Interview, Dame Gillian Weir at 80

The legendary New Zealand-British organist Dame Gillian Weir turns 80 this year, and it's no surprise that tributes to her influential career as a performer and educator have been numerous and widespread. I was lucky enough to speak to Dame Gillian a few weeks ago, and she shared some of her reflections on a remarkable lifetime.

You didn’t come up through what might be considered the ‘normal’ route for an organist, that is via church music – you’ve always been a recitalist, which is a rare career-path for organists. Do you think that option is easier today than it was for you, or maybe harder?

Right now, of course (with the lockdown), it's impossible for anyone to continue their career at all … but in general I think it's still very difficult. If you play in a church you have a base from which to operate, and a base from which your name can become known, you have some sort of income, and you might even have a house that is tied to the institution. I was never interested in doing that myself, partly because I realised that (in a cathedral, for instance) the choir is the most important element and I was not a choral conductor. Many people who love the organ take that route and then find that they are hardly ever playing - just getting up at 6.30 to rehearse the choirboys and girls! In a few venues the rôles are separate - an organist appointed specifically to play and a choral and conducting expert to direct the music. That seems to me ideal, and it would be good to have it everywhere - if of course it can be financed! But that was never really my world.

I started out as a pianist; I loved the piano and its repertoire and won a scholarship to study piano and organ as joint principal studies at a London college. I had just taken up the organ and had won a piano concerto competition. I was very fortunate in being able to study with Cyril Smith, one of the greatest concert pianists, and with Ralph Downes for the organ. A turning point was when I had the chance to play Bach on the legendary Schnitger organ in Alkmaar, Holland; it was a revelation to hear the counterpoint so clearly and experience the instrument's clarity and personality. I loved to listen to the magnificent choral works and the drama and theatricality of the accompaniments, as I still do today, but I wanted to play the organ's huge solo repertoire, on organs (like Alkmaar's) which are designed and scaled to play the whole breadth of the instrument's fascinating and widely differing literature. I was stunned by the effect of meeting that organ, and essentially became an organist on the spot.

You studied with both Cyril Smith and organist Ralph Downes – how did they influence your own musical development?

They were both very open-minded people, although I remember one day when I was playing something to Ralph Downes, who taught on the sixth floor of the RCM, while Cyril Smith reigned on the fifth, and he said "Hmm… you can do that on the fifth floor, but not on the sixth!" It concerned ornamentation, and we were talking about early music, which of course I was not in any case working on with Cyril; there I was playing the Brahms-Handel Variations, Mozart concertos etc. Ralph was however wonderful with new music, too; he gave the première of the second Hindemith sonata, for example, and introduced much new music to the organists' repertoire. Messiaen, for example, whose ideas were considered extraordinary and bizarre insofar as they were known at all at this time (around 1962).

Did you have to keep the piano and the organ quite separate while you were studying them both jointly?

No; they complemented one another. Cyril was magnificent with technique, and how to practise, which is a whole subject in itself and still not widely taught, I think. Technique in general was not really taught to organists; in fact it was deprecated as being inferior to other elements of the music. In fact, it is neither inferior nor superior but simply essential, in the same way that the finer points of Laurence Olivier's interpretation of Hamlet cannot be conveyed if he has laryngitis and cannot speak the words - in other words a technical command gives us freedom, the freedom to express our insights and understanding. Also, the more music one experiences, of any kind for any medium, the more one's understanding of the music one is studying is nourished.

Despite learning the organ and piano in parallel, you ultimately decided to become solely an organist. How close were you to deciding the other way – could you have easily ended up pursuing a career as a pianist, or was it inevitable that the organ would eventually win out?

It wasn't inevitable, no, and Cyril Smith was kind enough to say that I shouldn't give up the piano - "you could play Brahms 2!" he said, which was the concerto written because Brahms's first piano concerto had been played badly (it's said) by a woman and the composer was determined to defeat another attempt. I was shy and insecure but simply obsessed with music; if necessary I'd have been content to be, for instance, an orchestral librarian or a dogsbody just to follow the Pied Pipers who make those magic sounds. Ralph Downes wanted me to enter the St Albans International Organ Competition, and Cyril tried to deflect me from something he considered uninteresting! I was nervous about the competition as I knew little as yet of the organ repertoire and had little experience of playing different organs. On the day I decided not to turn up as I assuredly would not do well, but when I was found to be missing the energetic Peter Hurford (founder of the competition) telephoned and said "Get up here now!" I jumped in my Mini and raced there; I was the last in line so was in time and Peter sat me firmly on a gravestone so I would not escape again. After playing I thought it pointless to wait to see who was chosen for the next round and went off to lunch with an acquaintance, only to be interrupted by a furious banging on the door - I'd been selected as one of the finalists and must come at once to be briefed. I was lucky enough to win the competition, playing Messiaen's beautiful and dramatic Combat de la Mort et de la Vie, which greatly moved the jury and the audience. Next day I played it in a broadcast for the BBC, which was widely heard; suddenly I was launched as a concert organist and here I am still…!

