One was born in Leipzig in 1944 and moved away early, the other has been a Leipzig resident by choice since 2014. But there are also many links between Joachim Kühn and Michael Wollny beyond the trade fair city: the two jazz pianists first collaborated in 2009. The joint album "Duo" followed this year. Recently, Joachim Kühn announced that he would be retiring from the concert stage at the end of the year. Before that, however, he gave a concert together with Wollny as part of the 48th Leipzig Jazz Days. His last in Leipzig, as he emphasized again during our interview. We met the two of them in high spirits the day after their performance at the Steigernberger Hotel in Leipzig's city center. The interview was conducted in cooperation with the Leipzig city magazine kreuzer.

During yesterday's concert, one had the feeling that not only the audience, but also you - the two gentlemen on stage - were very happy. Is this impression true?

Joachim Kühn: Yes (ponders for a long time).

Just yes?

JK: How many times have we played together now, Michael? Maybe 20 times...?

Michael Wollny: ...yes...

JK: ...and it was actually always the case that we were happy. Almost always. And that's why I really enjoy playing with Michael.

MW: I can only say that back. I keep saying that - and not just because we're sitting here together now: Joachim is my great hero. And every minute we make music together keeps me going for weeks and months afterwards. I had the same feeling yesterday during the concert. We had a great flow. Sometimes there are concerts where you have to think: What happens next? What do I do now? It's not always easy, especially with two grand pianos on stage. But yesterday I had the feeling that one thing led to another. I didn't have to think at all on stage.

JK: I felt the same way, fortunately. Thinking while making music together is very detrimental to the music. If possible, your head has to be clear. It's best to immerse yourself in a twilight or dream state.

MW: It's often the first few notes that determine whether it works or not.

JK: Exactly! They already have a lot in them. And if they're right, then not much can go wrong.

Being on stage is part of everyday life for both of you. Do you still get a bit of stage fright before you perform in front of 1200 people in a packed opera house like yesterday?

JK: No. I played my first concert at the Gohliser Schlösschen in 1950. I was six years old at the time. I didn't have stage fright then either. I come from a family of artists. My father was an acrobat and my brother was also known to be a jazz musician. And none of us had stage fright. And starting now at the age of 80 would certainly not be advisable. For me, nervousness is anti-music.

How is it with you, Mr. Wollny?

MW: I would say there is a certain basic tension before I go on stage. And that's also good for being focused and blocking out everything that has nothing to do with the moment. But I'm not nervous.

As you know, Mr. Kühn, you were born in Leipzig, but you left the city in your early 20s. Do you sometimes get a special feeling when you get on the plane to Leipzig?

JK: My first visit after the fall of the Wall - which must have been in February or March 1990 - was something special. Because before that I hadn't been in the city for almost 24 years [Kühn fled the GDR in 1966 at the age of 22 and was therefore unable to re-enter the country until the fall of the Wall; author's note]. In the meantime, things have normalized. I was born here and spent the first 22 years of my life here. But I don't associate any feelings of home with the city. Over the decades, I've lived in different areas and cities all over the world. I am a citizen of the world and was only born here by chance. That's all.

You have both played at the Leipziger Jazztage many times. What do you associate with the festival?

JK: When I think of the Jazztage, I particularly remember Bert Noglik. I've often played here in various constellations, including with Ornette Coleman and the Thomanerchor. That was both Bert's idea. Ornette was very impressed at the time to be in the city of Goethe. And I showed him the Thomaskirche. The last time I was here - which must have been in 2016 - I played in the Congress Hall, where I had last played with my brother in 1964. That was something special.

MW: I remember the two concerts with Ornette and the Thomanerchor from recordings. That was my first connection with the Leipzig Jazz Days back in the 1990s. Before I moved here 10 years ago, I had already played at the Leipziger Jazztage. Also in the opera house, but downstairs in the cellar, where there is a smaller stage. In the meantime, there has been a generational change within the festival team, which has also resulted in new impulses.

Photo: Simon Chmel

Which one?

