Life Itself Is Improvisation: Tobias Koch on Chopin, Hip-Hop & Living in the Present

koch_tobias_foto_vandermost_52_twon.jpg, default, Tobias Koch, photo: Teatr Wielki Opera Narodowa

Tobias Koch is one of the most intriguing figures in the world of historically informed performance. In this interview with Culture.pl’s Filip Lech, Koch discusses the high-pressure world of the ‘Musical Olympics’, reveals his surprising roots in hip-hop, and explains why understanding Chopin requires living fully in the present.

Dedicated to exploring the expressive potential of period instruments, Tobias Koch has a discography spanning over 50 albums – including releases for Deutsche Grammophon and the Fryderyk Chopin Institute – all while combining an active concert career with teaching positions in Düsseldorf and Berlin. Koch holds a special connection to Poland, appearing as a regular guest at the Chopin and his Europe festival and as a juror for the International Chopin Competition on Historical Instruments.

I spoke with Koch during his visit to Lyon, where he was performing alongside the Equilibrium String Quartet. This Polish ensemble specialises in music from the 18th and 19th centuries, with a particular focus on rediscovering forgotten works by Polish composers. The quartet’s members are: Sulamita Ślubowska, Małgorzata Malke, Anna Nowak-Pokrzywińska and Tomasz Pokrzywiński.

Together with Koch, they presented a programme featuring works by Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Ludwig van Beethoven, Karol Kurpiński and Juliusz Zarębski. The concert was held as part of Polish Focus in Lyon, a season of events running from November 2025 to June 2026 at the Auditorium de Lyon and the Chapelle de la Trinité.

Competitions & the ‘musical Olympics’

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Tobias Koch performing, photo: fb.com/tobiaskochpianist

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Filip Lech: As a juror of the Chopin Competition on Historical Instruments and the Polish Music Competition in Rzeszów, did you follow the ‘main’ Chopin Competition that recently concluded?

Tobias Koch: I must confess: not really. I wasn’t particularly occupied with it this time, though for no specific reason. However, I could feel it everywhere I went. The impact of this competition is worldwide – it’s intense and powerful. You could feel the vibes in every corner, a sense that something amazing was happening in Warsaw. It’s truly impressive. The Chopin Institute does it with more expression and power every time. And I think that’s good. You know, one can overdo things, but in this case, it goes with the flow. And that is what we all try to do with these big events – to keep the interest alive.

FL: Ideally, a competition should be a gateway to a career, yet for many young musicians, it feels like an endless cycle of ‘musical Olympics.’ How does one navigate this high-pressure environment without losing one’s mind?

TK: That is a difficult question for me, because I must admit I never really participated in the major competitions. I did enter some smaller ones, and I think placing yourself in a field of contestants is valuable – it offers inspiration, teaches you how to handle stressful situations, and introduces the element of comparison, which is important.

However, I abstained from the big ones for my own reasons. If someone truly wants to compete, they should. But I sometimes have doubts when I watch certain contestants. I get the impression they feel they have to do it, rather than wanting to, and I feel sorry for them. That’s the sense I get from some performances.

FL: Do you enjoy being a member of a jury?

TK: Honestly, it’s no burden. Ideally, it should be a pleasure and an inspiration. We pianists are very selfish people – we are not particularly social. Everyone is a king in his own kingdom. The piano stands alone on the stage, and we work in isolation.

Then, in a jury, you encounter so many different people, opinions and convictions. In Germany, we say: ‘There are as many opinions as there are heads in the room.’ I cannot look inside the heads of the other jurors, and I cannot judge them. I try to apply that to the participants as well: to listen to them rather than judge them. But in the end, the hard part comes when a decision must be made.

Obviously, my choices... they’ve never turned out to be the main prize winners. My suggestions were always a bit off the beaten path.

FL: Listening to that volume of music – six, eight sometimes ten hours a day – is incredibly demanding. How do you manage it?

TK: I get up in the morning, take a cold shower, and tell myself: ‘Okay, today I’m going to listen to music.’ That’s what I live for. That’s how I approach it. I listen to myself and I listen to others – I make no distinction.

The most important thing is to simply stay open-minded. It’s the same in life. How can you cross the street if you only think about yourself? It wouldn’t be worth it. You might as well stay home.

Four friends & two hands

FL: Today you’re performing with the Equilibrium String Quartet. The culmination of the programme is Juliusz Zarębski’s ‘Piano Quintet in G minor, Op. 34’.

