Pipes, Reeds and Synthezisers

Image: James Smith Pixabay

[I haven't taken their permission but this piece would look suspect without the names of real people.  One hopes that these remembrances will stand as respect to the people named here. Some of these people are no longer with us, may their souls rest in peace.  Please message me or leave a comment in the post.]

This year I missed Iris Castillo's alto solo that celebrates O Little Town of Bethlehem. I missed Richard D'Souza, Peter Remedios and David Etto enacting We Three Kings of Orient Are in voice.  I missed Florence Gonsalves handing out the lyric sheets every rehearsal.  I missed Maria and the soup, Paula and the snacks and Romayne's facial expression.  We all missed choirmaster Dion Francis swinging his arms valiantly to bring tempo and expression to the choir at St Xavier's Chapel - a choir which is affectionately and permanently known as Fr Boris' Choir, after Fr Boris D'Santos who ran it for several years.  As a 'noob' organist, inducted a few years ago, I had to imbibe the cultural ethos of the choir over Easter, Christmas and a few special days in between.  This got me thinking about my journey in music that began with the church. 

Gospel Music

If you are looking through YouTube for advice on how to play a keyboard or guitar, you will surely come across a plethora of videos that advertise "play church music instantly".  Why is church music such a popular place to start?  Perhaps it goes back to the roots of music which invariably began in religious chants and worship.  Or perhaps it's just easier to teach music through well-known, dog-eared hymns and traditional music that are ingrained in one's soul?

My earliest encounter with the 'choirmaster' concept was in St Xavier's, in Class 4A, under the baton of Ms Pauline Peterson! Under the baton was preferable to being under the swinging four-finger salute for which she was known (and eventually loved)!  Training the choir was her passion.  The song was "Bless this House".  We were going to perform on stage for the Annual Concert - rouge, lipstick et al.  Practice was going well till I hit a note that was so far off the music sheet that I had to face the one-eyebrow-lifted stare for a good twenty seconds.  After that, whenever the dreaded note came around, one eye on the choirmaster, I soundlessly opened my mouth and faked it.

Reeds and Reedy Voices

But this post is about various kinds of church organs that I had come across in my days of singing and playing for various choirs.  The first was when, as a young lad, I was packed off to join the choir at the newly opened St Mary's Church Ripon Street.  We were taught our paces by Fr Eric Conquo - he had a trusty violin with which we were taught the notes.  My memory plays tricks here, but I believe his brother was the organist for awhile.

The first organ I got to play was a little more than a sophisticated Harmonium on steroids.  It had reeds driving the sound and two pedals to keep the bellows from gasping.  There were secrets we had to learn.  For example, no matter what the tempo, your feet kept moving at the same pace pumping air into the bellows.  The only way you could control volume was with your knee.  You pressed outwards on a lever to increase the volume, which was a simple flap that opened and expelled more air!  We quickly learnt that if you played more than three or four notes, the bellows starved and your crescendo descended to a whimper.  And the sound? Well, sophisticated harmonium, if you're generous. 

Knowing the Score

My mum and dad took over the administration, and a bit of the singing, of the St Mary's Senior Choir.  That intimidating name housed some of the most beautiful laps I have ever sat upon. Well, not literally.  But I learnt to read music -- or at best follow the ups and downs on a score sheet -- and I learnt to be the official page-turner for my cousin, Allen Fernandes, the organist. I also learnt, by observation, how to play one of those devices with two separate registers, bass pedals, and a volume control on the right foot.  Our conductor, the now world-famous Clarence Barlow, had ears that could pick out a "flat E flat" from a healthy E flat in a group of choristers trying their best.  It was here I first heard of SATB and realized that my dad's vinyls of Barber Shop Favourites was nothing by Soprano Alto Tenor and Bass, and that too a capella.

