff is one of enthusiasm and positivity in collaboration. And, I’ve been made to feel so welcome as the newbie; it’s lovely to have this kind of support.

The new job is revealing some opportunities for my own professional development, too. I’ve already begun to make networking connections with fellow musicians and clergy members at Glenn and in neighboring congregations, and my boss, Michael, is bursting with innovative ideas and projects for the future. I am also getting used to acting as the principal organist, rather than an organ scholar or assistant organist. While Michael is an accomplished player, I am the designated contact for organ maintenance and projects. I’d be lying if I denied feeling trepidation about that level of responsibility, but I also try to remember that I am sufficiently trained for the role (it’s also made me appreciate the organ maintenance class that I took as an undergraduate at Eastman). But being the main “organ person” has gently pushed me along the journey that I referenced in my previous blog post: that of learning to be one’s own teacher and not seek out affirmation for every little registration, interpretation, or tempo. It’s a work in progress, to be sure. 

I’ve set a challenge for myself to record a new video at the organ every week or so to share with my new congregation, whether it’s a piece of repertoire, or a “behind the scenes” explanation about how part of the instrument works. These videos will hopefully serve to educate, entertain, or engage in some substantive way. I, along with many other organists of my generation, believe it is extremely important to keep our instrument relevant and beloved! If one of my videos strikes a chord with someone who may never have previously paid much attention to the organ voluntaries, that’s a victory. Or perhaps if someone’s child overhears one of my performances on Facebook or Youtube and is inspired to inquire about organ lessons, that would be a huge win, too! It’s also a useful tool for my self-discipline as a performer. Once one leaves school and no longer applies to every organ competition out there, it can start to feel less important to be able to record a “perfect take” of a performance (especially as we begin to exit the era of COVID pre-recorded services and performances. Laus Deo!), so I sincerely hope this project will help keep my chops sharp, as well as aiding the organ outreach effort. You can see an example of one of these videos here.

Jumping out of the Nest with Bach's Trio Sonatas

As I’ve previously noted, one of the good things about my current period of unemployment is that I’ve been able to take advantage of access to a couple practice instruments and really dive into learning a bunch of repertoire solely for myself, rather than under the stress of preparing for a competition or high-pressure recital. More often than not, I’ve noticed that I leave my practice sessions with higher spirits and the sense of having accomplished something — a rarity in other parts of what has become a monotonous daily routine (working part-time delivering groceries, lazing around, and trying my best to keep my body and brain relatively active)! 

Recently, I just put finishing touches on Bach’s Trio Sonata No. 1 in E flat major- ironically the final one I’ve learned of the six in the set. Being able now to pronounce that I’ve officially learnt all 18 of these movements feels great! It’s been gratifying to tie up other “loose ends” in my repertoire, like finishing Franck’s Trois Pièces and working through other collections, too. It’s still bittersweet, though, to finish the Trio Sonatas (BWV 525-530), and it’s given me a chance to look back at my journey with each one:

I started by learning the slow middle movement of Trio No. 2, which I had the opportunity to perform in my capacity as Organ Scholar at the Saint Thomas Girl Course, when I was still in high school. I played it on the Loening-Hancock Organ in the gallery before one of our weekday evensongs, and unfortunately I seem to remember nerves getting the best of me for much of it- oh well! After that, I worked with my high school organ teacher to learn all of Trio No. 4. The sixth trio was a project during my first year of undergraduate studies at Eastman with Professor Porter; it provided a much-needed wake-up call with regards to touch and technique. At this point I didn’t feel quite so warmly towards Bach’s famous pedagogical tool for his son as I do now — wisdom comes with age and experience! After a respite of a few years, I jumped back in to the world of trio sonatas during my year as Organ Scholar in Truro with No. 3 - I remember realizing how unique an experience it probably is to learn a trio sonata on a Father Willis organ…! No. 3 also got a bit of TLC with Professor Higgs at Eastman during the first year of my MMus. This left the second, fifth, and first sonatas. I decided to learn the remaining two movements of No. 2 as I whiled away the hours of Lockdown #1 in Peterborough and later in Colchester (many thanks go to those who allowed me access to the Walker organ at St Leonard-at-the-Hythe), and I managed to finally learn No. 5 and No. 1 here in Evanston over the past couple of months.

