pianist
Mikhail Lidsky
Alexander Vedernikov: Memorable Encounters
The luminous image of Alexander Alexandrovich Vedernikov lives on in my grateful memory. The pain of his untimely passing is still just as sharp. I feel the loss of a close friend, even though we were never particularly close.
In Sasha’s final years, we did not see each other: he worked mostly abroad, while my trips there are only occasional. Even before that, we met infrequently—I counted maybe six or seven joint projects in total. There were conversations (both in person and over the phone), some correspondence (mostly business-related—none of it survived), and we each visited the other’s home once (there were urgent matters to discuss)… But my memories of him are immensely precious to me, just as he himself is precious.
We first met in 1996 after a concert at the Great Hall of the Moscow Conservatory. E. K. Virsaladze—in whose class I was just starting out as an assistant—gave a brilliant solo performance of Mozart and Chopin, accompanied by the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra under Maestro Vedernikov. The maestro was exceedingly gracious.
By that time, a joint concert of ours had already been announced at the Tchaikovsky Concert Hall. However, I only had a rehearsal with Sasha, while the concert itself was conducted by our mutual friend, the fine conductor D. I. Liss. We were playing Medtner’s First Piano Concerto. Alexander Alexandrovich, who apparently had to travel on the day of the performance, felt it was his duty as the artistic director of the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra to conduct a preliminary rehearsal of this complex and unfamiliar score. A memorable encounter indeed.
Our first joint performance took place in Tomsk in the spring of 1999; the maestro called and invited me himself. We played Beethoven’s Fourth Concerto, and the program also featured the Seventh Symphony (with the local orchestra). Sasha was remarkably attentive and thoughtful—suffice it to say that he arranged for me to stay with a local businessman he knew, as he found the accommodations provided by the Philharmonic unsatisfactory.
We hit it off immediately and established a friendly rapport, though we always maintained the polite formal “Vy” with each other. We spoke a great deal, mostly about music… Once we had lunch together (at a tavern wittily named The Eternal Call, which Sasha immediately picked up on) and chatted in Italian “for fun.” I was just beginning to learn the language at the time, whereas Alexander Alexandrovich, as an opera conductor who had been to Italy many times, already spoke it fluently. I remember him heartily enjoying some whitefish and happily exclaiming: “Qui a Tomsk si mangia benissimo!” [Here in Tomsk one eats exceedingly well!].
It was also there that we were caught by a phone call from Sasha’s mother, Natalya Nikolaevna, the renowned organist and professor: her son questioned her in detail about her impressions of Khovanshchina, which he had conducted. I also remember him taking photos of old wooden houses in Tomsk, intending to send them to his artist brother. The Beethoven program was not among those Maestro Vedernikov performed often, yet he worked on it with immense interest and painstaking care.
Next, I recall a trip to Tver with the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra. We traveled together in a minibus; Alexander Alexandrovich slept for most of the ride—he worked non-stop and rarely had time to sleep. In Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto, Sasha displayed remarkable sensitivity, delicacy, and understanding, completely free from the interpretive clichés that so often plague performers of this popular work.
Then came Moscow and the Great Hall of the Conservatory: Tchaikovsky’s Second Concerto. Another memorable encounter (in 2002, if I am not mistaken). The conductor advised me to take a brisker tempo in the finale. He was probably right. Although the festive final rondo ought to balance the two immense preceding movements, its thematic material is quite light in character. In any case, the tempo adopted on the maestro’s advice ultimately felt entirely right to me.
A year later, we traveled to the Prague Autumn festival with Tchaikovsky’s Concert Fantasia (the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra had a large, compelling program there with several soloists). We rehearsed in Moscow, and I had to fly to Prague on the morning of the concert. It was exhausting and nerve-wracking—all the more so because I had never played the piece before. Fortunately, everything went well. Tired, we sat in the hotel lobby, eating and drinking… I believe it was that very evening when Sasha recited humorous pseudo-haikus:
And another one—a sort of variation on a Russian theme, slightly risky (aside from flouting the rules of the genre):
The staff at the Prague hotel back then were not yet very fluent in foreign languages other than Russian, and we had to help them communicate with tourists… The staff nostalgically recalled the Soviet era and criticized the European Union (likely wishing to please us—though I, for one, have never had any fondness for the Soviet regime).
Alexander Alexandrovich was a very genial, remarkably polite, and kind man. There must have been conflicts in his life, but with me he was always exceedingly kind, which never failed to touch me; I remain endlessly grateful to him for that. In particular, I am grateful for the recommendation letter he wrote for me in 2002—unbelievably flattering and setting such a high bar.