MW: I think what characterizes the festival is that it always strives for innovative narratives, which are then conceptually and musically filled with life and content. I like that very much, and I think that in turn also characterizes the festival's concerts. Just like the city's musical history, by the way - both classical and jazz! That was something really great for me anyway when I moved to Leipzig: You walk out of the house and within a few minutes you're in the middle of musical history, for example in front of St. Thomas Church or the Gewandhaus. And if you want, you can go straight on from there to the Mendelssohn or Schumann House. Leipzig has this incredibly long tradition as a city of music, which you can encounter at every turn. And you can see that in the concerts that take place here.

Mr. Kühn, what was Leipzig like when you were growing up in the 1950s and early 1960s? There was probably no jazz scene in the narrower sense back then, was there?

JK: No, there was really very little in that respect. It was a terrible regime that prevailed back then. My family always stayed away from the SED. We had a lot of artist friends and through my brother I got to know a lot of musicians, for example from the Rundfunk-Tanzorchester. I also got to know Bert Noglik back then. There was a vaulted cellar in front of the Gewandhaus, where we had our first jam sessions.

Who played there?

JK: I remember an amateur band with a musician I'm still in touch with: Dieter Krüger. He now lives in Stuttgart. And the band played modern jazz with valve trombone and guitar. But you couldn't make a living from jazz back then, so most bands played dance music. For me, however, it was clear: I only wanted to play what I felt like playing. And dance music was never part of that. I only did it at the very beginning, to learn. But in my early 20s I said: that's the end of it now.

Jazz as the music of freedom was considered suspicious, even imperialistic, in the GDR, which was characterized by a great lack of freedom. Would you say that your turn to jazz was also an act of rebellion for you?

JK: No, not at all. For me, it was purely for musical reasons. Music doesn't need a political superstructure, no protest. I completely reject that. For me, music is about spirituality. In my opinion, it always has a bad taste when music is misused in the name of politics. The most I'll take away from that is John Coltrane. Otherwise, the political slant or the protest attitude in music is usually just a sales argument, a business ploy.

Back to her time in Leipzig...

JK: I went to Prague for a year in 1964. I already had a lot of connections back then, including to Poland, Hungary and Czechoslovakia. Something incredible happened in Prague after a festival: we were in a bar where Karl Berger was playing with his trio. I was 20 years old at the time and still very shy, but I asked if I could play along. It took me a lot of effort. Then we started playing and I had never played with such fantastic musicians before. It was the jam session of my life. I couldn't sleep all night afterwards. That jam session was the foundation for everything that followed.

Can you still remember the jam session of your life, Mr. Wollny?

MW: Yes! I must have been about 19 or 20 years old when I got a call from Guenter Hottmann, the jazz editor at Hessischer Rundfunk. He told me: "We don't have a pianist here at the moment, and - I remember exactly how he put it - you've got a good reputation. And that's where I got to know Albert Mangelsdorff, Heinz Sauer, Ralf Hübner, Günter Lenz and other jazz greats. The night before I was supposed to play with them, I couldn't turn a blind eye. 

And then?

MW: The next morning, I walked into the recording room and everyone just said: Hello Michael, it's nice to see you! It was suddenly all very relaxed. And then everything else felt like it came naturally to me from this situation - especially the really intensive collaboration with Heinz Sauer. And shortly afterwards I also got to know you, Joachim. But I don't think you can ever plan all that in advance. You have to be open, and you have to be able to overcome yourself at the crucial moments and learn to let things happen.

What does it feel like as a young musician to stand on stage with your idols and suddenly realize: Wow, I can perform here at eye level?

JK: I could already play the piano well when I was 14. But back then I realized that if I wanted to keep up with the others, I would have to practice 10 hours a day for the next 10 years. That's what I did. And later I was able to play with everyone: Whether standards or free improvisation. Long before I played with Ornette, I practiced while his records were playing in the background. I didn't just do that once, but over and over again. For weeks and months.

Ornette Coleman was known for playing without harmonies...

JK: ...yes, I had heard about it and I asked myself: how is that possible, how can you play together like that? But it inspired me at the same time. I thought: At least in music you can express yourself freely if you can't say what you want. In my mother tongue, I knew you had to be careful or you'd be taken away. I only had one close friend who knew the truth and with whom I could talk about it. Later, when I played with Ornette in the 1990s, I realized: I'm not his pianist, we're partners. Ornette always radiated the attitude: no matter where you were born or what color your skin is, anything is possible.

