I am a member of four Greek organizations, totaling eighteen Greek letters in their names. That does not make me a party boy by any stretch of the imagination. These are not the typical “Tappa Kegga Brew” organizations we’re used to in the movies (although I have plenty fellow nerd members who put me in mind of the original, fictional Lambda Lambda Lambda from Revenge of the Nerds).
December 1986: Phi Eta Sigma, Appalachian State University
This is a first-year college student honors society, and apparently this one is the oldest (1923) and largest (1.5M members) such organization. But my membership invitation was so long ago that I had to look up what it was I did to get it. Apparently, I just had to be a first-year college student with at least a 3.5 GPA at the time of membership. I now recall the honor I felt at having been sought out just for being who I was. We ought to do these kinds of things more often. And I am now inspired to create an account at the society website.
April 13, 1987: Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia, Rho Tau chapter, Appalachian State University
This is the one I had to work for. It was the usual situation of ‘pledging’ with hat and book and other paraphernalia that comes along with it. PMA behaves like a professional fraternity, presenting music-based events and services, but it is defined as a social fraternity for other reasons not music-related. It is the largest fraternity for men and male-identifiers in music, since 1898. My collegiate years in this fraternity were the best days of my life, spent with the best friends of my life. We worked hard and had an awful lot of fun along the way. I am glad I pledged, and I am grateful to Dennis Smith, who actively and personally recruited me to pledge. Without that personal touch, I would have continued to walk past the interest table in the lobby of the music building, having no idea what a 'Phi Mu Alpha' is. I have now served as a faculty co-advisor at Appalachian for about twenty years now, and since 1987, I have participated in at least two initiation rituals per year. That never gets old. The Rho Tau chapter continues to have healthy numbers and healthy activity. Every time I see brothers, they remind me of my own years in those same hallways, and I am grateful for the memories.
May 1989: Pi Kappa Lambda, Gamma Eta chapter, Appalachian State University
This one is an honor society for college upperclassmen with good grades and musical and scholarship capabilities the chapter wishes to honor. It was founded in 1918 at Northwestern University by Peter Christian Lutkin (of “The Lord bless you and keep you” benediction fame). The cool part is that the letters Pi, Kappa, and Lambda are the Greek equivalents of Lutkin’s initials. Since I returned to this chapter as a faculty member, I have served on its officer roster and have been privileged to invite students to accept our honor. This one has been fun, and its workload is low. And it usually comes with breakfast at the ceremony.
March 22, 2025: Kappa Kappa Psi, Iota Omicron chapter, Appalachian State University
This is the band service fraternity, founded in 1919 at what is now Oklahoma State University. I believe membership in this one might currently be my most prized. Since 2023, I have served as the Voice of the Appalachian State University Marching Mountaineers. And in my old age, I consider it the profoundest honor to have been sought out to serve in this capacity, despite my not specializing in a football field-type instrument and not having played in a band at all since the football season of 1985 (when I was the finest, last-chair third trumpet player the Statesville, N.C., Greyhound Grenadier Marching Band ever had, by golly). But then for the Iota Omicron chapter to approach me for honorary membership was truly a superlative highlight of my career as a professor, and I will never forget how I felt when that email came through my Inbox. I am humbled and grateful to have been invited into these particular ranks, and I joyfully attend the chapter’s meetings and events in continued thanks. I hope I can continue to serve them as well as they serve our instrumental large ensembles.
Bottom line: if you’re looking for a frat party, you might be better served to keep moving when you get to me.
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Let’s face it: my teacher Clyde Holloway was lazy. He had one or two good reasons, but otherwise he spent way too much time planning his sleep and then running late. How he managed to get to church on time each Sunday is beyond me.
As a result of his own practices, his advice to me was often, “You have enough to do. Don’t take [this or that] on, too.” And for the most part, it was good advice. The downside is that it created yet more cognitive therapy for me to undertake:
To the student, their degree recital is a major hurdle that must be cleared. To their professor, it is a major evaluation event that must be handled fairly. To everyone else, it is either a social event or a family reunion. And those last two interpretations are not compatible in the least with the first. And it falls to the student to manage them.
