Most organ records made in Europe appear to be aimed chiefly at organists, since the liner notes frequently consist of little more than detailed specifics of the instrument in question, including enthusiastic words like "Great" and "Swell", endless lists of stops (including a 3 3/ 4" Klingelspiel), and a chronology of builders, repairers, appraisers, and cleaning ladies. This one, however, is surely designed for Austrians who know all about the appointments of the Hofburgkapelle, for not a word is said about organ or organist. Come to think of it, there may not even be an organ in the place, for the title permits one to suppose that the music simply hovers in the air there in disembodied fashion.

The Hofburg is, of course, that sprawling complex of Imperial-Residence-cum­ Center-of-the-Empire that abuts the Kunsthistorisches Museum (to the west) and the Staatsoper (to the south). The name means "court-castle" (or, better, "court-fort"). It consists of a number of rather forbidding grey buildings, set off from each other by courtyards (jammed with parked cars) and rather handsome parks, and containing, among other things, the Imperial Treasury, the Spanish Riding School, the Albertina Museum (one million graphics!), and the Capuchins' Crypt, which contains the bones of twelve emperors, sixteen empresses, a large number of archdukes, and Countess Fuchs. (Their hearts, however, are a hundred meters away in the Church of the Augustinians, and other parts of them are across town in St. Stephens, and the traffic problems in Vienna are going to be fiercer than usual come Resurrection Day!). The Hofburg was built over a period of 450 years, the Chapel dating back to the mid-fifteenth century. About all I can find about it, musically speaking, is in my trusty Michelin Guide, which tells me that from late September through June mass is performed there by the Vienna Philharmonic, the Vienna Choirboys, and soloists from the State Opera, and that tickets are handed out on Fridays between five and six p.m.

Alois Forer, who may be a visiting fireman, but who, one would think, normally officiates at the console in such august company, has selected a rather catholic (little "c" please), but uncommon program, which is more or less pan-European in scope. The oldest composer represented is the Valencian padre Juan Bautista Jose Cabanilles, who was organist of Valencia Cathedral for nearly 47 years. The notes for the record tell me that his style was affected by ''permanent contact with ... Dutch and Italian masters;" it must have made for a certain awkwardness! Cabanilles is no stranger to records these days, but Herr Forer offers two (unspecified) toccatas, and my holdings include only one, so I am assured of at least one new one. Next in time comes a prelude and fugue by Vincenz Lubeck, interesting for having been born not at Lubeck but at Padingbuttel. Then there is a toccata by Alessandro Scarlatti, who wrote so many operas, cantatas, and dear little songs that neither we nor the record companies are inclined to remember that he wrote instrumental music too. And last from the past is a prelude by good old J. G. Albrechtsberger, Kapellmeister at St. Stephen's (with the entombed Hapsburg innards), and Beethoven's counterpoint teacher in 1794-5.

From the present century, we are offered a Prelude and Fugue in E-flat by Franz Schmidt, about whom I discoursed at length last month. A second bow to the home country is to be found in Johann Nepomuk David's Partita on the Insbruck song, beloved of Maximilian I. David was once touted as potentially the greatest composer of religious music of this century, but I've not heard much about him for a couple of decades. Finally there is an incantation on the Gregorian melody "Lumen Christi" by Jean Langlais, Cesar Franck's latter-day successor at the console of Ste. Clothilde.