TK: We’re performing here in Lyon with – I might say – my friends. ‘Four friends and two hands’, as I call it. We had a wonderful time recording this beautiful piece by Zarębski last year. It’s one of the major post-Romantic, eclectic, monumental piano quintets. I love the concept of the piano quintet because it isn’t just chamber music – it’s symphonic chamber music.

You have the individuality of the quartet and the individuality of the piano – let’s say, two planets meeting as they orbit each other. That’s the dynamic I always look for: the moment where we can blend and create something together. But there are also moments where we move in different directions. That’s the essence of the music. It’s a conversation.

FL: How do you engage with the era of Romanticism and the music you perform? Are there any books about the era that you’d recommend to enthusiasts?

TK: First of all, I always say: live in your own time. Keep both feet on the ground and observe what’s happening around you. If you remain open-minded, you’ll always be able to look into the past and find what interests you. Be it Molière, Adam Mickiewicz, Zbigniew Herbert or Wisława Szymborska – there are so many sources of inspiration. You can admire the paintings of Jan Matejko, for instance. You can gather ideas from every side.

We all have roots and convictions stemming from the past. It’s incredibly strong in classical music – even in modern works like Paweł Szymański's. If you don’t see the past, you don’t understand the music. The real question is: do you want to keep the past in a corner, or take it with you into the present?

My advice is simple: read books. Whatever the book, it broadens your horizon. It’s important to understand the 19th century through its literature. It provides a fantastic picture of the era – Chopin’s letters, for example.

FL: They’re very funny. Are they still funny in German translation?

TK: Yes, they’re beautiful, full of humour, and not at all ‘romantic.’ The letters are so modern – I wish I could write like that. It’s the classic drama of heartbreak: girls leaving him, a story we all know too well. But don't forget, there’s also so much humour in his music. That’s why the letters are essential reading.

FL: There are also very funny fragments about the Germans…

TK: Absolutely. You know, one of my biggest regrets is that despite visiting Poland often for many years, I still only have a basic knowledge of the language. However, I’m good friends with the pianist Aleksandra Świgut, she’s introduced me to so much literature. She gave me books by Zbigniew Herbert, for example, which I really loved.

When I read them, I use parallel texts: Polish on the right, German on the left. I read both. I can read and speak the Polish, but I don't fully understand it. That’s how I experience it – it becomes about the music. I find Polish to be a very musical language. It’s not just Italian – Polish is also beautiful. When you think about the songs, the language feels like a handkerchief wiping away a tear. It’s so delicate.

FL: Yes, and it’s terribly hard to pronounce, even for a native speaker. That’s what makes the Moniuszko Competition so remarkable: it’s an international vocal contest where participants from all over the world are required to perform a Polish repertoire. Hearing singers from abroad navigate these texts is truly amazing.

Since this interview will be published in both Polish and English, could you recommend some of your favourite Polish books – a ‘Tobias Koch selection’, so to speak?

TK: Definitely Zbigniew Herbert – absolutely his poems. I admit, sometimes they’re difficult – they possess a certain coolness. It’s not necessarily literature that embraces you warmly. It reminds me a bit of Heinrich Heine, with that underlying sorrow of existence. Yet, on the other hand, it’s so human that it brings me a great deal of relief.

I strongly believe in expression, and even more in the freedom of expression. That’s what I look for. When I read a musical score, I don’t want to treat it like a museum piece to be hung on a wall. I want to find that freedom of expression, which is the ultimate goal of being a living classical artist.

Life itself is improvisation

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Tobias Koch and Janusz Olejniczak, photo: http://fb.com/tobiaskochpianist

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FL: It’s interesting you mention freedom of expression. Yesterday, I attended a concert by Arte dei Suonatori inaugurating the ‘Polish Focus’ here in Lyon. After a whole month of listening to Chopin Competition performances, I was deeply moved by their freedom. It felt like modern art – vivid and alive – rather than a static museum piece. Speaking of freedom: can you describe the art of improvisation – specifically in the style of Chopin’s era – to someone unfamiliar with it?

TK: I’d spend all my money just to hear Chopin improvise. If I ever met him – or when I meet him – my only request would be: ‘Please, improvise on my score.’ Because improvisation is vital to Chopin’s music. You find it on every page – the spirit of improvisation is there, even if the notes are carefully written out.

Everything comes from improvisation – life itself is improvisation. Without it, you get nowhere. If you’re waiting for a tram, you have to improvise – it arrives late, plans change, something happens. You can’t neglect improvisation, not even if you work in an agency or a bank. You need that openness to deal with the unforeseen. I want art to be tactile. I want to feel its three-dimensional effects.

