Toccata, Birdsong and Jig

Toccata, Birdsong and Jig

One of my earliest musical memories is of a gramophone record I was given as a birthday present: Fernando Germani playing Bach organ works, including the Toccata, Adagio and Fugue BWV 564. I was enthralled by the sound. It sparked a lifelong fascination with the instrument.

As a teenager, I became the organist in my local catholic church, Our Lady Star of the Sea in Greenwich, south-east London, where my architect parents had designed the choir-loft. The instrument was a modest two-manual affair, prone to ciphers in the pedals; the choir was likewise modest, and only sang in unison. I wrote my earliest mass setting there, and was always thrilled to play Widor’s Toccata at weddings. I practised diligently, but it took me a long time to master Bach’s pedal parts. At the end of services, I often found it easier simply to make something up on the spot.

Going to university marked the end of my regular organ-playing: from then on, I played through others, by composing. One of my earliest compositions to be published was Niagara, written for Thomas Trotter and premiered in the 1989 Salisbury Festival. Many years later, I revised and shortened it for publication, in collaboration with David Titterington. For Thomas Trotter, I also wrote The Dancing Pipes. My only other solo organ work is Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam, written for William Whitehead’s Orgelbüchlein Project, but naturally the organ features in many of my choral works, and in two church operas, Tobias and the Angel and The Walk from the Garden.

It is a great honour to be invited to compose a new work for the American Guild of Organists.

Toccata, Birdsong and Jig only acknowledges my early Bach obsession with the briefest Baroque flourish, launching a Toccata marked ‘Driving’: it has a seemingly unstoppable energy that perhaps has urban associations, albeit with lyrical moments. By contrast, the second movement seeks to get as far from the city as possible.

As Messiaen showed in his unique and inimitable way, the organ lends itself well to imitating birdsong: the smallest pipes can reach higher notes than the piccolo. Following Messiaen’s lead, in my second string quartet, I used almost verbatim transcriptions of recordings I had made of a blackbird outside my window, and a robin in the nearby park. But here, my approach is much freer: the birdsong is not so literally transcribed; the sources are also much more various, little fragments of songs of unknown birds heard while out walking. I’m hoping to convey something of the mysterious feelings that arise while walking through a forest amid majestic trees.

The Jig starts off airborne, suggested by the rhythm of what seems to be a new birdsong, but soon some human feet catch the rhythm, and it becomes a playful, earthy dance that eventually turns into a riotous carnival.

The movements may be played separately.

Jonathan Dove