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| In memoriam
Alexander Glazounov 18651936
Alexander Glazounov, the famous Russian composer, at the age of
seventy. Born at St. Petersburg in 1865, he studied under Rimsky-Korsakov
and received advice from Balakirev. His facility and skill in composition
matured early, for his first Symphony (Op. 5) was performed under
Balakirev in 1882, and he had written a String Quartet, a Piano
Suite, and an Overture. His popular tone-poem, Stenka Razine,
was written before he was twenty. While still a young man he became
known all over the musical world. He conducted his own music at
the Paris Exhibition of 1889. In the next few years his Stenka
Razine was given at Berlin (it had already been given at Weimar),
and his fourth Symphony was played at a London Philharmonic. He
visited England in 1896, 1902, and 1907, when he was given an honorary
Doctors degree by Cambridge University. In 1909 he became
Principal of the St. Petersburg Conservatory. His works, most of
which were written before the war, include eight symphonies, three
large ballets, and a quantity of chamber music. After the war he
wrote very little music in comparison with the rapid production
of his early years. He devoted himself to his official duties and
gradually became a figure-head. After twelve years at the St. Petersburg
school he retired to Paris, where he died. An article on Glazounov
by Mr. Sabaneev will be found on p. 413.
Musical Times, May 1936
Glazounov
by Leonid Sabaneev
Through the death of A. K. Glazounov, who now becomes a historical
figure, the old generation of Russian music has lost the last of
its brilliant representatives.
Though he had reached the comparatively advanced age of seventy,
he had essentially done with creative work long ago, the last thirty
years or so of his life having added few features to the legacy
he has left us. He really composed very little after his eighth
and last Symphony, written in 1908. This is, perhaps, his most valuable
work: in any case it reflects fully the world of his talent. His
subsequent compositions were isolated and infrequent. Was this due
to creative exhaustion after the intense and extraordinarily productive
activity of previous years? Or must it be partly ascribed to the
troublous times which began in Russia in 1905? More probably we
must look to neither the one not the other, but to the simple fact
that Glazounovs creative work was thrust into the background
by the force of circumstances and of purely musical happenings,
and became synonymous with academicism and conservatism in the light
of the combative tendencies then prevailing in the musical world.
Debussy, Strauss, Scriabin, and later, Stravinsky and Prokofiev,
Schönberg and Hindemith, arrived onto the scene, and Glazounovs
severe and architecturally proportioned creations with their inward
poise and their inevitably quieter emotional tone, were regarded
as things of the past.
Glazounov outlived his style, outlived himself. He was not pliant
enough to change with the times; he was too honestly convinced of
the rightness of his attitude to music, and did not, and could not,
make any concessions to violent and tempestuous innovation. In this
respect he was more conservative than those active workers belonging
to an older generation of Russian musicians Moussorgsky and
Rimsky-Korsakov. The latter, who in his time manifested himself
to the world as one of the Kuchka, the champions of quests
and innovation, was able to absorb and creatively transform much
that came into being on the borders of the 20th century. Glazounov
was a product of more peaceful times: in him equilibrium reigned,
his creative path always led towards perfection of form within the
limits of tradition. Wagner and Liszt were essentially alien to
him, he was sceptical concerning Moussorgsky, spoke condescendingly
but unsympathetically of Scriabin, and had an antipathy for Debussy,
Strauss, Stravinsky, and others. And the tradition he represented
was not that of Russian music. I doubt if the creative work of any
other Russian composer has so many non-Russian features. In his
psychological make-up, in his ways and habits of life, he was Russian
through and through, but his music was clothed entirely in European
dress, and the Russian musical idiom was altogether foreign and
unattractive to him. Furthermore, his musical tastes were tinged
with a repugnance for anything too highly spiced or too characteristic;
with his creative touch he toned down and neutralised the Russian
colouration.
It is precisely this which accounts for his becoming a shadowy
figure during his lifetime, and for the impoverishment apparent
in his creative output after 1906-08. Very clever, very subtle,
with an observant and sceptical mind, Glazounov could not but perceive
the true state of affairs the arrival of new birds bringing
with them new songs, perhaps unsympathetic to him, but inevitable.
He saw that it was impossible to struggle against them by continuing
to create in his own way: let them sing their songs to the world;
in due course they would become silent it was only a passing
phase. In Glazounov there was much of the Fabian prudence
a specifically Russian characteristic: he was not a fighter, but
a sceptical onlooker. He knew that he had made his important and
indispensable contribution to music: he had endowed the unorganized
and very ugly element of Russian creative work with craftsmanship,
had tranquillised it and given it emotional calm. He was aware,
also, that his personal career had been a brilliant one; success
had attended him at the age of sixteen, and did not forsake him
for nearly a quarter of a century. Life had revealed itself to him
in its most propitious aspect: rich, gifted, esteemed, and successful
from the very beginning, he had known nothing of deprivations and
the struggle for existence. And his music is of the same order
peaceful, rich, and lacking any suggestion of tragedy. Having little
inclination for the dramatic, Glazounov did not care for vocal music;
he did not write a single opera (in this, again, he is the antithesis
of the majority of Russian composers, who have aspired to opera
and drama); he sought inspiration in the epic form of the symphony
and the aesthetic world of the ballet. But his symphonies, having
none of the tragic significance of Beethoven, Brahms, and Wagner,
in spite of their colossal dimensions are more like ballet entractes,
just as his ballets resemble fragments of symphonies.
Glazounovs musical legacy is vast, but most of it was created
before his forty-second year. It comprises eight symphonies, three
big ballets, a host of symphonic poems and overtures, and much chamber
and piano music. Notwithstanding its very great merits, much of
it is manifestly not destined to survive: at the beginning of this
century there were signs that his style was becoming obsolete. This
is accounted for by the fact that, having no connection with the
national melodies, he wrote music of the general European type,
and his academic mastery led to the unintentional neutralising of
anything in the nature of brilliance, originality, independence,
and colourfulness. After the advent of the new prophets of a new
and different music, full of new sonorities, and saturated with
seekings if not with achievements, Glazounovs quiet and competent
mastery was bound to seem tame and insipid. Of his works the last
three symphonies have proved to be the most vital; the eighth appears
to be the chef doeuvre of his orchestral style (a style now
avoided) thick, imposingly polyphonic, having no concern
with colour, but only with the general mass of the resonance. His
Violin Concerto will certainly be retained in the worlds repertory,
whereas oblivion had already overtaken most of his piano compositions
during his lifetime.
It should be added that Glazounov was a favourite and authoritative
teacher, even though the convictions of most of the next generation
were antagonistic. Tcherepnin, Stravinsky, and Prokofiev must consider
themselves his pupils, as well as Scriabin, whose first Symphony
distinctly reflects the orchestral technique of the deceased composer.
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