The opening of Bach’s first Trio Sonata, as notated in his hand in P 271 (see the Bach Digital Archive for more)

Bach’s Organ Sonatas are subjects of a lot of undue grumbling in many organ departments; as mentioned earlier, they provide a chance for a teacher to implement a tabula rasa and re-mold a student’s technique into something healthier and more practical. However, over the past decade, I’ve grown to find these pieces very attractive. No matter how many times one has to sit through a performance of them in studio class every week, or practice them for hours at a time, under-speed and with an unforgiving metronome, I think the music is beautiful and charismatic. And even better, I’ve found that unlike with more nuanced French, English, and modern repertoire, there is a formulaic approach to learning the music that always works in the end, even if it takes AGES. It’s nothing too surprising: one hand at a time with pedal, hands together without pedal, slooow practice, rhythmic (dotted and un-dotted) practice, and more, until at some point it just clicks! And this feeling, when your brain is finally able to keep track of all of the moving parts, when your individual body is producing the musical parts that were perhaps originally meant to be mastered by three or four musicians - it’s quite a high. The rush of being able to relax as you play something that a week or two earlier made you pull out your hair is very special, indeed. Now, having learned all of the sonatas, it feels almost as if I’ve run out of my stash of some illicit drug; but thankfully, this high can be achieved from other pieces of music out there, too! 

There’s also a definite sense of satisfaction, knowing that I can sit down and play most of these tricky movements again without having to spend too much time working them back up. It’s a wonderful benefit of learning things carefully the first time around.

Part of the triumph I feel from learning so much repertoire these days (not solely Bach’s sonatas) is connected to what I’ve perceived as my recent (somewhat late) transition into musical adulthood. Perhaps in part due to the set-up of the American conservatory system, I emerged from my six years of study with a very real dependence on getting a teacher’s “okay” before considering a piece of music fully learned. This is fair - so much of our canon comprises compositions whose performance are accompanied by factoids and anecdotes about the proper style of fingering, temperament, registration, rubato- the list goes on and on. After spending a whole semester, if not an entire year, on one single concert program, working through a piece’s every possible intricacy of phrasing, timing, mood, and technique, it makes sense that something resembling fear may accompany a student’s first flight out of the proverbial nest into the world of professor-less learning. This has been only my individual experience, and I’m sure much of it is due to my own propensity for insecurity and anxiety. I can see how easy it may be to be drawn into a larger commitment (say, a DMA/DMus), perhaps more for the purpose of postponing the “real world” and accompanying loss of immediate and convenient musical guidance, rather than in pursuit of more specialized research. 

When deciding whether or not to pursue a doctorate, I had to give myself some tough love; I was supposed to be a *Master* of Music by now, and I had been blessed with excellent professors at Eastman who, like any good teacher, taught me to teach myself. The Eastman Organ Department puts a lot of weight into healthy technique and careful research, and when equipped with these tools, many musical problems become more easily solvable. 

Thankfully, the experience of a cathedral organ scholar doesn’t allow for too much of this kind of overthinking, when it comes to learning repertoire and accompaniments. You’re far too busy, with too hefty a volume of music to internalize, to spend time wringing your hands over every possible aspect of musical interpretation. I’m not saying that careful preparation of music loses its value; only that sometimes you just have to grit your teeth, make an executive decision, and get on with it. The Assistant DoM may not always have the time to go over every single accompaniment before rehearsal for that day’s Evensong, and eventually, you get better at taking risks, learning from mistakes as needed, and taking ownership of your own musicianship and artistic decisions, without too much second-guessing.