More than one mentor cautioned me against spending too much time (if any) with the family on the day before or the day of a degree recital. The warning was that such is distracting, energy-sapping, routine-wrecking, and (depending on the family) an invitation back into dysfunction, which is the last thing a student needs before walking out to perform. And I agree. When my family traveled to Houston, on mentor advice I chose to inform them that I was unable to play host, tour guide, restaurateur, and chauffeur until the recital was over. And I’m glad I did. To do otherwise would have exhausted me and would have allowed everyone to continue to think that a degree recital is really a family reunion.
An organist playing a recital in a church on a Sunday afternoon is often asked to play at least the prelude or more for church that same morning. The notion behind the invitation is to present the recitalist to more of the congregation and to whet the appetites of the undecided to attend. I learned after far too many times that it only exhausts me so early in the day to go through the motions of cranking up for one piece on Sunday morning and then having to sit through a sermon, plus having to do all that twice for a larger church, dropping dead for the afternoon but still having to practice, and then cranking back up to the play the actual recital. I’m exhausted all over again just typing out that rambling sentence. Furthermore, anyone needing their appetite whetted will be satisfied with the whetting and will not return for the recital. It doesn’t matter who the recitalist is – those who wish to attend will have made their plans to do so long before Sunday morning.
Go green. Conserve your energy.
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What a beautiful piece. And only fifty-eight measures long.
Howells calls for ‘Quasi lento,’ but notice the meter of 6/8, suggesting a large sense of 2 and a subtle suggestion not to get stuck on eighth notes. Howells inserts little ‘flicks’ of even faster values throughout, and so it all has to sound fluid.
There are many hairpin dynamic markings throughout the piece. Depending on the organ, those may or may not be useful or even possible. Howells routinely wrote very orchestrally for the organ, and all those little hairpins up and down prove it. Sometimes it improves the sound to ‘convert’ a passage accordingly. Fussy hairpins are not useful if the passage in question is not enclosed or if the box is not subtle or even effective. Full chords in the left hand also come to mind: those are often too thick, if the organ has good foundational tone. Full chords marked legato also come to mind – a British affectation that drives me more than a little looney.
In terms of British console technique, there are plenty opportunities to use the divisional pistons throughout this piece. There is plenty of up-and-down dynamic change and contrast. But then again, there is more than one spot where the whole organ needs to be adjusted at once, such as at measures 23, 29, 31, and 35. Just do whatever you need. If you’re on a big instrument with the resources, then burn through pistons without apology – like I do.
Measure 1: I usually contrast the two manuals with a solo stopped flute against a string or two. The solo is so beautiful that I rarely encumber it with coupling the left hand to it as Howells asks. (Sorry, maestro.) However, depending on the organ, if some hairpins are not possible without it, then I’ll couple.
Measure 9: Howells asks for a different solo. I usually switch to a larger flute there, returning in measure 13.
Measure 10: The left hand coupled to the (otherwise dead) Pedal could render this measure more legato. The Pedal could take the lower G and then the D-A dyad. Likewise the lower voice in measures 13 and 14.
Measure 19: Either I’m getting old and clueless, or Howells really is asking too much of the registration. Few American organs have powerful enough 8 and 4 available to the Pedal that can compete with the full chords in the manual here. You just have to do what you have to do. Had Howells orchestrated this, he might have given that melody to the entire cello or viola section. Compared to that, a single Pedal Principal 8 would not be enough on many organs. Rather, multiple 8s would sound richer, so long as they’re not too dark and blatty, I’d suggest.
Then get ready to hit some pistons for the quick changes coming up in measures 23, 27, 31, 33, and 35. Again, depending on the organ, you may want to experiment with wide dynamic contrasts with those, but keeping each in good balance. I myself make no apologies – it’s only pistons.
