Stephen Bicknell, intrepid author of the new book History of the
English Pipe Organ, published by Cambridge University Press, elaborates
on a a PIPORG-L thread following the (almost) word "orchestrian".  He
would be delighted to have you copy your comments to him:

  Date:         Wed, 6 Nov 1996 20:52:15 +0000
  From:         Stephen Bicknell <oneskull@dircon.co.uk>
  Subject:      Orchestrions and Fairground Organs

The punch-card playing street organ and its close relatives the
showman's or fairground organ, the carousel organ, and the dance organ
are most commonly associated with the Netherlands and Belgium, and it
was there that many of the most famous makers flourished, especially in
the 30 years either side of 1900.  In fact the species probably
originated in Italy, and many of the names often associated with these
instruments are obviously Italian in origin (Gavioli, Marenghi).

The UK has become the resting place for several hundred restored
examples.  The British love of old steam engines, cars and the wider
industrial heritage extends to a flourishing and spectacular survival
of the travelling steam fair.  One of the most famous events to be
enjoyed is the Great Dorset Steam Fair which takes place on a several
hundred acre site near Blandford Forum each year and at which a wide
range of organs are demonstrated.

(The fair also brings steam engines of every possible description
(except for those that run on rails), a fairground containing many
original and now rare rides, classic cars, bikes, military and
argricultural machinery;  the entire operation works on the principle
that the exhibits work - so there are threshing machines threshing,
cranes lifting, traction engines hauling and ploughing, rollers
rolling, stone-crushers crushing ... and any other task you can apply
motive power to).

Your correspondent attended this year as usual, brought to the site in
the 'barouche' (1955 Citroen 11BL), and staying with my brother and
family at nearby Fontmell Magna (a place I mention only in order to
confirm to our non-English subscribers that life in the countryside
really is as quaint as it appears in the movies).  As usual I spent
some time comparing the various organs on display, applying a critical
eye to the restorations (usually impeccable, but some of those guys
don't know how to *tune* those things - there are two temperaments for
fair organs, equal and another one I can't work out by ear (sounds like
modified meantone), and some of the steam engine nuts restore them as
machines but don't realise that you need a musical ear to complete the
job).

The ones worth looking out for are the big showman's and fair organs,
which were either entertainments in their own right on the fairground
or were coupled with another large attraction such as a dance stage or
later a Bioscope (Cinema).  These beasts have no exact US equivalent.
The nearest are the Wurlitzer band organs.  I have a recording of a
Wurly model 164, claimed to be one of the 'world's largest'.  I tell
you, you guys ain't seen nothing.

A big fairground organ is the size of semi-trailer, on wheels, and is
driven by a belt off a steam engine or by current generated by one.
One side folds down to reveal a wildly garish frontispiece including,
usually, functional arrays of pipes.  These are of various peculiar
types, none of them quite like pipes found in church or theatre
organs.  The fluework is largely wood, based on ranks of bearded viols
of extraordinary power and transverse blown flutes, open and stopped,
running up into piercingly loud trebles. In really large instruments
there are many ranks of viols side by side, clearly intended as a
potently throbbing celeste.  Reed pipes usually include wooden Trombone
basses with heavily mitred and cranked 1/2 length resonators, and
several manufacturers used spun brass trumpets to fine musical and
visual effect.  There are then extensive arrays of percussions, tuned
and untuned.  The pipes are surrounded by statues, carving and painting
in a style best described as 'Showman's Roccoco'.  In even the most
modest instrument at least one of the statues will move, either
conducting the music with a baton or playing along on a triangle.

The instruments are operated from punched cards on the principle of a
player-piano roll, but considerably more robust (and folded up Z
fashion).  There were various standard systems referred to as '84
keys', '101 keys', '112 keys' and so-on, and technical developments on
the action side (I believe a change from exhaust pneumatic to vacuum
pneumatic) led to some being described as 'keyless' - e.g. '84
keyless'.  The operators would be able to purchase the most up to date
tunes from the manufacturers.  Traditional fairgound organs are still
being made in the Low Countries (where the craft never died out) and in
Britain (a small scale but interesting revival).

