Terezín composers have accompanied baritone Petr Matuszek for three decades—as both a performer and a music researcher. In the following interview, he discusses the power of this music and his relationship with the song cycles of Ullmann and Ježek.
What draws you most to the interpretation of songs by "Terezín composers," and what significance does this music hold for contemporary audiences?
Terezín composers have accompanied me since the mid-1990s—both as a performer and as a music researcher and listener. Music from the Terezín period was born out of a premonition of death and under horrific living conditions that tested the moral character of every individual. The incredible strength of these artists is an immense treasure and inspiration to me, and their legacy should never be forgotten. Furthermore, it is beautiful music that is rarely performed. And that is a shame.
How did you conceive the concert program—from Ullmann to Ježek? What, in your opinion, should the audience definitely not miss?
These are songs and song cycles that I love and that map the musical development of the first half of the 20th century—a period of incredibly rich creative ferment and many different compositional styles. They are songs I have recorded in several versions for Czech and international labels, as well as for Czech Radio and Radio Leipzig, so they are truly very close to me. Most of them combine my work as a performer and researcher; I even transcribed some of Ježek’s and Ullmann’s songs from the original manuscripts. Thus, today's repertoire is a deeply personal matter for me from several perspectives.
How did you prepare for interpreting composers like Viktor Ullmann or Pavel Haas, whose work is so strongly linked to tragic historical circumstances?
I perceive the origin and character of individual works within their full context. It is important to realize that the works of these composers are valuable primarily for their musical quality and uniqueness. It would be a mistake to view them only through the lens of authors for whom anti-Semitism prepared such a terrible end to their lives. Of course, when I sing songs written during a period when their authors were already confronted by rising anti-Semitism, I feel immense admiration and humility. I sense very strongly the unbreakable strength of the authors, with which they countered hopelessness and despair with artistic creativity of any kind. It is also thanks to them that I perceive art as a fundamental attribute that shapes each of us.
When did you first realize that you wanted to pursue singing and music professionally? How do you remember that time?
Regarding music, it was around age 15 when I went to study at the conservatory. I graduated as a violist; I only started singing toward the end of my studies, around age nineteen. And I was captivated, naturally, by opera.
You are also known as an interpreter of contemporary music and song literature—how does working on a classical opera role differ from a song recital?
In its intimacy. In songs, nothing stands between me and the audience. This creates a very close bond between us. Chamber concerts are always refreshing for me—a purification, both vocally and spiritually. A song interpreter should stand before their audience with an open heart. They cannot impress with virtuosity alone but must share their inner self with the listeners.
How was the collaboration with pianist Jiří Knotte while preparing the program, and how do you complement each other on stage?
Jiří is a wonderful, versatile musician; we inspire each other. I believe that the joy of making music and the interpretive partnership can be both seen and heard. What more could one wish for?
Do you have a favorite work from this concert program that brings you the most joy during performance or that you consider the greatest challenge?
I chose songs for the program that I love. All of them. And Foerster’s "Fairy Tale of Long Longing" (Pohádka o dlouhé touze) is to me, along with Schubert’s "Winter Journey" (Winterreise), the most amazing pure song cycle I have ever sung.