Measure 24: I omit the final low B-flat in the left hand, because the Pedal already has it. Likewise the left-hand low Gs in measures 25 and 26, the low A in 48, and the first of the two lower Fs in 50.
Measure 33: The Pedal registration previously in use for measures 19 and 31 may now be too heavy here against the Great now needing to be heard in relief. Another piston.
Measure 36: I have my left pinky reach up to cover the right-hand low A and G. (That assumes that the right hand is on a manual above the left-hand Great solo.)
Measure 37 kicks off a long crescendo. Lots and lots of little additions as you go can make this grow quite satisfactorily. I make little ‘growth spurts’ in the middle of measure 44 and at 49, 51, and 53. I am judicious with mixtures and 2’s. I tend to use reeds, manual 16s, and sub-couplers for more body.
Measure 55: That rest and the sudden drop in registration risk premature applause. I try not to make too much flourish of releasing the big chord, and then I keep the eighth rest as short as I can without cheapening the effect of the moment. Of course, the organists in the room will know the piece, so they can help stifle any layman applause. But when I play the piece for, say, a Holy Week service, I have to tell my clergy that it ends quietly, not loudly, and that they just have to trust that there will be a quiet ending regardless the buildup that precedes it.
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I remember Richard visiting my home in Statesville, N.C., and listening to me play to find out if I would be up to serving on the Team that summer of 1986. I was a high school senior. I don’t remember how Richard encountered my name, but it was probably word-of-mouth from somewhere, perhaps my Appalachian State predecessor on the Team, Curtis Allison. Or maybe Richard had heard me play somewhere or another. Anyway, I said yes, Mother said a grudging Yes, Dad said an enthusiastic Yes which he tempered for Mother, and that was that.
That first summer I remember packing up all my stuff from my high school dorm room at the N.C. School of the Arts and leaving it all locked up in my car for my parents to retrieve later. Otherwise, I was packed for the summer, and Richard picked me up and drove me across town to Wake Forest University, where the Team was to begin rehearsals. We started early that summer, and I missed my high school commencement at the Stevens Center in Winston-Salem. I didn’t care – although I loved my time at the School of the Arts, I loved even more being sought out to become the first high schooler on the Team. Glory in any form at that age was addictive.
WITNESS was tasked with presenting concerts at churches throughout the summer, plus making appearances at Youth weeks at the Baptist Assembly at Fort Caswell on the N.C. coast, plus an appearance at a huge youth rally in the Greensboro Coliseum, plus one or two appearances at Carowinds theme part in Charlotte. We crisscrossed North Carolina countless times in a van, driving “fifty miles per hour, maximum” (boss’s orders). The schedule has faded in my memory, but we visited at least two, maybe three, churches per week, at each of which we would spend a day doing personal evangelism in the community and presenting a concert one evening or one Sunday morning, depending. Thursday was our day off.
The Team name was “Witness,” plain and simple, but we quickly discovered what an uphill and losing battle that was. Ninety percent of the time, we were called “the Witness team,” which we hated. One pastor made a valiant attempt to get it right by telling his congregation, “They are called simply … the … Witness … group.” Alas.
We were modeled on a much smaller scale of Roger Breland’s creation of the big-band and dozen-ish vocals group Truth, headquartered in Mobile. We weren’t a big band, but we achieved some of that sound via synthesizers. We were keyboard, bass, drums, and vocal quintet (two sopranos). My first year, I played whatever acoustic piano was available in a given church, with a Yamaha DX-7 and maybe one other smaller synth set to the side. As a budding organist, I was perfectly fine with reaching for keyboards in various places, and I had a ball ‘building’ my rig on or around the church’s acoustic piano time after time. I discovered my affinity for roadie skills, and I suppose it won’t be too late to develop those further in retirement.
