Marian Fil: “I Didn’t Choose The Profession Of a Composer — It Chose Me”

Marian Fil is a Ukrainian composer for whom the most important part of creating a new composition is having an inner feeling that he has something to say.

Marian has been involved in music since childhood — he independently chose to study the accordion at a music school, and he wrote his very first étude for this instrument.

About how a profession can choose you, the process of composing music, and the future of the composer’s craft in today’s technology-driven world, Marian shared his thoughts with Drive Music Media.

Interviewer: How and when did your journey as a composer begin? Why did you choose this field?

Marian: My path into music began in a rather unconventional way. I came to music consciously and independently — no one led me by the hand to a music school. I enrolled myself in accordion studies, and my parents only found out afterward, when the teacher called them to say that I was already studying at a music school.

I started inventing my own melodies and themes back in childhood, intuitively, without realizing that there was such a profession as “composer.” It was more a natural urge to create something than a deliberate choice of a future career.

I began to think more seriously about my own music while studying at a music college. A turning point came from what seemed like an ordinary moment: my friend and classmate Marian once came to me and said he had written an étude for guitar. For me, this was a revelation — I realized that I wanted to do the same. I immediately went and wrote an étude for accordion. When it was finished and I felt that I could create music on my own, my interest in composition became much deeper and more serious.

A huge role in this process was played by my accordion teacher, Viktor Hryhorovych Chumak, who supported my creative attempts and allowed me to perform my own works during technical exams. For a young musician, such trust and support are incredibly important — they give you a sense of legitimacy of your own voice.

That is why, when applying to the music academy, I consciously chose composition rather than the path of a performing accordionist. Fortunately, I found myself in a strong pedagogical environment, particularly working with my composition professor, Bohdana Oleksiivna Froliak, who for many years worked with me persistently, attentively, and deeply — shaping not only my technical skills, but also my compositional way of thinking.

At present, I am studying in an assistantship program and plan to continue my education, because for me this process is not about diplomas, but about trying to better understand myself.

The profession of a composer is not typical and certainly not for everyone. To be honest, I did not choose it — it chose me. If I could do something else, I probably would. But composition gives me something no other field can: the ability to create what does not yet exist, to speak to the world in my own language, and to capture my sense of time, space, and reality through music.

Interviewer: Where do your compositions come from? What becomes the catalyst for writing new music?

Marian: Almost always, everything begins with an idea. It is extremely important for me to feel an inner necessity to say something — something critically important, without which the piece simply has no meaning.

The catalysts can be very different: life events, intense personal experiences, literature, philosophy, theater, space, metaphysical questions of existence. All of this gradually accumulates and, at some point, demands a musical form.

I fundamentally do not write music “just for the sake of it” or for quantity. You can always sense when a piece is created without inner content, merely for the fact of its existence. I am opposed to that approach. For me, music must be honest — first and foremost with myself. Without that, it loses its power and meaning.

Interviewer: How difficult is it to create new compositions and organize concerts during a full-scale war? What challenges have you faced?

Marian: The war has radically changed the lives of all of us. For many artists, it became an impulse to speak directly about pain, loss, and tragedy. For me, however, the first period of the war was a state of complete stupor — an inner numbness where neither words nor sounds appeared.

Writing about war is extremely difficult, especially when you are inside this process. I believe that understanding requires a certain distance and time. At the moment, I continue to write music, but it is not a direct reaction solely to the war — it is music about everything that is happening to me as a human being living in this time.

Perhaps later, musicologists and listeners will analyze the works of artists of our generation and discover hidden meanings of this era within them. But today, we are unable to give an objective assessment of ourselves. This truly requires more time.

Interviewer: You recently went on tour. Tell us about this part of your life — the preparation and the process. What is the hardest and what is the easiest for you?

Marian: I am, in fact, still in a touring mode. It is a complex and exhausting process: daily travel, constant changes of space, rehearsals and concerts without pause.