It’s freeing to be able to sit down and register something on the fly at a familiar organ (i.e., using only divisionals or hand registering), if the circumstances require it, though this sort of situation is not ideal (and should be only a rarity in one’s capacity as an OS)! However, successfully navigating such a pressurized performance helps build lots of confidence in oneself. 

The marriage of my experiences as an Eastman organ student and my two stints as a cathedral organ scholar, combined with the pandemic’s generous gift of free-time for intensive organ practice, has helped me come into my own as a player. My technique is solid now (far more so than over ten years ago, when I first performed that trio sonata so sloppily at Saint Thomas), my learning is informed by historical writings and convention, and I have a genuine love for the music itself. I’m grateful that, as we enter the second year of the Covid-19 crisis, I still have a real hunger for learning new music, and that my training helps me hold myself to a high standard of performance. In this time of general emptiness, I’ve found nothing quite so edifying as the ability to broaden my repertoire and totally lose myself while in “practice mode.”  

Watching and Waiting

Last year, I innocently wrote on this blog, “I can’t help but wonder where I will be working next Advent.” Now in the throes of the COVID 19 pandemic, perhaps I should have amended that “where” to “if,” as I haven’t yet been able to secure any employment. The whiplash-inducing rollercoaster of ever-changing government guidelines has been exhausting for us all, and the days when we can safely gather together to join in congregational worship once more still seem far off for many communities here in the States. I’ve felt very lucky therefore to have been able to drop in on some broadcasted services live-streamed from many of my colleagues in the UK. My thanks go especially to friends at Truro, Guildford, and Canterbury cathedrals for their superb musical offerings. While I am unable to personally play for carol services or Midnight Mass, at least I’ll be able to vicariously enjoy the most important parts of Advent and Christmas this year (i.e. the “Word” chord).

I’ve recently noticed that, just as a normal Advent in the context of the church carries with it its own routines and mile-markers (the Advent Carol service, Christingle and other school carol services, Gaudete Sunday, the daily opening of the Advent calendar), so does this season of unemployment and ~painfully expectant~ waiting, of which I’m currently in the midst. Rather than attending morning practice with choristers every day, now I go for an invigorating run in freezing temps to clear my mind and focus only on my stride and breathing. Instead of playing for or attending daily Evensong, now I emerge from the virtual world of screens every evening to share a cup of tea with my parents. Playing for weekly Sunday Eucharists is replaced by weekly Zooms with friends across the ocean and socially-distanced walks with one or two friends closer to home. And the most sacred two hours of my week now take place on a Thursday afternoon, when my small but generous neighborhood church opens its doors to allow me access to its organ. Finally, the days end not with Compline, but with the solemn refreshing of six or seven job website tabs, to see if perhaps that perfect full-time assistant organist job was posted in the last 24 hours.

A year ago, I wouldn’t have expected any of these things to be such important parts of my Advent routine, but this sort of organization brings me a powerful sense of stability, during a time when almost every aspect of my living and working situation is out of my control. I’m grateful to have been able to discover some silver linings to the pandemic, but I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge the struggles as well. I’ve found it hard to reconcile that this year, many of the aspects of Advent that I love most tend to trigger feelings of grief or sometimes even resentment. Perhaps it’s good that there is no opportunity to sing Lo! He comes or any Willcocks descants, because I would surely tear up too much to make much sound, anyway…

Well, Advent is all about expectation, right? I expect things will gradually get better - there are vaccines on the horizon as well as a new administration soon to be in the White House. In the meantime, I can’t wait for the day when I can see dear British friends again, perhaps over a curry with some quality ale after a long walk along the Cornish coast.

A view from a brisk morning run last week

Into the Abyss

I’ve done my best to keep my blog as a lighter, professional window into my experiences over the past year or so, but I’m running out of the energy required to put on that sort of unfailingly optimistic façade. Apologies in advance...

