How old were you when you first choreographed for a company?

I was about 21. It was dedicated to John Cranko. His life. And his death, actually. I danced his work for seven years in Stuttgart. That’s where I met my wife. He was a very fascinating man. He died much too young. He was 47.

Was he a mentor to you?

In a way. He was the first one to let me choreograph on professional dancers, and with an orchestra. 

What other choreographers did you look to when you were young?

Cranko was very classically minded. His ballets are almost 19th-century, his “Romeo and Juliet” and “Onegin,” and so forth. But he was hugely intelligent and aware of what was going on in the world, and he invited Glen Tetley [to the Stuttgart], a great choreographer. And Cranko said to me, “Look into the next studio where Glen Tetley is working. You will love it. The way of moving is completely different.” 

How would you describe your movement style?

It’s not possible. Absolutely not possible. You see, I use the music of Beethoven, Benjamin Britten, Arne Nordheim, Tōru Takemitsu, Igor Stravinsky. How can you use the same vocabulary for completely different styles of music, completely different things? It’s funny you should ask, though, because I saw an old interview with me when I was young, when I did my first piece, and in it I said I think that choreographers should invent new vocabulary for every new piece they’re doing [laughs].

The other night, I was struck by, at least for those three pieces, “Wings of Wax,” “Gods and Dogs,” and “Bella Figura,” how completely different they were from each other. So I’m looking forward to tonight’s program, too.

It’s even more different!

But I want to talk about your musicality, because I’ve been trying to put my finger on it. There’s something that you do with music that’s different. To me, your movement actually brings out the music more. 

You know, the conductor [Vello Pähn] told me the same thing! I am a trained musician. If you dance, or want to dance professionally, in Czechoslovakia—that’s where I come from, now the Czech Republic—you go to the conservatoire and you must play piano. My teacher was the greatest Bach interpreter. So I did my state exams with the Italian Concerto by Bach.

Wow. That makes a lot of sense! And explains your relationship with music.

My grandfather was a conductor, my father sang in a choir, and my mother was a dancer. So it’s kind of in the genes.

Do you ever start choreographing without knowing what the music will be? Or does the music always come first?

Actually, for my recent works, like my last 14 works, the music was written for me. I usually use existing, mostly Baroque or early classical music. You heard Beethoven in “Gods and Dogs.” But it’s always treated with a contemporary spirit. It’s cut up in a strange way, or sound-edited. But I like the bridge. I like the link with history. It’s very important for me.

This is a hard one, but of the seven ballets on the program, which are you most proud of?

Well, if you have seven children…

I know. I knew you were going to say that!

But there are some very specific moments, and I’ll tell you. The second piece tonight, “No More Play,” which is done to Anton Webern—from the Second Viennese School, atonal music—that’s very close to my heart. And the last piece, “Symphony of Psalms,” which I mentioned, still holds up after 47 years. So those are definitely cornerstones of my work.