My voice broke -- somewhere between the altos and tenors, it started alternating.  But I was such a good choir boy (I used to pick up and stack all the music after hours) that they never let me go.  A brace of congas on a tripod appeared and we evolved into what was disparagingly called the "beat mass" by the traditionalists.  I did some time keeping time but I never really made it back into the singing fraternity, S, A, T or B.  I did get the special advantage of being allowed to play the Lowrey organ described earlier.  I filled in.  Whenever an organist was required at some inopportune moment, a message arrived at Southwind Mansions, "Send Leslie to play for a wedding on Saturday" or something similar.  That Lowrey organ was my addiction. It functioned on tubes or valves, needed regular care by Mr Manuk on Free School Street, and eventually gave up the ghost.  In all those years, I found ways to play it and make it sing.

Clarence left for Germany to pursue composing and conducting music.  The beat mass stayed.  Allen passed away very unfortunately.  The SATB gave way to voices who now sang "seconds" usually hitting high thirds and sevenths in tenors that would make a soprano blush. 

The Children's Choir sang the morning 7:15 mass on Sundays, rehearsed on Thursdays (school holidays in those days), and regularly went on picnics and house-to-house carol singing.  I ran that choir for many years as many readers will remember.  I was also playing the bass guitar on Saturday nights at the Calcutta Swimming Club, walking home after midnight and splashing cold water on my face to wake up for mass on Sunday.  For awhile I did two back-to-back masses a day.  7:15 was followed by 8:30 with the Senior Choir where I played the congas!  And then Debbie Saldanha took over the Children's Choir. 

Pipes, Bells and Whistles

The first time I ever played a pipe organ was for the wedding of my good friends Charles and Jacquie Mantosh at the Catholic Cathedral at Baithakhana.  They had asked for John Denver's Sunshine on my shoulder to be played after communion.  The challenges, as I recall, were many.  For one thing, it's not easy to play anything while looking over your shoulder, sunshine or not.  These pipe organs faced away from the altar, so to see what was going on, one had to have a large mirror installed.  Then you needed to watch the priests in lateral inversion while playing from a music book perched a yard away (there were 2 or 3 keyboards and multiple knobs and handles in between).  Learning the names of those knobs (called Stops) and handles (called Couplers) was the least of the problem.  They had stuff written on them in Latin!   It's probably the only time that I pulled the "piano" stop to find the sound drop.  Pianissimo I was told meant "soft".  I do recall playing the pipe organ at Sacred Heart Church Dharamtala (when it wasn't sliced in two horizontally).  That organ had an interesting extra -- there was a guy whose job it was to 'pump' the bellows using something suspiciously like a chappakol or handpump. He had to start before breakfast so that there was enough air in the bellows before the organists arrived to let it out.  And occasional holes in the bellows produced an interesting orchestration of wheezes and whistles to accompany the pipes.

Pianissimo, our Forté

Then one day, at a funeral in St Xavier's Chapel, I was commandeered from the congregation to accompany the choir.  After the funeral I was propositioned by the choir to play for them for Easter. And then by the Rector to play for the First Vows of some young priests. By now I had "degenerated" to a Yamaha electronic keyboard where I safely used the Piano button and played very pianissimo - no beats, no congas, and often it was free time.  Our forté in Fr Boris' choir is, I believe, the ability to keep things soft, meaningful, traditional and solemn.  And this is what I missed most while attending online mass at midnight this Christmas. 

[As published in Calcutta Connect Around the World on Facebook on December 28, 2020]

Wedding Season for Wannabe Musicians

Image by Luc Mahler from Pixabay

[This nearly started out with the title "Wannabe Musicians of Calcutta 16 - Part 2", to be published in the Facebook Group CCATW.  However, that space is now occupied, most effectively, by Cyrus Vesuvala, in his Architectural Notes. Cyrus was from Calcutta 16 too. So, I got to thinking about some of the functions for which the local bands used to be "booked" - we never used the word "hired". Since December was the wedding season back then too, this post will focus on our experiences in the wedding bands. Enjoy, share, comment.]