We played the latest contemporary Christian music using the latest arrangements of songs by Amy Grant, Stephen Curtis Chapman, the Omartians, Truth, etc. We were rehearsed for a week or so by Mr. Joe Estes, former Truth member and later minister of music at Trussville Baptist in Trussville, Alabama (he would always add “praise God” after uttering the name ‘Alabama’). Boss Richard Everett was always nearby during those opening days, planning our next meal, doing the driving, making logistical decisions, etc. To be so new, WITNESS was a rather well-run enterprise. But once the rehearsing was over and the road ready to be hit, Richard retreated back to his office at the Baptist Building in Cary, and off we went in the van.
Many team members had recurring duties. One was the road manager, one the rehearsal director, one the driver, one the second driver, one the devotional and pre-concert prayer time manager, etc. For the first two years, I was just Joby the keyboardist. I remember during my third year Richard asking if I would be the daily devotional leader, an area where I was afraid of being found out as not Baptist enough. But I said Yes, and we all survived.
My second year, the Baptist Children’s Homes of N.C. stepped up and donated a full set of equipment to us, including a van and trailer. Our loquacious boss, Richard Everett, was speechless for the first time in his life, and he’s the first to admit that. The piano was now the latest digital rig, the Roland RD-300 88-key weighted keyboard that weighed all of about twelve tons, and it was MIDI-connected to a couple of Roland MKS-50 synthesizer modules, all played from the single controller keyboard. I always relished watching our helpers from the church, when they would see us open up the case with that enormous 88-key lying in it. It was like watching them discover King Tut. Everything was set up on a keyboard stand rig, and off I would go.
My second year, the drummer and one of the sopranos had to leave the team mid-summer. No problem for the organist-in-budding. I reconfigured one of the sound modules to provide extra bass sonority in the left hand, while our bass player moved to the drums. And we carried on with a vocal quartet.
I loved setting up my rig. I loved using more of the synth all the time. I loved the multi-tasking in performance (organist on the rise). I utterly hated the personal evangelism tasks – there I was at my most vulnerable of being found out as not being Baptist enough or otherwise devout enough. I had always preferred to befriend people, not try to change them. Even today, I enjoy meeting people where they are, speaking their language for a time, helping them understand they are not alone, and letting them change as they feel. It was during Witness summers I discovered that I wasn’t going to be able to remain a good Baptist for much longer. I certainly dreaded those conversations with Richard and with Mother, which I eventually had.
In some ways, I haven’t changed, in that I still thoroughly enjoy being a bit backstage, playing well and leading others in song. I have changed a good bit, in that since 1988 I have led people from the organ rather than the piano. And I have changed a good bit, in that I am now an Episcopalian (1990) and no longer think in terms of personal evangelism but rather in using my art as a seduction of sorts toward excellence in many forms, and in my university teaching. And I haven’t changed my thinking in considering the band model as a special-event-only sort of church music making, which means I continue to be horrified by the bands and screens that have dumbed church music down in all corners of the world, not to mention what it has done to the organists and the organs.
Like most things in my life, I probably would have been far more effective if I had just kept my mouth shut. The headline would read, “Young Whippersnapper Refuses To Let Pride Get In The Way.” Imagine that. But like many other experiences of my life, risk of unnecessary presentism aside, I would be glad to re-live those years if I could go back with the knowledge I have now. At the time, I had a mother who had already sacrificed daily proximity to her son when he moved off to the N.C. School of the Arts three years prior, in only the tenth grade. And during my third summer with WITNESS, I had another fellow in my life who enjoyed using me as an experiment for his own mother issues and as an emotional punching bag, a story I’ll not be telling here. Suffice all this to say that while I was proud to be involved in this new enterprise and rubbing elbows with folks higher up the Christian music food chain than I, I was also dealing with the usual college-kid struggles with family, self-identification, Southern Baptist practices I had trouble continuing to immerse myself in, musical changes in the church at-large, and so forth. It’s a minor miracle anyone still spoke to me when it was all over, and I offer my profoundest apologies here.
