Marek Švejkar: When Music Becomes a Performance, It Ceases to Be Music

Jana Rambousková / Klasika Plus

Marek Švejkar is a clarinetist of remarkable versatility. He spent eight years in Paris (including studies at the prestigious Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Paris), and his journeys have led him to mentors in Italy, Norway, Finland, the Netherlands, and beyond. In addition to his solo career, he is involved in doctoral research, pedagogy, and opera singing, and he is also a trained pianist. For him, the idea of "connection" is paramount, and he finds inspiration for both music and life in philosophy. In this unusual and thought-provoking interview, we began by discussing the creation of his debut CD with Supraphon.

Can you tell us about your current recording projects?

I am currently in the post-production phase of a new CD – everything has been recorded and the album is being "finalized." The repertoire is built on contrasts and is entirely dedicated to music for solo clarinet. Alongside Bach, the album features the complete clarinet works of Boulez and Berio, both of whom celebrate the centenary of their birth this year. It felt meaningful to focus on them—especially with Boulez, as I am linking it to my doctoral research, beautifully merging the interpretive and scholarly dimensions.

How did you come to record this CD?

I have been dedicated to Boulez’s music for over a decade; it has essentially accompanied my entire studies. I first encountered his work during the entrance exams for the Conservatoire de Paris, where one of his pieces was mandatory in the first round. It captivated me immediately. I chose Boulez as the subject for my graduation thesis at the conservatory and later followed up on it in my master's thesis in Paris. Now, I am continuing with a comprehensive study where the theoretical part is supported by practical research—specifically, the recording of his solo clarinet compositions.

When will you complete your doctoral studies?

I graduate next year, but for some time, I had the idea of directing everything toward 2025 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Boulez and Berio. I find it interesting that almost no one here focuses on their music, while in the West, they are experiencing a massive "boom." I am trying to bring this music closer to the Czech audience—even though I am not strictly a modernist or purely a "contemporary music" performer. In this context, it made sense to mention the project to Supraphon, and to my surprise, they showed interest. In the Czech Republic, contemporary music usually means "just written" works, while movements like multi-serialism, punctualism, or the "music of timbres" from the last century are often viewed as "obsolete."

Can you describe Boulez’s compositional style specifically in his solo clarinet works?

I would start by saying that Domaines was the first piece where I encountered so-called "mobile" or "open" form. Unlike Classical or Romantic pieces, where the music has a fixed progression, the order of individual sections here is not strictly determined—the performer can choose it. For me, it was a completely new way of thinking about form. Conversely, in Dialogue de l’ombre double, the clarinetist works with a fixed text and chooses between two existing versions of the piece: aux chiffres romains and aux chiffres arabes.

Would it be accurate to call Domaines aleatoric music?

Essentially, yes. But it isn’t "free aleatory" in the sense that the performer can play anything. It is more of a "strictly controlled freedom"—every fragment is precisely defined, and one must 100% adhere to the duration, dynamics, articulation, and pitch exactly as Boulez wrote them, which is the principle of multi-serial compositions. The freedom comes only when choosing the order of fragments, notebooks, and in many cases, tempo markings or dynamics. Everything can be beautifully and "infinitely" combined through permutation principles. Even so, one must maintain a cohesive musical flow and extract "music" from the phrase. This is very difficult and, for me, crucial in this type of music. Thanks to the mobile form, every performance is essentially different.

What is your relationship with 20th-century music and other musical periods?

Until about three years ago, before I began focusing intensely on the modern era, I primarily played Classical, Romantic, and post-Romantic repertoire—up to roughly Prokofiev. But I am open to different directions, and the current CD is proof of that. For me, it is a step out of my comfort zone that makes great sense.

In what way?

In the Baroque era, the clarinet as we know it didn’t exist, so approaching Bach’s solo works on the clarinet in a way that makes sense for the listener isn’t easy. I say this as someone who truly loves Bach—I literally grew up on his music in Paris. Studying his music there was part of technical training, which isn't common everywhere. On the other hand, Boulez and Berio are composers whose music is very demanding and complex. I tried to assemble the album so that everyone could find something in it—whether they are closer to the Baroque or the 20th century.

It seems you’ve connected several of your life paths in this CD: Boulez (French/Paris), Berio (Italian/Rome). How would you compare Paris and Rome in terms of the musical sphere?

It’s not easy to compare because I was in each place at a different stage of my life. But if I were to generalize, my first impression of Rome was that the environment is much more relaxed. Paris felt much more competitive; people were more tense. Musically, however, both were incredibly valuable experiences.

How did your journey lead to the Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia in Rome?