MW: In my case, I received many invitations early on in my life from people who opened doors for me. And it usually turned out early on that you were automatically on an equal footing. That was the case with Heinz, with Albert, and it was the same with you, Joachim. On the one hand, it feels like a dream, but on the other, it doesn't really matter at that particular moment. Because you're much more concerned with reacting.

Photo: Arne Reimer

At the beginning of your career, you also studied the music of your idol intensively...

MW: I remember seeing you live in Munich, Joachim, before we knew each other. I was sitting in the audience and was blown away because I thought: I've never heard anything like this before. I don't understand what's going on at all. It was pure madness. Afterwards, I tried to transcribe what I had heard. We met later as part of my final thesis and you gave me a three-page harmonic concept with scales. I then compared that with my transcript and realized: Ok, I was on-to-something.

If, like you, you are so heavily involved in music professionally, how does this change your relationship to music in your private life?

JK: I listen to music every day, at least one record. Mostly the older ones, but sometimes newer records too. But they don't usually have the same impact for me. I listen to them once and then put them aside, whereas I can listen to the old master records over and over again. They don't age, on the contrary: some of them sound even better today than they did back then. And apart from listening to records, I still sometimes strum the piano.

MW: I also listen to a lot of very different music - often due to circumstances that I can't really influence. For example, because students bring something to me or because I'm preparing a concert. For example, last year was Ligeti's anniversary (György Sándor Ligeti was an Austro-Hungarian composer; author's note), so I was asked to play a few concerts, and as a result I listened to a lot of Ligeti, everything I could find: Recordings, improvisations and even interviews.

Her passion for pop culture is also well known...

MW: Yes, I'm currently listening to the new record by The Smile a lot, for example. It's great! I also like listening to Nick Cave. Listening to music, reading and going to the movies: these three components are very important to me in everyday life, even if time is often short. It sometimes reminds me of my school days, when a lot of things were pre-structured. But there were always free spaces - an hour here, a day off there - and they became very important and intense for you. And it's the same for me today: between university, family and concerts, I need that one intense hour of listening to music, and then I have 23 hours again so that what I've absorbed can take effect.

JK: But one hour is not enough...

MW: ...yes, you're right, I should actually do that more!

JK: It was clear to me that I wanted to play whatever I wanted. That means: no family, no children. So for me, there is no separation between professional and private life. For me, the two belong together, it's my life. Music is not work for me. For me, work is at most packing my suitcase and driving to the airport to fly to the next concert. But the concert itself is passion.

You recently announced that you would be ending your stage career at the end of the year. What prompted you to take this step?

JK: I've had enough of the whole thing. I can't say that I particularly like the current scene. For me, the scene of the 1960s and 1970s was ideal. I'm tired of the constant traveling and also of the insane concentration you have to muster before a concert. It doesn't just start on the day, but weeks, sometimes months in advance. It's a bit like a boxer who knows that he has to be in shape on the day and give the best possible performance. It's a real feat of strength.

Photo: Simon Chmel

Are you going to retire?

JK: No, I will continue to go into the studio, experiment and record something if I feel like it. I have a studio just around the corner and I really like that luxury. I still want to make a few more records. And the next one always has to be better than the last one, otherwise you don't need to make it. I haven't always managed that, and with 150 records it's difficult. But there are a lot of them that I'm still pretty proud of.

When you mention your studio activities: Are there still plans, or even a kind of master plan for...

JK: ...no, no, there is no master plan for anything, not at all. The only master plan in my musical life was to earn enough money to make ends meet. That has always worked out, sometimes better and sometimes worse.

The better times were probably when you were signed to Atlantic Records in the 1970s...

JK: Yes, Sigi Loch guided me there. Back then, I found it appealing to make successful records. That was the time of jazz rock. I had just landed in California and had started a new life. I was experimenting with new sounds and keyboards. The first record that came out was "Springfever" and it went straight into the Billboard charts, as did the record that followed. I thought to myself: It's quite simple.

When will the next record be released?

JK: I've already done a lot this year. That's why I probably won't record the next album until next year - as long as I still like the current pieces. Sometimes I write a new piece that I no longer like three months later. Then it ends up in the garbage can.

How do you record your pieces?

JK: I transcribe them. It's like writing letters - except that I much prefer writing notes to words.

(INTERVIEW: LUCA GLENZER AND BENJAMIN HEINE)