There was a relative lack of any tradition of concert organists when you opened the Proms with the Poulenc concerto in 1964. Was it an uphill struggle to convince the powers that be that an organ concerto was right for that setting?

I wouldn't have known how to do so, even if I dared! But the jury at St Albans consisted of what organists called 'The Holy Trinity' - Anton Heiller, Luigi Tagliavini and Marie-Claire Alain, plus a representative from the BBC (Harry Croft-Jackson, Head of Music then). A famous French organist had been engaged to play the Poulenc organ concerto in the next Proms season, which was imminent, but was taken ill. At the last minute the BBC asked me to step in. The telephone on the wall outside my student digs rang, and Harry C-J's voice said "Do you play the Poulenc concerto?" "Ah, yes" I said, carefully. "Would you like to play it on the opening night of the Proms?" "Yes, please" I said weakly. "Splendid!" I picked up the phone again and rang Ralph Downes: "What is the Poulenc concerto and do you have a copy?"

It could have been a spectacular failure! But it was a wonderful occasion. Maybe I didn't know enough about it to be as nervous as I might. I was told that Sir Malcolm Sargent had already reduced some soloists to tears during the initial rehearsals, but he could not have been kinder or more helpful to me. He treated me like the complete tyro I was "No my dear, this is how you acknowledge me at the end" and so on, which was just what I needed, and at the end of the first rehearsal he said to the orchestra "Gentlemen - a musician"; I couldn't have asked for a higher compliment. The First Night of the Proms was televised of course and it was an education into the strange things that can happen to anyone appearing on television; I had all kinds of letters, one of them saying in what I imagined to be stentorian tones "you were wearing far too much nail-polish!", though there were many others talking about the music and the occasion. Classical music was so much a part of almost everyone's life in those days - sigh!

You're known worldwide for your interpretations of Messiaen; were you the first to start championing his music, or were others already showing an interest before you?

The organist at Ely Cathedral, the late Arthur Wills, had actually recorded 'Les Anges' from 'La Nativité du Seigneur' prior to this, on a record with Michael Howard and his brilliant Renaissance Singers, who were also associated with Ely Cathedral. I had heard that when a teenager and thought it extraordinary - interesting but odd! Otherwise only a few enthusiasts knew of Messiaen, for instance the young Simon Preston, who had begun to play some of his pieces. But after the impact of the St Albans performance I was forever associated with his music, and I introduced it to many audiences here and abroad, including in France, actually: Xavier Darasse asked me to conduct a course at his summer school in Toulouse and I was amazed to find that the students know little of his music but immediately fell in love with it. Gradually it all became mainstream and soon every young organist in the UK was attempting Dieu parmi nous.

In fact I don't want, and never did want, to be a one-composer person, but I did 'bond' immediately with this music, and my performances seemed to strike a chord. The music is immensely dramatic, colourful and emotional; that doesn't mean it is loud and fast but that it conveys a dramatic meaning and projects it strongly. It is very much the way I look at music generally - I don't think one just plays music but rather acts music: interpretation should be about discovering the personality and inner life of a piece in the same way one searches out character and meaning when acting a part; rather than simply playing a succession of notes in a certain way or with particular quirks of 'performance practice' which are often misconstrued through a rudimentary knowledge of their context. If those quirks match and enhance the music and enable you to project its character then that's wonderful, but if they are there just for themselves - which seems to be the case only too frequently - then they are not going to help in getting the meaning of the piece across. I love poetry too, and Messiaen's music parallels a lot of very dramatic metaphysical poetry - John Donne's, for example - which can add a richness of one's appreciation of the music.

I recorded the existing complete works for the BBC in 1979, which was quite early for the public understanding of the style, and that brought in a variety of letters too! (This set from Washington's National Shrine has now been committed to CD and appear in the new Celebration box-set, as an interesting addition to the later commercial set of the complete works from Aarhus Cathedral, familiar to collectors.) I gave an introductory talk before each of the six broadcasts, and a correspondent wrote saying "I thought '45 minutes of that sexy voice' [news to me] but then you talked such rubbish: you can't possibly like that music!" But I did indeed like that music…and audiences began to enjoy the interpretations, including Messiaen himself, which I was delighted to know! He had my early recordings and said they were just what he wanted, especially the Messe de la Pentecôte as I remember, so that was nice to know.

Did you study with Messiaen yourself at any stage?

I never did, no. I met hm several times, and after his premièring the Méditations sur le Mystère de la Sainte Trinité in Washington we met there and he offered to send me the score in order to give the UK première. The Royal Festival Hall invited me to play it there, and it caused great excitement among the critics and audience. I had not sought to study with him on a formal basis and I had by then lived with the music for quite some time and wanted him to hear whatever I had to give to it reasonably fully-formed, so to speak. Of course, however, I did speak with him about various details of the music on the occasions we met. One occasion was in Australia. The Australian Broadcasting Commission mounted the world's biggest Messiaen Festival. They peformed every note he'd written by that time, and flew out Messiaen himself, Yvonne Loriod, Jeanne Loriod (playing the ondes martenot), the conductor Soustrot, and myself to perform all the organ works. ( During that visit I also played the complete cycle at Expo '88, from the new concert hall in Brisbane.) Immediately on arrival in Australia Messiaen went out into the bush around Sydney to hear the Australian bell-bird and others. He would go out with Yvonne, who would record the songs on a tape recorder while he noted them down on manuscript paper. Since much of the songs is at a pitch above the stave and the intervals are largely too small to reproduce exactly in our notation, he needed both.