Touring is not romance — it is hard physical and psychological labor that requires great endurance, discipline, and inner focus. The hardest part for me is the constant lack of silence and time for inner recovery. The easiest part is stepping onto the stage — the moment when the music begins to live independently and no longer belongs only to you.

Interviewer: Which of your compositions holds the most special meaning for you? Why?

Marian: Every piece I write is important and special to me, as each one captures a certain state or stage of life. However, one of the most significant remains the cello and piano sonata “Devaldi Korbes.”

This work became the first of mine to be performed not only in Ukraine, but also in the United States — at a festival of Ukrainian contemporary music in New York. The sonata had two premieres, which for me is a symbolic and deeply valuable experience.

Interviewer: Almost every musician has a work that will never see the light of day. Do you have such works, and why?

Marian: Yes, I have pieces that have never been — and perhaps never will be — made public. Most often, these are very personal works, created not for the stage, but for an inner dialogue with myself. Some of them are too intimate; others simply have not yet found their time and space.

Interviewer: How do you see the future of the composer’s profession, considering the impact of modern technologies and artificial intelligence?

Marian: This question concerns many artists today. Artificial intelligence is indeed capable of generating music, but it merely recombines what has already been created by humans. It is not an original creative product in the full sense.

Only a human being can evaluate music, feel its meaning and necessity. AI cannot replace composers, because the human being remains the main creative resource in art.

I believe AI should be understood and studied. It can become a tool for auxiliary tasks, but not a replacement for the author. Personally, I do not use AI in my music, because it must be only about me and only mine.

Interviewer: What challenges should those entering the world of composition be prepared for?

Marian: This is a very demanding profession that requires complete dedication. The main thing is to answer yourself honestly whether you are ready to devote your entire life to it. If not, it is better not to begin.

Your ideas will not always be understood or accepted. But if you truly believe in what you create, you must keep going regardless of others’ opinions. Creativity is subjective, but it has its own laws. Today, this field requires a wide range of skills — technological literacy, proficiency in specialized software, not only notation programs but also various DAWs, not to mention the theoretical and instrumental foundation a composer must possess.

Interviewer: What projects are you working on right now?

Marian: I do not like to talk about future projects before they begin to take shape. Those who follow my work will certainly see upcoming events in due time. A composer needs silence — in every sense of the word.

Interviewer: What mission do you have as a composer?

Marian: I have never formulated my mission as something pompous or externally imposed. For me, it is an inner necessity rather than a declaration. I feel my mission is to speak to the world through music — about myself, my experience, my time, and the space in which I live.

Being a composer means capturing reality not through facts, but through sensations. Through sound, silence, form, and tension, I try to convey what cannot always be expressed in words. In this sense, my music is both a dialogue with the world and a way of self-identification.

I also consciously feel a responsibility to speak about Ukrainian culture — not as a slogan or declaration, but as a living, complex, contemporary reality. For me, Ukrainian music is not only tradition, but also a space for thought, experimentation, and philosophical exploration.

I do not aim to explain or persuade. I want to be honest in what I create and give the listener the opportunity to hear not only the sound, but the human being behind it. If my music is capable of provoking questions, inner movement, or silence — then it fulfills its function.

Very often, I want the listener to find something of their own in my music, to feel this wave of tension and pressure, the moment of expansion of the cosmos.

Interviewer: With what word do you associate your compositional path?

Marian: Philosophy.

Because for me, composition is not about profession or career. It is a way of thinking and a way of existence. I do not perceive music as a set of techniques or methods, although without them nothing works. What matters more to me are the questions that arise during the work on a piece, and the states you enter while composing.

Each of my works begins with an inner question. I do not always know the answer — and sometimes it is not needed at all. Sometimes the process of searching itself is enough. Music gives me the ability to think not in words, but in sound, form, and silence.

My path is a constant reflection on myself, the time I live in, and what happens to me. Without final conclusions and without a period at the end. That is why the word “philosophy” feels the most accurate for understanding my journey — a path where honesty of questions matters more than answers.

The interview was written by Asya Radko. Pictures were provided by Marian Fil