Alongside more than 500 years of music specifically composed for the organ lives a large body of works (transcriptions, arrangements, and adaptions) derived from the repertoire of other instruments or ensembles.

The earliest collections of organ music, dating back to at least the 15th century, contain large numbers of intabulations—transcriptions or arrangements of polyphonic vocal literature for performance. By the 18th century, transcribing or arranging orchestral music for organ was commonplace in work such as Bach’s arrangements of concertos by Vivaldi and the French Baroque composer Jean-Henri D’Anglebert’s arrangements of popular dance tunes by Lully. During the 19th century, the expressive capabilities of the organ increased while virtuosos such as Franz Liszt and Edwin Lemare made keyboard arrangements of everything from Beethoven symphonies to Wagner operas. In the 20th century, Louis Vierne’s six symphonies, composed for performance on the “symphonic” organs of the Parisian builder Aristide Cavaillé-Coll, further underscored the connections between music for organ and orchestra.

Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Symphonic Dances and César Franck’s Symphony in D minor, both valedictory works composed within a few years of their composer’s death, represent the culmination of each one’s work in symphonic form.

By 1940, when the Symphonic Dances was composed, Rachmaninoff (1873–1943) was living in the US, recovering from an exhausting two decades of touring as pianist and conductor. He found refuge at the Honeyman Estate, “Orchard Point,” overlooking Long Island Sound. Originally titled Fantastic Dances (Noon, Twilight, and Midnight), it was the composer’s last major work and was dedicated to Rachmaninoff’s friend and longtime collaborator Eugene Ormandy and The Philadelphia Orchestra, who premiered the work in 1941. The first movement, Non allegro, like so much of the composer’s output, presents a seemingly limitless string of beautiful melodies, all imaginatively and carefully orchestrated (including some noteworthy solos for alto saxophone).

Franck (1822–90) had a dense, chromatic style that was rooted in German, particularly Wagnerian, models. The very idea of composing a symphony—a form primarily associated with German composers—was seen by some as a betrayal of French musical culture. (Prior to Saint-Saëns’ Third Symphony, Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique was the only symphony considered part of the French canon.) The Symphony in D minor, cast in three broad movements, relies on techniques established especially by Liszt where a brief theme is stated and continuously developed throughout a large symphonic work. The third and final movement, Allegretto (here as arranged by Calvin Hampton), based on an extended melodic inversion of the symphony’s primary theme, is a joyful, up-tempo foil to the two darker and more serious movements that precede it.

The astonishing jazz pianists Art Tatum (1909–56) and Oscar Peterson (1925–2007) could keep audiences transfixed while improvising reimagined popular songs such as Vincent Youmans’ (1898–1946) “Tea for Two,” presented in the first half of the program, and Harold Arlen’s “Over the Rainbow,” in the second half. Tatum recorded several versions of “Tea for Two” beginning around 1933 and set the standard for virtuosity among jazz pianists that was rarely if ever exceeded. Although Vladimir Horowitz often included “Tea for Two” as an encore at the end of his recitals, he reportedly vowed never to play it again in public after hearing Tatum improvise on the tune.

Arlen’s (1905–86) classic song “Over the Rainbow,” from the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz, was a favorite of the Canadian jazz pianist and composer Oscar Peterson. Releasing more than 200 recordings and playing thousands of concerts worldwide over a career that spanned more than 60 years, Peterson was dubbed the “Maharaja of the keyboard” by Duke Ellington. His version of “Over the Rainbow” was a staple of his live concerts and was featured on the 1960 album Oscar Peterson Plays the Harold Arlen Song Book.

During his lifetime, Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750) was better known as an improviser than as a composer, and as a young man he devoted considerable time to developing both art forms. He famously made a 200-mile trek on foot at the age of 20 to visit one of the great virtuosos of the day, Dieterich Buxtehude, from whom he learned a great deal about composing for—and presumably improvising on—the organ. One of Buxtehude’s claims to fame was his pedal technique, and Bach’s writing for the pedals exceeds that of his teacher by a fair bit, as seen throughout the Prelude and Fugue in D major, BWV 532. The Prelude consists of an opening toccata-like section with virtuosic scale passages and arpeggios for the pedals, a contrasting contrapuntal “Alla breve” (two beats per measure) with Italianate suspensions and slow-moving harmonies, and a concluding slow section featuring a brief “recitative.” The fugue is built on two ideas: the first using only three notes in a quick up-and-down figure stated four times; the second, a mind-numbing descending sequence with a brief cadential figure. The fugue subject must have been a favorite of Bach’s, because he reused it in the Toccata in D, BWV 912. It was also a favorite of Ottorino Respighi, who transcribed the work for orchestra.

Instruction in improvisation is a part of nearly every serious organ student’s training. Especially in France, the art of improvisation is taught side by side with technique and interpretation, and students are routinely tested on their ability to improvise on material of their own imagining or on a theme presented to them. In the hands of a great improviser, a seemingly innocuous tune can give rise to vast, complex, and thrilling masterpieces, however fleeting. The great organist, conductor, and composer Frederick Swann (1931–2022) was famous for the extended improvisations he routinely dashed off during his long career as organist in several large New York and Los Angeles churches. (Fred, as he was known to friends, happily spent his retirement as artist-in-residence at St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church in Palm Desert, playing Sunday services until shortly before his death.) Chriss’ arrangement of “Amazing Grace” comes from a collection of improvisations that Swann committed to paper and published in 2006.

Jean Guillou (1930 –2019) and Max Reger (1873–1916) both revered the music of Bach and incorporated elements of Bach’s art in their own music, and Chriss closes both halves of tonight’s recital with their works, respectively. Guillou’s stand-alone Toccata, Op. 9, was composed in 1963, the year he began a 52-year career as Titular Organist of the church of Saint-Eustache in Paris. The work was recorded by Chriss on his 2019 album Art et Rhapsodie. The piece provides an opportunity for virtuosic display as well as lyrical reflection. The Fantasy and Fugue on B-A-C-H, Op. 46, by Reger, begins with a toccata-like essay on the “Bach” theme—a four-note motive derived from the German musical spelling of the notes B-flat, A, C, and B-natural. The theme is heard throughout and clearly identifiable despite Reger’s densely packed chromatic writing. The Fugue, likewise, focuses on the same four notes, building from a quiet, chant-like statement to a massive 12-note texture in which all the organist’s 10 digits and two feet participate.

—Thomas Neenan