Since first going to university eight years ago, I’ve been lucky to have secured a handful of really wonderful jobs and appointments, all of which lasted between 10 months and two years. I’ve known my most recent appointment as Organ Scholar at Peterborough would also fall into this category, and that, following its conclusion, I would need to find something more permanent. And this has proven true - I am so eager to settle into a job, make a home somewhere and finally get a respite from that annoying routine of moving house every year! Also, I feel ready to get stuck in to my first ‘real’ adult job - perhaps one in which I am in charge rather than just assisting. Imposter syndrome aside, I know deep down that my CV is strong, that I’ve experienced and observed and learned from music programs of all shapes and sizes, and that I have accumulated useful ideas and talents to share with a church or cathedral. I would so desperately like a chance to prove this to others and myself.

Unfortunately, the past 10 months have just felt like a rollercoaster of many lows and not enough highs. Here’s the routine: a job opportunity that seems *perfect* arises, I apply, I get shortlisted!, but then, I am not what they’re looking for, over and over. I know this is far from a unique experience, all the less so during a pandemic. Cumulatively, the emotional whiplash is exhausting.

Perhaps this will always be a saturated market and uphill battle; there is so much that comes down to good timing or luck. Perhaps my parents knew that when they initially urged me not to put all my eggs in the music basket, but to get a safer liberal arts degree as a back-up (they came around eventually and have always been thoroughly supportive of my musical career). It’s never been about the money for me - I do need to pay off my loans but don’t give a damn how big my salary is, as long as the bills can be paid and the cat can get fed (and me too, preferably). I really don’t want to start over and get some lucrative tech or business degree and cast off my niche passions.

Part of the trouble here is that it’s hard to gauge how much of this is just your normal edge-of-adulthood anxiety, how much is due to bad luck or timing, how much is thanks to COVID, how much is thanks to the inevitable “death of the church” (hopefully NOT this, at all), how much is due to my personal deficiencies (logically I don’t think very much but who knows)... that’s a long list, isn’t it?

As my UK visa nears its dying day in just over a week, I dread returning to my screwed up home country, where for the first time I won’t have anything exciting guaranteed on the horizon. How fun, a transition period at home with no end in sight. It no longer seems a very pleasant purgatory, but more like one where my skills might begin to deteriorate, not to mention my motivation and self-confidence. I will try my hardest to stay occupied with healthy activities and try to keep making music somehow (must find access to an organ!), but I’m worried that I won’t be strong enough to last very long before my soul succumbs to starvation. Ok, this is getting a bit too dramatic now, ffs.

Everything will be fine, I deserve success, I just need to be patient. Stop whining, everyone else is having just as hard if not harder a time. It could always be worse. Eat your vegetables, practice your scales, go outside for 30 minutes every day. Don’t get trapped into that double-edged sword of living vicariously through your colleagues on social media who do seem to be living their dreams; I’m sure they have their own struggles too. Keep refreshing your various job board tabs. More than once a day is probably a bit excessive. Hang in there. It will all work out. Or, we might all die in the floods and/or riots. But then you won’t have to pay off your student loans!

I’m just trying to put my thoughts together here - not necessarily fishing for compliments nor care reacts - thanks for reading.

A pensive moment just before lockdown began in Peterborough

A Love Note to Truro

Over the past four years, I have come to associate the month of May and its various heraldings of summertime with the bright days and happy times I spent in Truro. I have wonderful memories of walking along the river to Malpas, enjoying the golden hours after Evensong with members of the back row, basking in the sun on Lemon Quay with a burger (RIP, Truro Craftworks!), and playing games of football with the choristers on the green. 

My phone reminded me this morning that on this day in 2016, I visited Truro for the first time. After graduating with my BMus from Eastman, I travelled to the UK for a little recital tour of concert engagements I’d been awarded by the Oundle for Organists Summer School, and I had a couple days free in the middle to nip down and see what was to be my future workplace (I had already been appointed but hadn’t yet been to the cathedral in person). It was a flying visit, but I remember a few highlights: seeing the cathedral’s famous three spires from the train (see below), being shuttled down to High Cross in time for Evensong (the anthem was the first movement of Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms!), enjoying the Old Ale House and the Rising Sun for the first time, and meeting people that would eventually become very dear friends. 