The Royal Birmingham Conservatoire’s organ department has recently started awarding the Dame Gillian Weir Music Prize – set up in 2018. How did that come into being?

It was quite simple; I just said "Would you like some money!" I was very impressed by what the Conservatoire was doing for the organ, much more than others it seemed to me. Daniel Moult and Henry Fairs, I thought, had a very serious attitude towards the organ (supported by the Principal), promoting it as a fully professional instrument and not just as a way to exchange information about what voluntary to play next Sunday!

Of course an organ studio, as at Birmingham, is essential; there must be a dedicated space set aside for the organ department, avoiding arguments about the use of the main hall! One can only sigh in envy of the multiple organ and other practice facilities common in the American academies such as Peabody, Oberlin (18 organs on site) and others, where I've found teaching so rewarding and practice does not involve several bus rides and tedious arguments over door-keys. That's what we need here - just as we have a number of pianos and piano rooms, one should have comparable organ rooms. B'ham are getting at least one new organ, perhaps two, and the students sometimes use the Symphony Hall instrument also. I am hoping that the students there will be able to play organ concertos; I think one of the ways to interest general audiences in the organ is to interpolate its concerto repertoire into an orchestral series, so that those who wouldn't think to buy a ticket to an organ recital will be introduced to the instrument, be excited by the interplay between what Berlioz called 'Pope and Emperor', and then return to hear it in its solo repertoire as well. The prize is specifically for Messiaen, but is part of a general encouragement for organists in an environment where I thought they are particularly valued.

Your older Argo recordings of Baroque repertoire have been reissued to mark your birthday. How has your approach to performing this kind of music changed since you first started playing it?

Inevitably it changes as one learns more about it. I still remember my very first recordings of French Classical music, which has always been a passion. The context is particularly vital for such music, which comes from a tradition so alien to the 21st century! Apart from musical texts and musicological books I learned a great deal from the Duc de Saint Simon's diaries - a hugely entertaining read and immediately evocative of the unique atmosphere of the court of Louis XIVth. Another slightly surprising source is Nancy Mitford. All five Mitford sisters led fascinating lives but the eldest, the novelist Nancy, actually lived at Versailles to steep herself in the historic atmosphere there. She became an expert on the subject, and wrote several books about the period including one on the King's mistress Mme de Pompadour and the fascinating 'The Sun King' - a popular but historically authentic book packed with interesting facts, and a wonderful way into the era of The Golden Age for anyone fearing a plethora of academic detail. This marvellous music is deceptively simple; technically straightforward, it nevertheless demands complete absorption of the style. It is the distillation of sophistication - simplicity become perfection, always imbued with the ineffable spirit of the age.

I have enjoyed leading study days on this music, when I brought in an expert on French Baroque dance and we all joined in learning the principal dances, before a class on its performance. One learns so much about phrasing and timing just by moving the body; we don't dance or sing nearly enough these days; both these things should be part of every child's life - and every organ student's!

You retired from performing in 2012 – what have you been focusing on in the years since then?

Getting my fingers working again on the piano has been rewarding, and of course it's much easier to get at a piano than an organ. I love chamber music, and before the lockdown had been playing with a superb flautist locally. Notably otherwise I've been playing The Forty-Eight, which seem more magnificent every day. In fact I think they in particular have kept musicians sane during these shut-in times. And I'm still planning masterclasses and the occasional competition jury; in fact next month I'm tackling my first competition adjudication on Zoom!

Has the way you approach teaching changed over the years?

Yes, a little, at first you're really feeling your way! But I don't think the essence of it has changed, the essence being that I try to make it individual for each student. I like to know who the person really is, and get them to understand that I'm on their side, and want to enable them, not put them into a mould - enable them to say what they want to say. But first they need stimulation of the imagination so that they begin to glimpse how much there is to say - how much to learn, how magical music is, but above all, how to hear - really hear, not just overhear and absolutely not just to copy. Learning to hear - how to listen - is a bit like learning to fly; at first you are teetering, learning to run along the ground, and then comes the day when you lift off the ground and finally to swoop freely through the air like a lark soaring. And of course among the myriad elements involved in helping them to do that is the all-important one - to listen to them and what they are. They are often surprised if I ask them "What is it that you would like me to do for you?" They haven't actually thought much about that. One pupil reportedly said "I've had a lesson from Gillian Weir and I'm going to win the next St Alban's Competition". Competitions are a lottery - worth challenging yourself with and useful for measuring oneself against others, not to mention mixing with them and learning from them, but not the limit of one's ambitions. What I love to see is someone who is simply in love with music and wants to know everything possible about it.