WITNESS was a good experience spent with good people. Any less-than-fond memories are of my own doing or the result of my somewhat stunted youth. Richard Everett deserves the highest commendation for his vision in creating and organizing this rather monumental project. He was proud of his friendship with the ultimate model he emulated, Roger Breland. I often look back in fondness and careful re-evaluation.
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The fourth floor of the Broyhill Music Center, home of the Hayes School of Music at Appalachian State University, contains the practice rooms and a student lounge of sorts. The lounge is not a separate room – rather, it is merely a wide place in a hallway, and it is nearly impossible to walk through without stopping or at least lingering for a human visitation moment. One just gets sucked in and can’t escape. For that reason, the area is called the Vortex. There is a sofa and there are a couple high-top tables and stools. The vending machines [sugar dispensaries] are nearby, and there is a microwave. The Vortex is homey.
Homework is done there. Loud conversations are carried on there. Marching band routines are watched, planned, and celebrated there. Lots of food is consumed. Me, I use the Vortex as a free-help-yourself yard sale site. I have downsized quite a bit via the Vortex: hundreds of CDs, a handful of LPs, lots of DVDs from home, opera scores, office supplies, three-ring binders I no longer need, extra trash cans, empty folders, a couple wicker baskets, some coffee mugs, tumblers, and the occasional redundant article of clothing. And as I near retirement, I’m sure I’ll be dropping many more things there.
So what? Who cares, right? Well, we’re a family in the Vortex. It’s a safe space, and all are welcome. Lost and Found is downstairs. The stage wardrobe store is downstairs. But the visiting and the yard sale are in the Vortex. Come and get sucked in with us.
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Want to relive Covid days? I thought not. But I thought I'd post some teaching-related Covid protocols I rediscovered recently while cleaning up some digital files. How quaint these now seem:
“The University maintains information pages for all matters related to COVID 19. Stay current with N.C. laws and University policies, and help keep Boone safer than tourists and jerks do. Keep up with Hayes School of Music policies, too, which are normally disseminated via the MUS 1500 Performance Seminar AsULearn page.”
“Sanitization: The best way to keep the organs virus-free is to sanitize yourself, before approaching an organ. Wash your hands before, don’t touch your face during, and wash your hands after. It all comes down to cleaning you up before playing and to keeping your fingers out of your face. In addition to keeping you clean, we will clean the organs as follows:
“For the big organ: There is a bottle of mild soapy water in the relay closet backstage. Spray that water liberally on one of the yellow cloths, and wipe down manual keys, pistons, knobs, couplers, power switches, bench, bench crank, music rack, rolltop, doors, light switches, curtain switches, any areas on the console where you keep music and pencils, and anything else you have touched that isn’t yours. Keep careful track.
“For the practice organ: There is a bottle of mild soapy water in the practice room. Spray that water liberally on one of the yellow cloths, and wipe down manual keys, stop tabs, bench, bench crank, music rack, power switch, room light switch, filing cabinets, refrigerator, windowsill, doorknobs, and anything else you have touched that isn’t yours. Keep careful track.”
For my Theory class:
“Masks: Rules have been set by the State of North Carolina, the UNC System, and ASU, and they are always subject to change. Please stay up on the rules. A mask is useless if you allow it to fall off your nose, pull it down to talk, forget to put it on, or otherwise refuse to wear it. When you're inside a classroom building, masks will be mandatory -- that's a state rule, a University rule, and a Joby Bell rule.
“In addition to masks, keep your hands clean, and keep your hands out of your face. Just keeping fingers away from your face will make a huge difference. Trust no surface that you touch, and don’t allow anyone to trust any surface you have touched. The hottest virus spots are elevator buttons and door handles – don’t touch either of those with your bare fingers, ever. Don’t kiss anyone you weren’t kissing before March. Stop rubbing your eyes, picking your nose, and rubbing sore teeth with your fingers. Get in the constant frame of mind of keeping your hands clean and away from your face. If everyone did that, we could eradicate many more viruses than just one.”