He possessed exquisite taste, deep erudition, and a sense of humor—everything about him had a noble, serious, and dignified air. Once, laughing, he shared a story about his famous father, impeccably mimicking the voices of the people involved: “My father was once invited to a television show (Sasha named it, but I won’t. — M.L.). ‘Alexander Filippovich, you are so famous, so popular. Why do we see you so rarely on TV?’ asked the host. ‘You see, many people are willing to eat their own excrement just to get on television. I am not one of them.’ The broadcast never aired.”
Sasha’s stories often featured the names of G. V. Sviridov, whom he held in the highest esteem, and B. A. Tchaikovsky—specifically mentioning the latter’s knack for tuning the celesta (the outstanding composer’s affinity for mechanical instruments is well known). He also spoke of his equally distinguished namesake, Anatoly Ivanovich Vedernikov, under whom, as I understood it, he had taken general piano classes. He shared his plans: I remember him suggesting that I learn G. L. Catoire’s Piano Concerto, drawing my attention to the printed score’s cover design by Bilibin—though I never got around to it…
…After Prague, there was another joint appearance in a concert with the Russian National Orchestra, performing some rather unpleasant music by a living composer, which, to be frank, I care not to remember. From the piano part of the concerto for trio and orchestra that I was given, it was hard to form an impression of the work as a whole. The result was disappointing. Unfortunately, one had to work in that genre too. The maestro maintained superb, unfailing composure.
In the spring of 2006, I was invited to play Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto with the RNO under Alexander Alexandrovich during the orchestra’s annual tour along the Volga, performing in Samara and Nizhny Novgorod. It was a memorable and deeply enjoyable trip. For me, at least, it was the finest performance of Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto. Sasha, as usual, was flying back and forth—he had business at the Bolshoi Theatre. In general, those years struck me as a happy time for him: a period of grand, inspired labor. He was on fire, brimming with ideas.
I also recall a concert by our mutual friend and colleague, the trumpeter A. M. Ikov, featuring various chamber ensembles with trumpet (in which I participated). Unexpectedly for me, the maestro and his wife attended the performance. I cannot recall which year it was, but Alexander Alexandrovich was already directing the Bolshoi Theatre at the time, and the concert took place in the Beethoven Hall.
…Later we met in Novosibirsk (2010), where we played both of Schumann’s Konzertstücke (Opp. 92 and 134) with the wonderful local orchestra. Sasha was deeply interested in rarely performed music, eager to make new discoveries—notably with these marvelous pieces. Elena Valeryevna, his most charming wife, flew in as well. Incidentally, they had an old-fashioned habit of addressing each other publicly by first name and patronymic with the formal “Vy”—unusual and touching. I remember the get-together after the concert, the photos of Arkhip the spaniel… (Another meeting was planned for February 2015: Prokofiev’s Fifth Concerto with the Honored Collective in Saint Petersburg—but Sasha suddenly fell ill and was substituted; I fell ill too, so it turned out unluckily.)
He was no longer working at the Bolshoi Theatre by then. Times had changed. We crossed paths by chance a couple of times and spoke briefly: once, I recall, at the Okhotny Ryad metro station; another time at Sheremetyevo Airport—each flying off in his own direction. Alexander Alexandrovich left, I stayed in Moscow, and we never saw each other again. Upon learning that Sasha had secured a permanent position at the Mikhailovsky Theatre, I hoped we might meet once more, but a year later came the fateful pandemic…
He was a man of principle, conscientious, and utterly despised anything cheap or superficial. Once, laughing, I told him about a famous conductor who, gasping and nearly sobbing, pleaded with his orchestral musicians: “Look at my face!” Sasha winced with disgust and turned away.
Among Maestro Vedernikov’s performances, I vividly remember Mussorgsky-Ravel’s Pictures at an Exhibition, Shostakovich’s Sixth Symphony, and Prokofiev’s Fifth Symphony—all superb. Once he invited me to a performance of Eugene Onegin—a well-known extravagant staging; I must say, the sound of the orchestra and the singers captivated me to such an extent that I paid little mind to the production itself. Of course, I also listened to many of Alexander Alexandrovich’s recordings. Sharpest in my memory is Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony, captured on video, if I am not mistaken, in Japan.
The luminous image of Alexander Alexandrovich Vedernikov lives on in my grateful memory. The pain of his untimely passing is still just as sharp. I feel the loss of a close friend, even though we were never particularly close.
In Sasha’s final years, we did not see each other: he worked mostly abroad, while my trips there are only occasional. Even before that, we met infrequently—I counted maybe six or seven joint projects in total. There were conversations (both in person and over the phone), some correspondence (mostly business-related—none of it survived), and we each visited the other’s home once (there were urgent matters to discuss)… But my memories of him are immensely precious to me, just as he himself is precious.
