Jacob and Hieronymus, however,
happened to be father and son. And son and
father. Hieronymus had a father named Jacob who
was also an organist, but it is his son Jacob whose
music (was/will be) on the left. There were a lot of
church organists in the family.
In a larger sense, all three of them,
Hieronymus, Jacob, and Michael, are part of the family
of north German organists of the 16th century.
Being an organist certainly ran in the family in those
days. It was a family guild of sorts. You didn't
decide to go to college and major in organ playing, or
go take a few easy lessons and try to find yourself a
place to play. The "Praetorians" had a family tree of
organists going back about four generations.
Hieronymus
was the first to be born. He arrived in August of
1560 and promptly began learning the trade from his
father Jacob. Hieronymus didn't travel much--he was
born in Hamburg, and he mainly stayed there, except
for a trip to Cologne to learn more about organ
playing from somebody besides his father, and to get
his first gig in a town called Erfurt. Then he
returned to Hamburg, to a church called St. Jacobi,
where his father was the principal organist. He
became the assistant, until his father died in 1586
and Hieronymus replaced him.
Hieronymus's
only other trip that we know about was to a
"Congress of Organists" held in 1596 to dedicate a
new organ at Groningen. Fifty-four organists from
all over the German states took part in this
convention. It is nice to see folks getting together
to talk shop and learn the latest methods way back
in 1596. It may have been a great chance for
Hieronymus to hear some of the Venetian Polychoral
music that was the new craze. Hieronymus met Michael
Praetorius and Leo Hassler, a couple of celebrities,
and went dutifully back to St. Jacobi to be its
organist until he died three decades later. Guess
who took over his job?
Wrong.
Son Jacob got a job at a different church in 1604,
so they had to find somebody else.
Jacob
had the good fortune to study with one Jan
Sweelinck, one of the era's leading
organist-composers, and went to to teach many
others, forming another link in that unbroken line
of tradition, and adding another influence to the
prevailing style.
The
world was a very different place in 1600, when young
Jacob Praetorius came of age, but one thing a
contemporary mind will not have trouble
understanding--there are two very different views of
his organ playing. One of these comes from a man
named Johann Kortkamp, who wrote in his chronicle of
organists that Jacob played "with majesty and
devotion" and that he "was capable of animating
people's hearts." (we should all be so lucky!)
Writing over a half-century after Praetorious died,
he goes on to say that "this amiable man should be
remembered for his sensual and artistic playing."
Which,
of course, didn't stop Johann Mattheson, another
major musical figure of the time, from writing
(about thirty years after Kortkamp's assessment)
that Praetorius "was always very solemn and somewhat
odd." What is majestic to some is odd to others,
apparently. But it is no matter. In Mattheson's
estimation, Praetorious shows "extreme amiability in
all his activities," and in addition to his
efficient finger technique ("he carried himself
without any bodily movement, giving his playing an
effortless appearance"), his pieces are difficult to
play "and more elaborate, which put this composer
above everyone else." It was an age in which
complexity was much more exalted than it is now (at
least by fellow organists!), though, like most
complexities of past eras, Jacob Praetorius's pieces
do not now strike us as particularly difficult.
It is
also no surprise that in the above criticism, Jacob
is being compared to another of Sweelinck's
students, and, apparently, being judged the better.
We couldn't have a tie, could we?
Jacob,
naturally, remained at the church he served until
his death in 1651, by which time he had been their
organist for 47 years.
Michael
apparently decided to break the mold of these north
German organists. Instead of remaining in one place
practically all of his life, he traveled a great
deal, so much so that one recent writer suggests
that he "spent his energies prematurely by an
excessive amount of composing...as well as by an
inordinate love of travel" [!] Another star
burnt out early by shining too brightly, evidently.
If some kind of explanation is required for why he
only lived to be fifty (in an age when that wasn't
all that odd) than this will have to do, apparently.
Michael's
travels took him to exotic locales like Prague,
Dresden, and Leipzig, where he hobnobbed with many
of the current celebrities. Whether all that
networking paid off or not, today he is the best
known of the three Praetorii, though his best known
single piece of music is not one of the organ works
on the left, but a Christmas carol known as "Lo, How
a Rose E'er Blooming." As for "excessive composing,"
there are not really all that many of his organ
works left. My 'complete' edition lists ten.