“No matter what, stay safe and smart. Unsafe and idiotic will get us shut down.”
A bit of good did come from our Covid practices:
- The organ consoles were never cleaner.
- Zooming rendered snow days obsolete. Now, we no longer miss class days forcing us to scramble to make subject matter come out right in the end.
- During the worst of the quarantining, one of our faculty organized a Zoom meeting each Monday evening for any faculty who wanted to attend, just to chat and be together in a virus-free setting. And attend they did. Upwards of thirty to fifty people (out of 99) logged in each week, and I feel that our sense of community continues to enjoy that enhancement. Those Zoom meetings are still going on – even after Covid, the host faculty member figured, “Why not just continue?” So four of us continue to visit via Zoom every Monday night, when possible, even if we have all seen each other in the hallways all day and all week prior. It is in many ways one of my third spaces now, and everyone is still invited.
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A couple years ago, I decided to attend church one Sunday at the local United Church of Christ. This is the ‘rainbow’ church, where anyone in the building gets to be who they are without judgment. I knew plenty folks from there and decided to visit.
Were I living in a big city, I might never have happened upon such a place. There is no liturgy in sight, no organ, no vestments, no suit coats other than the one on me. There is a screen, but it’s not nearly as intrusive as the screens in other churches. There is a little band who plays for the services, consisting of piano, double bass, guitar, and anything else that shows up. There are hymnals, but there are plenty supplemental things put up on the screen or more often duplicated with music and everything.
Sermons are admonitions to serve others, to maintain a serving culture, and to carry good news. This congregation is ‘intolerant of intolerance’ (my words). They are not willing to live in a judgmental world without trying to do something about it. And they understand the importance of gathering together each week to recharge before heading back into the trenches. I quickly discovered that these are real people, and they are my people. The whole place may be summed up by a t-shirt I saw there that said “It’s just love.”
They know I’m a musician, but no one makes any assumptions that I am there to work. Although I’m glad to, the pastor allowed me to set those parameters without judgment and without pushing. And since I’m constantly on the road, then I wouldn’t be much use to them, anyway.
Worshipping God is the Church's charge. But doing so in a vacuum was never part of the deal. We have to get together with each other -- we need the strength we can draw from that. It is more than a little tragic that humans are the only species who constantly have to be reminded to do the right thing. But the High Country United Church of Christ in Boone, N.C., shows up for their weekly recharge, and they go out into the world to 'power' others in need. That kind of sounds like the very definition of Church.
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I’m about to teach my first memorization process via Zoom. We’ll see how it goes. But preparing for that has inspired me to go ahead and publish this almighty, all-fixing Plan I keep referring to in this series on Memorization. Ninety-five percent of this is from Clyde Holloway:
If you take my previous advice of starting from the end of the piece and memorizing cognitively, then the process goes like this:
1) Fingerings and pedalings. I’m not kidding. Write them in, follow them, and change them when you need to. You should see my scores littered with cognitive ‘rubrics’ like that. You can’t memorize anything if you don’t know which body part is supposed to play at any given moment. Bonus: Fingerings on the first notes of each page will also help, so that you’re not having to backtrack to get into that measure over and over;
2) When all markings are in place, then memorize the right hand from beginning to end (end to beginning), by itself;
3) Likewise the left hand;
4) Likewise the Pedal, including box movements. Pistons and other registration changes will have to be inserted later. Some of those might require some slight re-fingering or re-pedaling, but by that time, you’ll know the notes much better. Making changes later to a memorized piece is much easier than making changes to a piece you never had a Plan for in the first place;
5) This is the interesting step: Now close the book and from memory combine one hand with Pedal from beginning to end;
6) Likewise the other hand with Pedal;
7) Likewise the two hands with no Pedal;
8) Everything together.
None of this is accomplished in a day. As a matter of fact, depending on the piece, Step 2 could take 3 days. Step 6 could take 4. Step 8 could take only a few hours. Who knows?