Here Comes the Bride

Sitting at the Lowrey organ (a cheaper version of the Hammond) in St Mary's Choir loft, I was desperately practising the sequences for the wedding when my trusty scout signalled the arrival of the bride. The groom was, of course, as nervous as anything in the front row, stealing backward glances at the door.  Using both hands on two keyboards and my left foot on the bass pedals, I struck up the tune of Here comes the Bride, occasionally stealing downward glances from the choir loft at the agonizingly painful goosesteps she was taking, as though prolonging the groom's agony of anticipation.  In the months of June and December, and a few assorted months thrown in for good measure, this was often the case with the choir organists.

There goes the Bride!

Till the bitter end we had to stay.  It was our duty to ensure the newly weds left the church to the lofty sounds of Mendelssohn's Wedding March.  As the church reverberated with the rich pipe organ sounds, a few ladies piped a tear, not to mention the few guys who, when it was announced "you may now kiss the bride", lined up hopefully in the aisle.  In between Here Comes and There Goes, the usual assortment of wedding hymns were occasionally hijacked by Budda-boy or Buddi-girl doing a "special number" for the bridal couple -- quite often "You by my side" or "She wears my ring".  Lovingly watched by the upturned eyes from the nave of the church, and sometimes a furtive glance at the wristwatch (by the Priest), they belted it out till the last syllable.  And then it was all over, except for the photographs of the families -- extended and appendages growing by the minute.

Snatch, Grab and Run

This is precisely the diversion we double-crossers were looking for.  I say double crossers because some of us in dual roles had to cross over from being the pious church organist to the footloose fiends on stage as The Wedding Band.  Speaking for myself, I would slam the lid on the organ, snatch my bass guitar, grab a quick cup of tea (and sometimes a singara) and then run to the hall in time to set up for the Wedding March there!  Till I got my trusty Royal Enfield (another blog coming up) I had to skip down to the tram tracks and grab a tram going in one of two directions.  South towards Christ the King Parish Hall or North towards Esplanade from where The Calcutta Rangers Club was a hop, step and slide.  If we were really lucky we might have the reception at the Grail Club on Park Street - in which case we walked down.  The proper thing that the newly weds were expected to do was to "go for a drive" -- a ritual that took them around the Victoria Memorial, down Queensway, around the race course, down Red Road with a possible detour via home to be wished by some derelict relative who couldn't make it to the hall.  Then there was a stopover for the posed wedding photograph, at National Photographic Studio on Marquis Street or Indian Art Studio on Ripon Street (or Bourne & Shepard, or Bombay Photo Studio for the very well stocked).  All this gave us musicians the chance to reach the hall well in time, be given the drill by the MC and tune up in time for the Wedding March.

Image by Alf Holm from Pixabay

Bands of Marriage

At this point, I must comment on the bands that were usually around to be booked for the wedding season.  When negotiating for the job, one of the most common questions was, "How many piece band are you?"  This answer, carefully expressed, with embellishments extolling the virtue of the number of pieces you were, could have a profound impact on the "rate" you were paid.  There were the "foo foo" bands, so called because they had saxophones or trumpets.  They usually included some sprightly uncles who knew the sequences well. They charged more.  The 20-piece bands that marched down from Mahatma Gandhi road were officially the Foo Foo Bands but that's yet another story.

At the other end of the spectrum were the "too few" bands -- three guys who modeled themselves on Grand Funk Rail Railroad or Cream depending on how loud they were.  I think most weddings preferred the 5-piece band which included a pianist and a "crooner" - necessarily female, acceptably easy on the eye, to cater to that line of oglers we talked about in the church.  The three-guy bands desperately tried to convince the wedding planner that "three is cheaper" while the seven-piece bands demonstrated safety in numbers.  In the good old days it was common to find the sax player sneaking onto the dancefloor during a romantic number while the other six laboured on. Maybe they took it in turns, all but the bass player and drummer.