What
about these organ works? They were written for the
church, of course, long an authoritarian
institution, which wouldn't let just anything be
played for its worship services. In fact, the church
determined which hymns were to be sung on which
Sunday throughout the church year, a cycle that ran
from Advent (the four weeks before Christmas) until
the last Sunday of Kingdomtide (that long dull
period that runs generally from late May through
November).
Like
much of what organists play in church today, the
Praetorius's based their organ works on existing
hymn tunes, and with good reason. It was often
customary during a Mass for the organ to alternate
with the choir during the chanting of these "hymns;"
plainchants, really: single-note devotions which had
no prescribed rhythm. These had been born in the
Medieval Period, before time was something you could
divide into minutes and seconds. Consequently, no
thought was given to having quarter-notes and
half-notes.
By the
time of our heroes a lot had changed. The authority
of the ancient hymns was still paramount; however,
before the time of the Renaissance, nothing had been
allowed to disturb their original impact in any way;
now, composers were making them the basis for
complex multi-voice compositions, and engendering
the wrath of many conservative clergymen.
Listen
to the original plainchant on which one of his works
is based. I bet it won't be obvious when you listen
to the piece itself. The reason is that usually the
chant is parceled out slowly in the bass (played
with the pedals) while the faster-moving parts swirl
above it, drawing our ears' attention to the part
that the composer has created himself, rather than
the part that was prescribed by the ancient
tradition.
Often,
but not always, the original chant is present in
"slow motion" in the bass. Sometimes, as in
Hieronymus's second or third "verses" it is there
more subtly (if at all); remember, the organ
frequently played in the interludes between the
verses of the hymn. If a hymn had four verses, like
in the case of Hieronymus's setting of "Veni,
Creator Spiritus," it makes sense that there would
be three organ pieces to go between them. It also
makes sense that the composer would get tired of
composing everything the same way, and would look
for other ways of setting notes against one another
to create that euphonious harmony that was so
prized.
In the
case of "Summo Parenti Gloria" the title is actually
the eighth verse of the Christmas hymn "A Solus
Cardine." It is the only one present in my
edition--I wonder if this piece was actually
supposed to replace the eighth verse to give the
choir a break, or if the other pieces got lost
(nobody had to run to the football game back then so
they could sing eight verses if they wanted to).
The
Middle Ages did not prize individuality in music; or
in anything else. Music was a craft; there were
rules, and well-defined procedures for doing it
well. Although the three "Mayors" (which is what
Praetorius means in Latin) lived near the end of the
Renaissance, a time which thought more highly of
individual accomplishment, it did not necessarily
cater to individual style! And, the church would not
have been at the forefront of musical progressivism
if it could help it. Thus, we should expect the
three organists' music to sound pretty much the
same. However, they still had personalities back
then, whether they were extolled or not, and there
do seem to be some subtle differences between them.
Hieronymus
seems to enjoy flourishes more than the other two;
although, Michael gives him a run for his money near
the end of Summo Parenti Gloria. Hieronymus seldom
can wait for the end of a piece (like about 17
seconds into the third verse of Veni, Creator
Spiritus). Jacob is the same way. Most often, a
piece in this North German style will begin with
very slow notes and it takes a few measures to get
moving, like a very heavy conveyance trying to gain
momentum. Often the faster notes are saved for the
end of a piece or sections of it, but sometimes it
sounds like a composer just decided to haul off and
shoot up or down the scale for the sheer heck of it.
Michael's
pieces tend to be longer, and there are fewer of
them, which is odd considering how prolific he was
in general. Michael's pieces are sometimes
individual works as well, where Hieronymus preferred
sets of pieces (remember the interludes?).
Hieronymus hailed from Hamburg, and Michael lived in
Frankfurt for a time (when he wasn't
moving)--perhaps, therefore, this is a
reflection of the prevailing taste in different
cities. Or perhaps he just loved epics. His "When
Jesus Came to Jordan" is twelve pages in print and
18 minutes long (by my tempo). I'm not sure
what made him spin that particular subject to that
length but he seems to have felt the need to climb a
musical mountain so I did too. If you aren't in a
big hurry, the piece can carry as effectively as any
piece of that period what often seems to be that
long ago era's message to us: an unhurried,
reflective, and, by turns, dancelike and exultant
evocation of the mysterious, in an era when man was
becoming increasingly conscious of his own powers,
but the universe still seemed a very big place.
Slow down a little and enjoy the
mystery.
(You can hear some of their music here in the archive.)