Fugues take weeks, because there are so many ‘turnaround’ points where voices go one way and then the other, often from a similar starting point. Weeks, I say.
Vierne Symphonies don’t take so long, believe it or not. They are so chromatic and the fingerings so contortionistic that those are actually more memorable, therefore, more memorizable.
Franck appeals to my sense of harmony so much that he gets into my head faster than anything else. I recall getting the E Major Choral fully memorized in just a couple weeks. But BWV 541 took a month. There is no predicting the timeframe, but there is predicting the outcome, if you stick with it and disallow guesswork.
I can also say that the use of your brain cells in this manner is very good for the brain, much like muscles. Use it or lose it. And it you use it, you get better at it. What used to take weeks now takes only 1 or 2. What used to take hours now takes only an hour. And so forth.
Catharine Crozier was probably our poster child for organ memorization. Had she not started memorizing in her 20s, she might not have been playing from memory in her 80s. Getting started is the key. And although many of my students might not memorize in their careers, they have nevertheless been taught how to, and they know how rewarding and useful it is to the body in all ways.
Go and do thou likewise. And let me know how I can help.
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A couple years ago, I performed for the East Texas Pipe Organ Festival, an annual gathering to celebrate the work of Roy Perry and the utterly magnificent Aeolian-Skinners he created in northeastern Texas and northern Louisiana. Because I am an Aeolian-Skinnerphile, I decided to compose a biography around my experience with them, to be published in the Festival book:
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Joby Bell’s first encounter with Aeolian-Skinner was an informal visit as a high schooler to Op. 1196, Covenant Presbyterian, Charlotte. Many years and many Aeolian-Skinner and E.M. Skinner visits later, Joby began to serve regularly on Opp. 912 and 912-A, First Presbyterian, Houston. More recently, he served an interim post for two years on Op. 1101, First Presbyterian, Lenoir, N.C. He is also the proud owner of Op. 1457-B, previously in his teacher Clyde Holloway’s residence.
Joby Bell is known at home and abroad for “the breadth of his repertoire, technical virtuosity, and for the personal warmth which shines through in his performances.” He has earned a reputation as one of the finest and approachable performers, teachers, and service players of his generation. His acclaimed blog at <www.JobyBell.org> deals with a comprehensive range of organ-related topics including teaching philosophies, recital preparation, church music, and professional concerns.
He has made a number of recordings on Aeolian-Skinners on the Centaur label, including an all-English program on Op. 1174, and the complete solo organ works of Widor, recorded on Opp. 713, 912-A, 1308, 1309, and 1472. Most recently, he recorded the complete organ works of Boulder-based composer Jeffrey Nytch on the Dobson instrument in the Heritage Center at the University of Dubuque.
Since 2004, he has served on the faculty of the Hayes School of Music at Appalachian State University, where he teaches organ and church music studies. His teaching specializes in practice techniques, memorization, service playing, choral accompanying, and maintaining grace under pressure – lessons always taught by example.
Joby attended high school at the [University of] North Carolina School of the Arts and subsequently earned degrees from Appalachian State University (BMus) and Rice University (MMus, DMA). His teachers include H. Max Smith and Clyde Holloway.
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Just as the act of observing an event changes the event, so does a job ad restrict the job and its applicants. Academic job searches think they are designed to find the best person, but their side hustle is really the main event, which is to protect the search from litigation. The amounts of bureaucracy and bias control are staggering, and the things you can and cannot say or do with a candidate are a veritable catechism with dire consequences if something gets overlooked. I have no solution to this, but it may take a complete implosion to fix it. And of course I might stop there but am going to write hundreds more words about it, anyway:
As of this writing, I am into my 22nd year at my teaching post. I am tenured, fully 'professored,' fully vested, 'teaching awarded,' and everything else. And I recognize that 22 years is the kind of longevity that is somewhat unheard of these days [which could be a broken model of its own – do people leave a job because they find a better offer, or are they being forced out by any number of influences? Either way, I have been fortunate.].