The Best Man and the Best Band

But eventually the band that had a pianist who could hit up a Mendelssohn version of the wedding march with its weird starting chords, generally won the day.  The guitar bands could get away with the C, G7, F version, but the piano players had to hit that Am6-B7 combo.  That was the signal for the merriment to begin.  From busting the bell at the door to cutting the four- tier cake (it was four edible, sliceable layers guys, I know I'm prehistoric, but it did happen); from the Wedding March to Congratulations, and celebrations;  from the First Dance (She wears my ring, unavoidably) to the wishing (some nondescript instrumental stuff which some bands called Jazz); it was all a standard formula.  In between, of course, the MC -- nowadays called the emcee for reasons I can only guess -- would crack his carefully rehearsed ad lib jokes about the bride and groom.  Polite titters would be followed by obvious jitters as the Best Man (not usually the best speaker) would proceed to pull his speech out of his sleeve and read it off the cuff as it were. The band was on an amusement break while the toast was raised and the photographers got the happy couple to intertwine their arms, sip wine, each from an exquisite glass, without a drop cascading down a cleavage.  

Music, Food, Drink and Love

Shakespeare obviously got it wrong -- music and love are remotely connected, no doubt but it was left to the band to make things happen (under the watchful eye of the MC, now you know why he was called that).  Bands were even given credit points based on how they handled the action.  There was the slow dance, the jiving, the cha cha, the waltz.  And each of these were often in the form of a medley which had seasoned dancers twirl across the floor in circles. These circles would sometimes clear for the bride and groom to show off the exhibition dances.  Why else were they at the dance school the last six months? 

And then the emcee would clear the decks for the Throwing of the Bridal Bouquet - a ritual which is expected to let the Hand of Fate decide who will be the next bride.  The emcee played that hand of fate having been tipped off by Cupid's little helpers in advance.  The bride's well-bound eyes were hardly required as the emcee skillfully turned her around and then pointed her in the direction of Cousin Marcie a pre-selected maid of marriageable age, whom everyone expected to be selected.  The poor Groom was next, buttonholed into giving away his buttonhole. The ring of eligible bachelors always outnumbered the young maidens, as a few oft-married types hoped to win yet again.  But tradition gave way to raucous ribaldry as the group tried to attack the groom in the Nether-lands.  Emcees sometimes got the worst of it, is all I can say.  The band did nothing to help, playing up-tempo stuff like Valderi Valdera and other marching songs from the war eras. All this, fuelled by free flowing nectar of the Gods, was only so the Mock Wedding could be conducted with the new "couple" and everyone could have a good time.

The Grand Band

Some of the best bands in the business would sometimes fail to deliver in this, almost the last part of the wedding celebration -- The Grand March. Choosing a peppy beat, the band struck up the march and the MC rushed around grabbing people and getting them to form what is now called a "conga line" - but in pairs.  They would march through the hall, around the tables, in and out of any available passageways, grouping, splitting, re-grouping and generally converging on the floor in a ragged circle.  Then the band worth its salt would launch into the action songs, the Hokey Pokey, the Mexican Shuffle, the Birdy Dance and in the really good, old days, Hands Knees and Boomps-a-Daisy!  

I secretly suspect the MCs did it to ensure that the guests worked up an appetite, got straight into the food and filled their hungry plates.  The dinner was served.  And before the guests got up to say goodbye, the band played the last session which involved the "archway" through which the bride and groom passed, tearfuly wishing every person in the archway.  "Ladies to the left, gentlemen to the right!" was the instruction.  At last, the chance to kiss the bride arrived for that line of hopefuls in the church, remember them?

And then the last dance.  Never Please release me, let me go -- you'd never get another wedding gig if you did that.  Always, Help me make it through the night.

Perks to perk up the band

And what could help the band make it through the night better than drinks on the house? For some of the teetotallers it was food's on the table.  This, along with the steady stream of fish fingers or paneer pakoras, was what kept a band going.  Often enough, the band leader had been asked, "Where's the wedding?"  This would be met by smiles of satisfaction or groans of dismay to answers ranging across the Rangers, the Grail, CKC Parish Hall, Dalhousie Institute or Fort William, and that is not an exhaustive list.

And what of the MC?  He always had a carefully packed cylindrical package, the MC's bottle, to take home and spirit away.

[Thanks for staying the course during this exceptionally long story, but it had to be told. Please share and comment.]