Personally, I learned a lot from my background in jazz and hip-hop during my student days. It gave me insight into harmonic processes and rhythmic structures. I also worked as a bar pianist. It’s a shame that improvisation is practically banned in our current musical culture. When Janusz Olejniczak and I play recitals together, or when I listen to him perform, sometimes he plays just a few unwritten notes before beginning the piece. It immediately conveys a sense of freedom – of a process beginning – rather than presenting a finished marble statue that you must simply look up to. I once travelled on a tourist train across Poland, playing the piano and let the changing landscape outside the windows inspire me to improvise music, rolling through Masuria... We went everywhere, even to Braniewo, right on the border with the Kaliningrad Oblast.

FL: There’s also the challenge of fidelity to the score. During a competition, thousands of listeners scrutinise the performance for errors. How do you reconcile that? How can one remain close to the score while improvising at the same time?

TK: There are always passages in great works of art that allow for more freedom, and places where you must be very strict. Obviously, you can’t do it in the last three Beethoven sonatas – you simply can’t insert another note, because there’s no space for it. But there’s plenty of space in his piano concertos.

The point is that 19th-century performance conventions viewed music not as a fixed entity, but as a work in progress. A performance always included extra elements. You still find this in the Ignacy Jan Paderewski tradition, for example. He isn’t the hero of the urtext – even if he tried to be – but he treated music as a living thing.

I must say, I completely missed that element when listening to the ‘big’ Chopin Competition. But I must admit, I’ve missed it many times in the historical competitions as well. There were so many possibilities... I’m very happy that some musicians who were perhaps in the ‘second row’ – like Dmitry Ablogin during the first competition – are now being recognised. Justice comes on its own, it doesn’t come from a competition. A competition produces results, but there’s no absolute truth in a competition. May the best person win, of course, but who is ‘the best’? Nobody knows. Nobody can define it. We must acknowledge that, and we must remain humble.

FL: You mentioned jazz and hip-hop, but I read that you’re interested in folk music as well. Improvisation is, after all, a significant element of traditional music.

TK: I have an unforgettable memory regarding that. I think it was 20 years ago when I visited Warsaw with a friend. There was a concert at the Royal Castle by Trebunie-Tutki – a folk group from the Tatra Mountains. They were performing with musicians from the Caribbean, I believe? They created quite a mixture.

FL: That was the Twinkle Brothers performing with Trebunie-Tutki – a Jamaican band formed in the 1960s. They’re reggae music pioneers.

TK: Yeah, it was fantastic. And to really understand the music... I believe the traditional folk element is very strong in Polish music in general. How can one play a Mazurka without knowing the different dance forms that stem directly from the rural tradition? Chopin knew this very well. He danced, he played, and people danced to his music. He did not compose his Mazurkas strictly for the ballroom, but in his youth, he’d play mazurkas, polonaises and other dances for his friends.

FL: Are you a dancer?

TK: I’m a bad dancer, as most musicians are, but I love to move.

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'Lady with an Ermine' by Da Vinci, photo: Dan Kitwood / Getty Images

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Listening without the score

FL: How do you listen to music privately?

TK: If I’m really listening to music, it’s a very personal experience. I look only for the effect it has on me. I do not listen to the structures. I try to avoid ‘professional listening’ – déformation professionnelle, as we call it – where you listen to a Beethoven symphony and just visualise the written score. I do the exact opposite.

Two days ago, I attended a concert by the Basel Sinfonietta conducted by Titus Engel, featuring Le Temps et l’Écume by Gérard Grisey. It was a programme of strictly contemporary music, and it touched me deeply. I must admit, I was moved to tears because it spoke to my soul and helped me understand myself better. That’s what music is for. We look for expression, and for the impressions that inspired the composers. It’s the same when you read a book. Or when you stand in Kraków before Lady with an Ermine by Da Vinci – how can you not be touched? If you aren’t, you are in the wrong place. You must open yourself to life, not just to music.

FL: Grisey’s music is indeed moving – it touches the deepest parts of the soul. My final question follows up on your book recommendations. Since we’re in Lyon – the birthplace of cinema – I must ask about film. Do you enjoy Polish movies?

TK: I must admit, I’m not a big movie-goer in general. I love silent movies – black and white, with improvised piano accompaniment. That’s quite the opposite of modern cinema.

I’m aware of the great Polish film tradition, and of course, I watch things occasionally, but they’re often very intense. Sometimes it’s good to take things easy rather than studying everything. I have a tendency... we all want to be perfect. If I find a poem I like, I want to read all the poems. But sometimes I have to tell myself: ‘Let it go, you don’t need the complete works.’

FL: Mentioning silent movies here in Lyon is the perfect answer.

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classical music

early music

chopin competition