May 2017 found me in Truro again, this time as a proper Cornish citizen and the 22nd American Cathedral Organ Scholar to have ever graced this Green and Pleasant land (though we all know that Cornwall isn’t actually part of England; for the sake of this particular statistic we’ll pretend it is). With apologies for the cliché, I was living my best life - in the middle of the sometimes strenuous but hugely gratifying routine of a cathedral musician, I was loving my surroundings and my like-minded musical colleagues, and everything was truly lovely. I remember that month featured many Gs&Ts, late evenings (whether from organ practice, pub, or both), curries, and over half term, a fun tour to Salem, Germany, 

May 2018 was a very special month indeed, as it was the first time I was able to return to Truro following a stressful first year of my Master’s degree. I flew into Newquay Airport on a sunny day and admired the coast from the plane, and I’m pretty sure the excitement of seeing all my Cornish friends again combatted any potential jet-lag I might have normally felt after the long trip. I may have even teared up when I saw those spires again… That visit had many high points, including amazing concerts by David Briggs, and by the Gesualdo Six (the latter at a certain massive birthday party), wonderful singing from the cathedral choir (as always), and several meaningful reconnections with beloved friends over curries (and over a scotch or three). 

Last year in May I made another pilgrimage to Truro, this time seeking a bit of respite from “the changes and chances of this life”. It was a short visit, but I made the most of the lovely weather and managed to fit in a few relaxing walks, including an early one along the river to Saint Clement and back via a fry-up at The Heron. It was meditative to sit and listen to echoes of birds singing and sheep bleating, and the fatty breakfast food didn’t hurt, either.  

With the current pandemic, obviously I can’t make it down to Truro this May. I regret breaking what would have been a five-year streak, but I hope to make up for lost time in the future. In the meantime, I’ve ordered some Cornish pasties from Ann’s, and I continue to enjoy the beautiful photos of Cornwall that are popping up on my social media feeds. Truro remains a very special place to me (as evidenced by it being the main thing I rant about on this blog), and that is partly because of the great experience I had living there, but it is primarily due to the invaluable connections I’ve cultivated with so many of its people. Xx

An Almost-Pleasant Purgatory

I am lucky to have loving friends and family members who have been checking in on me during this period of isolation and uncertainty, and I am very grateful for them. Just as every day is becoming repetitive, so too are the conversations starting to be a bit predictable: “How are you holding up?” “Who else have you spoken to recently?” “Are you eating enough?” etc.  Even though I find my answers to be similarly boring day after day, I appreciate the chance to talk to someone, especially now that I am no longer seeing my friends in the flesh.  I do feel a bit of guilt, though, that I am finding this routine of nothingness fairly straightforward and easy to live with (although it is only day 5 of our 21+ day lockdown here in the UK). As a very-rarely-extraverted introvert, I am used to spending most of my evenings and days off alone, and so I find I am well-equipped to kill lots of time by browsing the Internet, reading, doing crossword puzzles, and watching Netflix. Perhaps I should be worried that I find it so bearable… not sure.

However, I do lament the lack of collaborative music-making that ought to be filling up the majority of my days - it’s why I am here in Peterborough, after all. I was looking forward to offering up a recital of various Passiontide chorale settings on Palm Sunday (we were going to livestream it, then we decided to record it ahead of time on Tuesday evening, but then the PM’s announcement on Monday the 23rd prevented even this third revision of the plan from going forward). Strictly speaking, I am no longer allowed in the cathedral, even to practice by myself in the organ loft. Thankfully I have a piano in my house, and begrudgingly I have been playing through scales every morning while I wait for my bread to toast. I’m happy to see many of my colleagues making a valiant effort of offering up so much music through livestreams and recordings, and I do hope these posts are bringing other people joy and comfort, as well. I regret not being quite as motivated or creatively inspired in my own isolation. I’ve played around with the Acapella app a bit (which lets the user self-harmonize by layering different recorded takes), but unfortunately both my stinginess (I’m not going to pay $3 for the pro version, are you kidding?) and insecurity have prevented me from posting any of the final products thus far. (If you want to laugh at my contribution to this art form as a friendless teenager with lots of free time, feel free to enjoy this throwback)

