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University Daily Kansan, September 9, 1981
Inside
Al Gerken, professor of music theory and University carillonneur, adjusts one of the bells in the Campanile. The adjustments are made to keep the tone of the bells clear.
Carillonneur needs no audience; personal satisfaction his reward
'It's like anything, I guess. If you really have your heart set in it, you do it because you love it and enjoy it.'
—Al Gerken
Photos by:
Kurt Jackson
Story by:
Mark Zieman
Al Gerken, professor of music theory and University carillonneur, does not live for applause.
"If you thrive on applause and that sort of thing, you'll die after awhile," he said.
"A carilion is not the kind of instrument for a musician with a very big ego."
Almost every day for 19 years, the slender, soft-spoken man has walked across campus to the Campanile, climbed 70 steps to the carillon and coaxed echoing melodies from 53 lifeless, cast-bronze bells.
BECAUSE OF THE effects of time and familiarity, the echoing notes of American marches and classical preludes are ignored by most potential listeners, and the music, like the rush of the wind and the chirp of crickets, is forgotten.
Many of the songs are transcriptions, taken from one of two collections Gerken has published. Others, such as Pastel in Bronze, were composed by Gerken.
Once he is in the tower, "the music becomes of primary importance." Gerken said.
The carillon commands the attention of the carillonneur. With closed fists, Gerken hits oaken keys that are connected to rods fastened to the clappers of the higher-pitched bells. For the other bells, Gerken pushes pedals at his feet.
WITH ONE HIT, a high B from a 12-pound bell peaks up from the ceiling. With a push, a low F # rumbles down the
tower, shaken loose from a seven-ton bell 30 feet above Gerken's head.
"It gets loud up there sometimes," Gerken laughed.
Recitals are on Wednesdays at 7 p.m. and on Sundays at 3 p.m. Throughout the week, Gerken teaches carillon on a practice console midway up the tower. His students perform between classes and in the afternoon.
Anyone wishing to observe a recital from inside the campanile should contact Gerken. These occasions are special for the carillonneur as well as for the observer.
Because of the strenuous nature of carillon playing, Gerken is often bathed in sweat by the end of a recital and must change his clothes before descending from the tower. By the time he leaves the Campanile, his audience, like the echo of his last note, has faded away.
THE CARILLONNEUR pondered almost 20 years of silent response.
"It's like anything, I guess," he said. "If you really have your heart set in it, you do it because you love it and enjoy it."
Gerken thought a moment, then leaned forward from his chair.
“It’s still an art form through which you’ve expressed yourself,” he said. “I don’t feel it requires comment.”