I got in based on an audition of solo works and orchestral excerpts. I was drawn to the idea of working with the fantastic Alessandro Carbonare because I felt the need to balance my experience with the French school, which relies heavily on technical precision. Alessandro has a completely different approach—more expressive, more open. It turned out to be the right choice. The teaching took place roughly once a month in blocks with soloists from the Orchestra Nazionale di Santa Cecilia. It wasn't traditional pedagogical guidance, but rather a sharing of different interpretive perspectives.

Being a musician is an adventure, but it also brings uncertainty. Is it a fulfilling adventure for you, or a source of stress?

It used to be stress; today I see it differently. Over the years, I’ve learned to take risks and trust my intuition. I’ve stopped pushing myself so hard. I’ve accepted that uncertainty is part of life, and since then, many things have started to change. Not in the sense that the Berlin Philharmonic is suddenly calling, but rather that I can breathe better; I feel better in life. And I have the feeling that things have started coming to me on their own—sometimes in ways that exceed my expectations.

You mentioned that in major musical metropolises, music is increasingly focused on "performance" (výkon). Is this healthy for music?

I feel that in cities like London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna—and now probably Prague—music is becoming more and more performance-oriented, which I don’t find to be the ideal direction. Today, there is an obsession with perfection, often adoring something almost unnatural. The principle of "performance" is inherently set up so that one must constantly surpass it—that is the principle of business. Art, in my opinion, must not function the same way. Art should be accepted even with its flaws—just like people and nature. Today, the pressure for perfectionism is so great that something naturally human, authentic, and "true" often disappears. That essential tension, where the listener waits to see what comes next, is what I often miss in current trends.

Is the solution a "healthy defiance" and accepting uncertainty?

Yes, unequivocally. But it’s hard because the emphasis on performance starts in schools. When a young person enters a conservatory, they usually have no idea how the music world works. I won many competitions, but competitions—with few exceptions—are no guarantee that you will get anywhere. Unless you exert tremendous effort to promote yourself, nothing usually happens. This is especially true for "non-traditional" solo instruments like the clarinet. Furthermore, I feel that competitions today do not seek authenticity. On the contrary—there is more and more pressure for uniformity, the exact opposite of something personal.

Let’s move to the International Music Festival Český Krumlov. You are appearing there as a soloist and as part of the festival team. How did that happen?

A year ago, I was approached to perform at the 34th year of the festival. The concert will take place on July 23, and I will perform with cellist Tomáš Jamník and dancer Eliška Kopecká—we are preparing a very interesting and unusual concept. A year later, I found out they were looking for someone for music production. Since I’ve been my own manager for years, I realized I had something to offer. This year will be the first where I participate both as a producer and a performer.

You have a vast range of activities—clarinet, piano, opera singing, teaching, research, production. Is there one that is closest to you?

I have no single priority. The centerpiece of my activity is classical music, and because my field is so broad, it allows me to understand many structures in detail. Studying abroad—Paris, Norway, Finland, the Netherlands—and performing across the US, Europe, and even Africa gave me a valuable insight into how things work in different countries. It helps me put things into context.

Is it healthy for a musician to travel and see the world?

Absolutely. Everyone should go abroad for a while, if only to step out of the bubble they grew up in. Otherwise, it’s easy to fall into a distorted perception of reality. These experiences often test you—sometimes they knock you to the bottom. But when you hit that metaphorical rock bottom and endure, it strengthens you significantly. It leads to greater empathy and understanding.

Has anything non-musical inspired your interpretation style?

Definitely. I am deeply inspired by philosophy, specifically phenomenology. My role model is the philosopher Anna Hogenová. Philosophy has immense value for me—perhaps even more as a human being than as an artist. It gave me a completely different view of how the world shows itself to us, and how we perceive the meaning of life. It gave me hope and a level of understanding that is hard to describe. It allowed me to let go of many internal patterns and brought a deep sense of freedom.

That is a beautiful way to end. Is there a final thought you’d like to share?

If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s to expect nothing from anything or anyone. That is what helps me overcome obstacles and keep going. To do things with an open heart, to do them because I am drawn to them, because I enjoy them—that is the meaning. There is nothing more to it. And then life itself will guide you exactly where you need to be to fulfill your life’s purpose.

That takes great courage.

It does, and perhaps that is what people sometimes lack. We lack the courage to enter the world knowing we cannot plan everything. We cannot plan ourselves; we cannot calculate exactly where our future path will lead—which, by the way, is one of the core ideas of phenomenology, uncovering the essence of phenomena from their "hiddenness." When we live according to expectations, it leads to burnout, not happiness. I believe the path forward is to face things head-on, not to run away from them. This could be the way out of the "performance epidemic" and the constant competitiveness we discussed. If each of us started with ourselves, it could shift and cultivate the environment of classical music.

Marek Švejkar: When Music Becomes a Performance, It Ceases to Be Music

Website created with ♥ by Web7.cz | Cookies management