Liadov is remembered as the lazy Russian composer – he was given
the commission for a ballet but as he never got round to the laboursome
task of actually writing it the commission passed to the young
Igor Stravinsky, who created The Firebird, and, as they
say, the rest is history. In 1870 he went
to at the St Petersburg Conservatory to study piano and violin
but quickly stopped his instrumental studies and moved on to counterpoint
and fugue. Despite many, Mussorgsky included, thinking highly
of his work as a composer he was expelled from the composition
class of Rimsky-Korsakov for absenteeism, but was re-admited in
1878 to help him finish his graduation composition, a setting
of the final scene from Schiller's Die Braut von Messina
for solo voices, chorus and orchestra, op.28 (1878, published
1891). He subsequently taught at the St Petersburg Conservatory
where his students included Prokofiev and the conductor Nikolai
Malko, who wrote, "Lyadov's critical comments were always
precise, clear, understandable, constructive, and brief .... And
it was done indolently, without haste, sometimes seemingly disdainfully.
He could suddenly stop in midword, take out a small scissors from
his pocket and start doing something with his fingernail, while
we all waited".
As
a composer, Liadov is probably best remembered these days
as the composer of colourful and entertaining tone poems –
Baba–Yaga, op.56 (1904), The Enchanted Lake, op.62 (1909), and Kikimora,
op.63 (1909) as well as the orchestral Eight Russian
Folk Songs, op.58 (1906) – all available on a very good
Chandos CD, coupled with other works, given by the BBC Philharmonic,
conducted by Vasily Sinaisky (CHAN 9911). But what of his
other work? There’s no large-scale piece – in fact the two
sets of variations on this disk are amongst his biggest pieces
– no opera, no ballet (though not for want of trying), no
concerto or symphony so his reputation rests entirely on a
series of miniatures.
Liadov
was said to be a fine pianist so it’s not unusual to find
a fair amount of music for piano in his output (about 36 pieces)
and what we have here is a fine sampling. The music ranges
in style from salon music, to sub-Scriabin in the op.64
pieces.
Marionettes,
Little Waltz and the Musical Snuffbox
are all real charmers – delicate sweetmeats for the home –
and the Three Pieces, op.11 have much charm in their Chopinesque way, but the second, a toccata,
might have proved somewhat difficult for the parlour pianists.
By
the time we reach the Two Pieces op.24, the
harmonic language has matured, the textures have become slightly
thicker, and, amazingly, there’s even an hint of impressionism
– surely a piece of serendipity! The melodic material here
is much more memorable, and this strain is continued into
the Three Pieces, op.57, whereas the Three
Preludes, op.36 are a backward step but fine examples
of how to make an impression in the shortest possible timescale
– the second is also quite a virtuoso piece.
The
Variations on a theme by Glinka, op.35 is the more
conventional of the two sets of Variations presented here.
It seems to straddle the salon and the concert hall in its
language, but the use of the keyboard places it firmly in
the latter place. The Variations on a Polish folk theme,
op.51 is based on a mazurka and Liadov’s treatment of
his theme is varied and satisfying. There’s a quicksilver
scherzo which has a contrasting violent scherzo, and there’s
several deeply felt slower variations. The finale starts with
bell sounds and ends as an headlong race to the finish line.
This
is very enjoyable music and it’s hard to see why it’s never
heard – at worst there’s ample encore material here. Until
such time, we must be grateful to Stephen Coombs for lavishing
such care on this disk and giving us a reminder of what has
been lost in this corner of Russian music. One thing is certain
– we must not be as lazy as Liadov when it comes to going
out and buying this delightful disk for it’s well worth having.
Bob Briggs