Obviously, we are all facing a huge amount of uncertainty now as to how long this will last and what our world and societies will look like if and when we get back to “normal.” As an American living abroad, I am very conscious of my visa’s expiration date, as well as the day after which I will be officially unemployed. Unsurprisingly, all search processes for various vacant organist jobs for September are on hold at the moment. As I’ve written about before, It would be logistically challenging to stay in this country (with which I’m so enamoured), due to the severe regulations concerning immigration and long-term work visas. The new Brexity version of the points-based scheme actually works in my favour with its lower salary threshold, but the huge challenge remains of convincing a cathedral or school that my talent is valuable enough to warrant all of the extra paperwork and fees to enable such an appointment.

And so, for me at least, this period is a time of phlegmatic helplessness. Perhaps it’s like purgatory: I haven’t found myself descending into total insanity (yet), but I’m fairly unenthused about every aspect of my life. I am still emotional; I feel worried and anxious about my loved ones and about everyone who is suffering from this pandemic; I feel self-pity for the various projects and relationships that didn’t work out the way I wanted; I feel anger at some governments for not taking scientists seriously soon enough; I feel some ~light~ despair at my lack of an immediate professional future; but overall, I am fine. I am healthy, I have enough food and loo roll, and I have people checking on me.

I hope everyone referencing the famous quote “This too shall pass” is correct. I am waiting on a lot to pass and am eager to see what’s next…

New Video: Howells's Psalm Prelude Set 1, No. 2

I’m happy to share this video, produced by my friend Joseph Porter-Bolger of Persona Music and recorded in October of last year. Enjoy!

Keeping the faith

Happy Advent! This season of expectation has got to be my favourite in the church year. I am a sucker for Christmas and really enjoy revisiting all the classic carols every year, whether in performance at an Advent procession or in rehearsals, in preparation for Christmas. Also - the Advent quiz is going swimmingly so far, mustn’t forget to mention.

The cathedral choir sang the annual carol service for the Worshipful Company of Plaisterers at St Vedast in London this past Monday. This was the first of many carol services I’ll be involved in this season, although this one was most definitely a Christmas service, even if it happened on the second day of Advent… but it was nice to hear the choir sing some of the Willcocks descants and to hear the familiar Gospel readings detailing the Christmas story (comforting also because my family enjoys a few inside jokes about Luke’s account: for example, the shepherds came with Haste, the aptly named lamb; also that when Herod was “troubled” he was actually just suffering from some uncomfortable constipation - these may be odd/nonsense but come from my wacky family’s traditions).

After the carol service, we were treated to an amazing feast in Plaisterers’ Hall. It was very formal and extremely yummy, although the effects of the several wine pairings/port/brandy made the four-hands arrangement of Mack Wilberg’s “Ding dong” slightly stressful to play at the end of the evening!

Now the choir and the organists are enjoying a mini break this week, which has allowed us to gather our strength for the Christmas craziness to come (finishing off with two services on Christmas Eve and three on Christmas Day). It’s also allowed me to do a bit of traveling, so I’ve enjoyed visiting with a friend in London, attending Evensong in Ely yesterday, and today visiting York. It’s great to be so close to other cathedral cities up here, although I still miss Cornwall very much…