We first met in 1996 after a concert at the Great Hall of the Moscow Conservatory. E. K. Virsaladze—in whose class I was just starting out as an assistant—gave a brilliant solo performance of Mozart and Chopin, accompanied by the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra under Maestro Vedernikov. The maestro was exceedingly gracious.
By that time, a joint concert of ours had already been announced at the Tchaikovsky Concert Hall. However, I only had a rehearsal with Sasha, while the concert itself was conducted by our mutual friend, the fine conductor D. I. Liss. We were playing Medtner’s First Piano Concerto. Alexander Alexandrovich, who apparently had to travel on the day of the performance, felt it was his duty as the artistic director of the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra to conduct a preliminary rehearsal of this complex and unfamiliar score. A memorable encounter indeed.
Our first joint performance took place in Tomsk in the spring of 1999; the maestro called and invited me himself. We played Beethoven’s Fourth Concerto, and the program also featured the Seventh Symphony (with the local orchestra). Sasha was remarkably attentive and thoughtful—suffice it to say that he arranged for me to stay with a local businessman he knew, as he found the accommodations provided by the Philharmonic unsatisfactory.
We hit it off immediately and established a friendly rapport, though we always maintained the polite formal “Vy” with each other. We spoke a great deal, mostly about music… Once we had lunch together (at a tavern wittily named The Eternal Call, which Sasha immediately picked up on) and chatted in Italian “for fun.” I was just beginning to learn the language at the time, whereas Alexander Alexandrovich, as an opera conductor who had been to Italy many times, already spoke it fluently. I remember him heartily enjoying some whitefish and happily exclaiming: “Qui a Tomsk si mangia benissimo!” [Here in Tomsk one eats exceedingly well!].
It was also there that we were caught by a phone call from Sasha’s mother, Natalya Nikolaevna, the renowned organist and professor: her son questioned her in detail about her impressions of Khovanshchina, which he had conducted. I also remember him taking photos of old wooden houses in Tomsk, intending to send them to his artist brother. The Beethoven program was not among those Maestro Vedernikov performed often, yet he worked on it with immense interest and painstaking care.
Next, I recall a trip to Tver with the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra. We traveled together in a minibus; Alexander Alexandrovich slept for most of the ride—he worked non-stop and rarely had time to sleep. In Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto, Sasha displayed remarkable sensitivity, delicacy, and understanding, completely free from the interpretive clichés that so often plague performers of this popular work.
Then came Moscow and the Great Hall of the Conservatory: Tchaikovsky’s Second Concerto. Another memorable encounter (in 2002, if I am not mistaken). The conductor advised me to take a brisker tempo in the finale. He was probably right. Although the festive final rondo ought to balance the two immense preceding movements, its thematic material is quite light in character. In any case, the tempo adopted on the maestro’s advice ultimately felt entirely right to me.
A year later, we traveled to the Prague Autumn festival with Tchaikovsky’s Concert Fantasia (the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra had a large, compelling program there with several soloists). We rehearsed in Moscow, and I had to fly to Prague on the morning of the concert. It was exhausting and nerve-wracking—all the more so because I had never played the piece before. Fortunately, everything went well. Tired, we sat in the hotel lobby, eating and drinking… I believe it was that very evening when Sasha recited humorous pseudo-haikus:
Let us cease our working.
We shall sing and make good cheer.
Buy our rice in Canada.
And another one—a sort of variation on a Russian theme, slightly risky (aside from flouting the rules of the genre):
Past the house of my wife’s mother
I cannot walk without a smile.
What should I show her?
The staff at the Prague hotel back then were not yet very fluent in foreign languages other than Russian, and we had to help them communicate with tourists… The staff nostalgically recalled the Soviet era and criticized the European Union (likely wishing to please us—though I, for one, have never had any fondness for the Soviet regime).
Alexander Alexandrovich was a very genial, remarkably polite, and kind man. There must have been conflicts in his life, but with me he was always exceedingly kind, which never failed to touch me; I remain endlessly grateful to him for that. In particular, I am grateful for the recommendation letter he wrote for me in 2002—unbelievably flattering and setting such a high bar.
He possessed exquisite taste, deep erudition, and a sense of humor—everything about him had a noble, serious, and dignified air. Once, laughing, he shared a story about his famous father, impeccably mimicking the voices of the people involved: “My father was once invited to a television show (Sasha named it, but I won’t. — M.L.). ‘Alexander Filippovich, you are so famous, so popular. Why do we see you so rarely on TV?’ asked the host. ‘You see, many people are willing to eat their own excrement just to get on television. I am not one of them.’ The broadcast never aired.”