The different styles of instruments by the major makers is a
fascinating study in its own right, and finding a really good
instrument in good condition is a very special treat.  The arrangements
of the music are immensly flashy and complex, and use the technical
resources of the organs to the full.  The American band organs and
carousel organs tend to play flat out all the time and get a bit
wearisome (endless Souza marches played at a relentless and unvaryingly
mechanical tempo).  The big European ones go for sophisticated tonal
effects and rapid changes of dynamic and colour.  The music is
intended, of course, to be highly entertaining and the arrangements are
sometimes so audacious as to be both amazing and hilarious at the same
time.  Amongst instruments I have seen, the big Gaviolis seem to
represent the very best of the classic late-nineteenth century type and
the Italian 'Rossini' tone (my invented term!) - in fact the connection
between them and nineteenth century Italian church organs (which also
had percussions as standard) is quite clear.  Other types have their
own charms - the Belgian builder Hooghuys (yes the very same one who
built the organ in the church at West Tofts, Norfolk, for Sir John
Sutton in 1847) was noted for a distinctive nasal tone and an
especially rapid action (allowing flutter tremolo effects as well as
characteristically zany piccolo solos taken at a speed that only a
machine could contemplate, let alone execute).

But my absolute favourite (yes, there's more) has to be the Mortier
Dance Organ of the 1920s and 30s, the last type of mechanical
travelling instrument to enjoy a success in its own right, and
described below.

Belgian popular culture is something very special.  Little understood
by the rather snobby nations on its borders, Belgium is blessed with a
populace who know how to enjoy the most uncomplicated pleasures.  Like
naughty children stuffing their faces with sweets, they include amongst
the great national treats fresh Mussels served with fries and Beer made
with fruit (yeah - like cherries or strawberries - I kid you not).  It
is impossible not to smile at aspects of the various national manias
(especially if you come from a country as eccentric as England), and
indeed that is the point of the idea - we are all invited by the
Belgians simply to have fun.

So, imagine if you will, in the period between the two world wars (in
which Belgium, like much of Europe, was poor and much battle-scarred)
the emergence of a market for travelling dance-halls.  These toured the
towns and villages, setting up for a night or two at a time, and
offering, under cover, a temporary restaurant, bar and dance floor for
the entertainment of those who could pay a few francs.  Music was
provided a modified version of the fairground organ.

The Mortier company made this market their own with instruments which,
while working on exactly the same principle as the outdoor organs, were
completely different musically.  And, in fact, completely different
visually: the Mortier organs are the most splendid flowering of Art
Deco kitsch that Europe ever saw.  Naturally the scale of the animal is
smaller than the Chrysler Building and it would pale in comparison to
half the things that once stood on Coney Island, but Mortier more than
made up for lack of space on the front of the organ by cramming it with
the most outrageously garish and exuberant display of modern movement
decoration, painted in every (pastel) colour imaginable (and extending
to one or two shades of turquoise and mauve that are not), overpainted
in silver and gold, and then varnished until the whole thing glitters
like a rotating ball at a disco.  The display includes no pipes (all
hidden within), but does offer the spectator a sight of the more
unusual percussions (chinese blocks, castanets, african gourds) and
usually a mysterious 'phantom' piano-accordion and/or saxophone -
suspended in mid-air against a black cloth and magically playing 'for
real'.

The music is a mixture of folk, local pop songs, and international
(often American) hits of the period, all performed in an idiosyncratic
smoochy local style, with more than a hint of South American
influence.  There is a big overlap with the repertoire and style of the
European cinema organist.  Appropriately enough the tone of a Mortier
is a bit like a rustic version of a Compton Cinema organ, based on
smooth tibias, viols less fierce than those fitted to outdoor
instruments, and backed up by reed basses as ponderous and opaque as
half-length wooden tubes will allow.  However, the presence of a
free-reed section (the piano accordion) and the Saxophone (I think flue
pipes) puts quite a different cast on the ensemble, and there are a
couple of downright wierd solo effects (I think the Vibratone is the
great Mortier speciality) that I cannot even begin to describe (well,
one is like a swanee-whistle and the other is a flutter tremulant so
fast and deep that you expect the paint to flake off).

The Mortier is a fascinating beast: where the fairground organ is tarty
like a can-can girl the Mortier takes you straight into the world of
Maigret and Edith Piaf.  Where's my moules frites and biere framboise?

Stephen Bicknell