Go away, I’m practising
From the look on her face, even St Cecilia could get a bit annoyed at times. Window in St Mary the Virgin, Little Wymondley/Wiki Commons
There’s something about an organ being played – like a traffic accident or a crime scene – that draws a crowd. Some excellent organists simply do not play in public, and I understand where they are coming from. If your instrument is even slightly in the public domain, it can be impossible to escape onlookers, at times when really you would rather they weren’t there. It’s wonderful to be able to lock yourself in an empty church and practice to your heart’s content, but this luxury is rare. Your playing often goes on with the twitchy awareness of assorted listeners at your back. This used to worry me terribly, but I’ve decided to harden up and get used to it. It goes with the territory.
The easiest to cope with is gawpers from the congregation. Whether you adopt a playing style of extreme nonchalance, or add a little showmanship in the form of extravagant stop-pulling and a few grimaces at key points in the music, they will usually be in awe whatever you do.
Slightly more difficult are members of the vestry and clergy who hover behind you eager for a discussion of next month’s rota or just to exchange some church chitter-chatter. They have a strong sense that they can interrupt, and often do. Organists are trained multi-taskers, and I have watched an organist of my acquaintance simultaneously booking the departing sopranos for a wedding the next week while smashing through the final voluntary (respect!) but I’m not in that league. A smile and a grunt is usually enough to postpone the discussion here – though this may have to be repeated before the message gets through.
The hardest situation to deal with is when you sense a little semi-circle has gathered behind you of teachers, fellow professionals, dare I say it, rivals – usually just before a difficult pedal entry. This taxes the sang-froid of even the best. (Gillian Weir suggests imagining you’re in a safe bubble which lets the music out but bounces back any ill wishes – so she’s been there herself.) If this class of onlooker does manage to throw you, the only answer I can suggest is a little gamesmanship at the end of their next recital. Adopting an air of faint commiseration with ‘I say, the last movement of that Reger is awfully difficult isn’t it?’ should restore your sense of fair play.