I can’t help but wonder where I will be working next Advent. As I discovered after my year in Truro, it’s quite bittersweet to be an American organ scholar in the UK: on one hand I feel that I’m literally living my dream by getting to play for evensong so regularly in such a staggering building on a great organ, with a good choir, etc. Not to mention that I’m automatically placed into a social group of people that, like me, love good liturgy and choral music, and that cathedral attendance seems to be rising every year! But on the other hand, the reality is that it’s close to impossible to emigrate here, as the government requires a job to pay an exorbitant salary (presumably to guarantee an immigrant wouldn’t have to rely on public funds), which No. 3 and No. 2 organists jobs never offer. Naturally, I don’t feel drawn to this profession for its money-making potential; I’d be perfectly happy living close to the poverty line if my soul was being fed with daily evensong and chorister rehearsals! It is disheartening, though, to be enjoying the Advent season and the music that accompanies it all while remembering that this experience is finite and not guaranteed for the future. The optimistic solution is to make the most of my time here, bring my experiences back to the States, and try to cultivate an appreciation for good music and liturgy wherever I end up. I’ll do my best to do that, but I do find myself wondering how I might fare over here if citizenship were a non-issue.

Luckily I have cheery Christmas carols to distract myself from these slightly depressing thoughts…!

Breath of fresh Cornish air

My year as organ scholar in Truro will always remain one of my most special, and it is always such a pleasure to visit. I was so happy to have found the time to escape down to Kernow for a few days this week. Living and working in Peterborough has definitely affected my perspective a bit - everything seems a bit smaller in Truro now; the cathedral as well as the Father Willis both seem like charming miniatures compared to the massive building and organ in Pb. However, they don’t call Truro’s instrument the Little Giant for nothing - Chris Gray offered an excellent Friday lunchtime recital in memory of longtime cathedral steward John Musgrove and showed off the organ’s many riveting colours (big and small) in an awesome program of Howells, Elgar, and Bach. Was especially great to hear the first movement of Elgar’s Sonata, again, having just put so much blood, sweat, and tears into my own performance of that work, half a year ago in my MMus recital.

I also revisited favourite haunts from my scholar year: the cinema, the Old Ale House, the Yak & Yeti (looove the curry there), various cozy cafes, and of course the Cathedral Restaurant for a lovely breakfast and at least 6 cups of tea (the perfect beverage over which to catch up with someone, naturally) over the course of my time there. Also I got to spend some quality time practising piano in the cathedral crypt, where I spent many hours (happily) labouring over the maintenance of the choir’s music library. Glad to see it isn’t in total disarray at the moment! I’m afraid I must be one of the nerdiest organ scholars around, in that I truly enjoy organising and filing away music…

Anyway, after a slightly stressful journey back up to Cambridgeshire yesterday (I almost missed my connection in King’s Cross by a matter of seconds), I’m feeling recharged and ready for the big push through to Christmas. Lots of exciting stuff coming up - do look over at my Events page for a taste of what I’ll be up to in the coming months. And (more nerdiness now), though I love Christmas as much as anyone, I’m truly excited for Lichfield Cathedral Choir’s Advent Quiz (link is to last year’s version) coming up at the start of December - will work extra hard this year to rise above honourable mention, hopefully.

Off to Cambridge this evening to hear fellow ex-Truronian Joseph Wicks in concert at St John’s - can’t wait to hear one of the best choirs in the world in Evensong afterwards! And then back to the daily grind with our lovely Peterborough Cathedral choristers tomorrow morning, bright and early at the King’s School. Looking forward to my conducting debut at Evensong tomorrow, too.

Halfway to Half Term

I’m really enjoying myself here in Pb now that I’ve more or less settled into the routine. It’s been great to get to know the organ and gain some confidence in registering pieces, and I’ve really enjoyed all the accompanying I’ve gotten to do. The current count is at 8 Evensongs, 1 Matins, 1 Eucharist, and 2 other services… I’m also becoming more comfortable in taking girls and boys rehearsals on my own. Depending on the time of week and day, energy levels can be a bit variable, but overall the kids are well-behaved and lovely. I’m also enjoying getting to know members of the back row (both the choral scholars and the lay clerks) - it’s always nice to connect with like-minded folks that love choral music. On top of all the other good things about the job, I get to work with extremely supportive and kind colleagues in the Music Office… life is good!