Let the record show that I am not seeking another teaching position. I like the one I have, current political and societal barriers in all directions notwithstanding. But even if I wanted to – and certainly far less so if my life depended on it – I could never get another teaching job at this point.
Not that an academic search committee is allowed to discuss it, but I’m too old. And the average job ad proves it: The application process involves submitting names and contact information of at least three references. In my case, that would be the most cursory definition of ‘reference’ ever. My list would contain zero actual mentors, because at my age, all my mentors are dead. Even one of my favorite collaborators at a previous position is dead. And so my lack of primary references anymore means I’m not young enough to have living mentors who can rave about my greatness. In other words, I’m too old.
Furthermore, one application process I once engaged in wanted videos of me playing for church and conducting choirs. But would I be playing for church and conducting choirs as part of the position? (Spoiler: No.) I'm not a member of the conducting faculty where I am now, so I have no choir to conduct. And I divide my time between two U.S. states, so I don't serve churches regularly and still have no choir to conduct nor an organ on which I serve weekly. [Although it doesn't apply to me, the tired cliché 'Those who can't do, teach' might actually come in handy here, just to get past the application!] And who sets up a camera when they play for church, anyway? The young do. The old are just well-known in the field, and believe me, I have put in my time. But the search committee doesn’t know that – after all, there are likely to be no organists or church musicians on the committee [which is already a fundamental flaw of most searches like mine].
There are many things one can’t do in an academic interview that if they could, they might alter the course of time. I have been changing students’ lives for years, but how do you prove that in a short-list visit? (Spoiler: You don’t.) Until such time as I could connect them with a real counselor, I have counseled innumerable students having mother problems or time management issues. To the extent that I could encourage them through it, I counseled one student whose ex freakishly died in their sleep. How do you demonstrate that in an interview visit? (Spoiler: You don’t.) The committee can’t watch me bring a sense of levity to the office staff every time I walk in the door. The committee has no idea that I am well liked by housekeeping staff, stage crew, building managers, colleagues, and students alike. The committee can watch me play from memory during the interview, but then they can’t go to the Waffle House with me afterwards and watch me let my disappeared hair down and just enjoy being with any people who showed up to eat, too. They can’t see how well I interact with a presenter and how refreshingly non-demanding I am on the road. They can’t see how stage crews breathe a sigh of relief when they discover that I’m low-maintenance and actually enjoy talking to them. In other words, the committee, in their search for the bright and shiny (the young), have no idea that the candidate in front of them would be the very best person for the position, and they have no way of finding that out.
There was recently an organ teacher position open. It was at a major private university, and it was one of those interesting ‘warmup’ teacher positions, where the underclassmen and secondary students would have lessons with this person before making their way up the ladder to the ‘real’ professor. I thought, Wow, that would be fun. For over two decades I have been preparing students for the next school or the next venture. But in this prospective position, I would be preparing them for the professor just next door. Very interesting! I began to assemble an application and then noticed that the position was non-tenure-track. I thought twice, and I wondered if this search committee might be delighted that a full-tenured professor out in the world would be perfectly willing to take this position. Would they be impressed enough to look at me? Would I be deemed over-qualified? Or perhaps 'extra-qualified?' But then I saw the ad in a slightly different light and noticed that it was describing the very person -- an alum of that institution -- who was already doing that job on a visiting basis. Ah, mystery solved – they’re going through the motions, but they already have their guy picked out. So never mind.
But move one track over with me for a moment, to a church search. I have never had any problem landing the church jobs I wanted. It might be because I was invited and able to do in the interview exactly what I do, without having to play a different game under the hood. There might be something to that. Poor academia is getting pressed on all sides, at about the pressure currently being exerted on Titanic. That’s an implosion in the making, and I am already sympathetic for when that time comes. Fortunately, I won't be among the candidates.
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