Sasha’s stories often featured the names of G. V. Sviridov, whom he held in the highest esteem, and B. A. Tchaikovsky—specifically mentioning the latter’s knack for tuning the celesta (the outstanding composer’s affinity for mechanical instruments is well known). He also spoke of his equally distinguished namesake, Anatoly Ivanovich Vedernikov, under whom, as I understood it, he had taken general piano classes. He shared his plans: I remember him suggesting that I learn G. L. Catoire’s Piano Concerto, drawing my attention to the printed score’s cover design by Bilibin—though I never got around to it…
…After Prague, there was another joint appearance in a concert with the Russian National Orchestra, performing some rather unpleasant music by a living composer, which, to be frank, I care not to remember. From the piano part of the concerto for trio and orchestra that I was given, it was hard to form an impression of the work as a whole. The result was disappointing. Unfortunately, one had to work in that genre too. The maestro maintained superb, unfailing composure.
In the spring of 2006, I was invited to play Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto with the RNO under Alexander Alexandrovich during the orchestra’s annual tour along the Volga, performing in Samara and Nizhny Novgorod. It was a memorable and deeply enjoyable trip. For me, at least, it was the finest performance of Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto. Sasha, as usual, was flying back and forth—he had business at the Bolshoi Theatre. In general, those years struck me as a happy time for him: a period of grand, inspired labor. He was on fire, brimming with ideas.
I also recall a concert by our mutual friend and colleague, the trumpeter A. M. Ikov, featuring various chamber ensembles with trumpet (in which I participated). Unexpectedly for me, the maestro and his wife attended the performance. I cannot recall which year it was, but Alexander Alexandrovich was already directing the Bolshoi Theatre at the time, and the concert took place in the Beethoven Hall.
…Later we met in Novosibirsk (2010), where we played both of Schumann’s Konzertstücke (Opp. 92 and 134) with the wonderful local orchestra. Sasha was deeply interested in rarely performed music, eager to make new discoveries—notably with these marvelous pieces. Elena Valeryevna, his most charming wife, flew in as well. Incidentally, they had an old-fashioned habit of addressing each other publicly by first name and patronymic with the formal “Vy”—unusual and touching. I remember the get-together after the concert, the photos of Arkhip the spaniel… (Another meeting was planned for February 2015: Prokofiev’s Fifth Concerto with the Honored Collective in Saint Petersburg—but Sasha suddenly fell ill and was substituted; I fell ill too, so it turned out unluckily.)
He was no longer working at the Bolshoi Theatre by then. Times had changed. We crossed paths by chance a couple of times and spoke briefly: once, I recall, at the Okhotny Ryad metro station; another time at Sheremetyevo Airport—each flying off in his own direction. Alexander Alexandrovich left, I stayed in Moscow, and we never saw each other again. Upon learning that Sasha had secured a permanent position at the Mikhailovsky Theatre, I hoped we might meet once more, but a year later came the fateful pandemic…
He was a man of principle, conscientious, and utterly despised anything cheap or superficial. Once, laughing, I told him about a famous conductor who, gasping and nearly sobbing, pleaded with his orchestral musicians: “Look at my face!” Sasha winced with disgust and turned away.
Among Maestro Vedernikov’s performances, I vividly remember Mussorgsky-Ravel’s Pictures at an Exhibition, Shostakovich’s Sixth Symphony, and Prokofiev’s Fifth Symphony—all superb. Once he invited me to a performance of Eugene Onegin—a well-known extravagant staging; I must say, the sound of the orchestra and the singers captivated me to such an extent that I paid little mind to the production itself. Of course, I also listened to many of Alexander Alexandrovich’s recordings. Sharpest in my memory is Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony, captured on video, if I am not mistaken, in Japan.
Alexander Alexandrovich Vedernikov’s artistic identity combined broad emotionality with a remarkably clear, sober, penetrating, and inquisitive mind. This gave his art its distinctive character. A natural-born talent. He possessed an impeccable, crystal-clear hand—the sure sign of an equally clear head. Singular, uniquely charming—alas, now in the past!—were his voice, his manner of speech, and that face so deeply dear to my heart.
Moscow, October 2026
Source
Moscow, October 2026
Source
P. I. Tchaikovsky. Symphony No. 6
NHK Symphony Orchestra
Conductor: Alexander Vedernikov
Tokyo, 2017
NHK Symphony Orchestra
Conductor: Alexander Vedernikov
Tokyo, 2017