I have started to explore outside of the city a little bit and look forward to more in due course. I visited a neighbouring town, Stamford a few weeks ago and was very taken with its various churches; there are 5 medieval churches still standing, all within a few minutes walk of each other! In addition, I got to visit Cambridge to visit with a friend a couple weeks ago, and it was nice to watch the countryside go by (and an extra bonus was seeing Ely’s octagon tower from the train). Finally, I was able to get away to Colchester in Essex earlier this week, where I spent time with my aunt, uncle and cousins.

Starting at the end of the week there are some big events ahead. We’ve got our annual Be A Chorister For a Day event (BACFAD) on Saturday, an evensong for the National Friends of Cathedrals meeting on October 12th, and our Diocesan Choral Festival on the 19th. After that, it’ll be half term break, which I’m sure will feel quite welcome! I’ve booked tickets to visit some friends down in Cornwall, and I’m really looking forward to catching up with people in my original UK home.

First week in Peterborough: done.

It’s been a real whirlwind this week as I’ve attempted to adjust to the routines and house styles of the Peterborough Cathedral Choir. I’m very lucky to be working with extremely supportive colleagues, and I’ve already met many interesting and lovely people - it should be a great year! While the organ playing is a bit daunting (I wish my right foot was a tad wider to help grab both Sw/Ch boxes more easily), the choristers are a fun group, and my slightly obsessive nature helps me enjoy the administrative side of things; I manage for the choir’s library, and there’s nothing more satisfying than collecting back a full set of copies in perfect alphabetical order…

I’m on to play my first evensong tomorrow night: Noble in B minor and a piece by Peter Nardone are up! Thankfully I’ve played the Noble before, although that was at Truro, where I only had to worry about one swell box. I must also get used to Pboro’s smaller video screens; hopefully my nerves won’t disrupt my focus too horribly.

I’m also looking forward to beginning my role as accompanist for the Peterborough Take Note Community Choir tomorrow evening. They’ve got a varied programme on for their “Pre-Christmas” concert in November, so it should be a fun respite from the daily grind at the cathedral (which I love dearly - it feels great to be busy again after a relatively lazy summer). Not sure I’ve ever accompanied Wham! before…

Käthe Wright Kaufman, MMus AAGO

I’m so pleased to announce that I have successfully earned my Associate of the American Guild of Organists certificate and can now add some more letters after my name! I took the 7-hour exam earlier this month in Portland, ME (spread over two days). In addition to performing organ repertoire, the exam involved keyboard tests, ear tests, and many written exercises.

Now that I’ve earned the certificate, it means I am eligible to try for the next step up, the FAGO exam (Fellow), or its U.K. equivalent, the FRCO. We’ll see what the future holds…

Summer 2019

Now that I’ve finished my studies at Eastman, I am happily enjoying a relaxing couple of months here in Rochester. Last Sunday (Pentecost) was the last of the choir season at St. Paul’s, and I was very proud of the effort put forth by the Choristers and the Adult Choir - both groups sang with gusto!

It has been quite a gratifying experience to work as Organ Scholar at St. Paul’s this year; I’ve enjoyed working with Dr. Robert Poovey, getting to accompany some amazing repertoire (highlights were the Duruflé Requiem & Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms!), working with the choirs and staff, and playing the lovely Skinner Op. 655. It has been a bonus to have the privilege of ‘holding down the fort’ during Dr. Poovey’s sabbatical (Early May through mid-August); it’s helped me appreciate all the behind-the-scenes work and admin that goes into running a music program.

I’m looking forward to teaching my two students at the Cape Cod POE next month, and in the meantime my projects include working on cleaning up the (dusty) music library at church and practicing a lot! I’ve just begun learning some new repertoire, including works by Bach, Karg-Elert, Kodály, MacMillan, and more…

T-10 weeks until the move Across The Pond!