Twelve years at the Glière Institute and the National Music Academy, alongside work in the National Presidential Orchestra. All of that was cut short on the second day of the full-scale invasion. On February 25, 2022, bassoonist Taras Kuzyk told his wife, “I’m going,” and headed to the Territorial Recruitment Center. There was no training—only comrades who showed him how to hold a weapon.
He spoke about his journey from musician to soldier and back in a conversation with Dzenyslava Safian, host of the podcast After the Pause.
After mobilization, he first ended up in the security company of the headquarters of the 112th Territorial Defense Brigade. But even then, the unit had various tasks, including rotations to the areas of Bucha, Irpin, and Hostomel. That was where the first combat missions took place. At first, the commander did not allow him to join these rotations, believing he was not ready yet. Only on the second attempt did he manage to convince him. That is how he ended up in a platoon operating in the Bucha–Irpin–Hostomel sector. The tasks were simple and harsh at the same time: holding a designated position and being ready to blow up a target in case of an enemy advance. He stayed with his comrades until the end of his service.
Later, another change occurred: they were transferred from the 112th Brigade to the 241st. This meant rotations between the left and right banks of Kyiv, constant movement, and long periods of waiting for combat deployment. Until early summer, they remained in the city, which created a strong desire to be where real action was happening.
Within the unit, there was even insistence that they be sent to the combat zone. They were told to wait, including until May 9, when the situation might change. After that period of waiting, they were eventually deployed.
The area was Kherson region—a bridgehead under the command of the 36th Marine Brigade. There they spent 36 days in positions located very close to the enemy. After that, the unit was withdrawn and transferred under the command of the 206th Battalion of the 241st Brigade, where they served until mid-autumn, until another rotation took place.
Meanwhile, there were further structural changes within the unit: the company commander and part of the comrades from the sixth company moved to the 251st Battalion. They left a bit earlier, still from the Mykolaiv direction, where they had been since the beginning of the full-scale invasion. After the Mykolaiv phase, others joined them, and service continued within the 251st Battalion of the 241st Brigade in the east of the country, including the city of Bakhmut in Donbas. In March 2025, Taras was discharged from military service, after which he returned to the National Presidential Orchestra.
— What motivated you to go to war on February 25?
— It started long before the full-scale invasion, with the events of the Maidan. I was part of a Cossack hundred at the time. And a few comrades—one of them, the father of my close friend, together with another—went to war immediately in 2014. Back then—and I always say this honestly, I use it as a kind of justification—he made me promise that I would continue with music rather than go to war.
At that time, of course, there was fear, lack of understanding, and so on. I didn’t go—and I constantly reproached myself for it. By the time of the full-scale invasion, I already had a clear belief: if such a global situation started, I would definitely not stay on the sidelines.
Of course, music did not matter then. The only thing that mattered was defending the homeland—trying to preserve its sovereignty and integrity. What music could there be at such a moment?
— Were you able to listen to music during that period?
— I always listened to music. Mostly jazz. Later, over time, I returned to rock music. There was almost no classical music.
— Was it easy to return to musical form after being discharged from military service?
— Quite easy. I did not expect it; I thought it would be much harder. First of all, the orchestra director gave me a month to recover so that I would not be involved in any programs and could focus solely on regaining my form. Although I started participating earlier, because sitting and practicing for a month straight is, let’s say, not very exciting.
There were, of course, some difficulties. Later, working with specialists, it turned out that my long-term memory had been slightly affected. There were moments when I looked at the notes: I knew what the note was, but I couldn’t fully recognize it or decide which fingering to use. Sometimes even now it happens, but very rarely. Gradually, I eased back into working mode.
When I returned from the military and needed to play contrabassoon, I would sit down at it simply because I knew where to find it. Unfortunately, the orchestra still does not have its own instrument. (“And you, the young ones, play first and second bassoon parts—you need to develop and build repertoire.”) After returning, I realized that music is not a lifelong absolute. My view, perception, and understanding of everything had changed significantly.
If earlier I was afraid that, God forbid, something might happen to a finger—and that would be a catastrophe, how would I play—now my thought is: “God, at least let me have the whole arm.” Modern prosthetics are so advanced that it doesn’t matter, and the world does not revolve around music alone. There are many possibilities, if there is willingness.
— What surprised you most in civilian life after the front?
— No surprise. The military teaches you not to be surprised by what is happening around you. There is, however, disagreement with certain things, and a lack of understanding of how there are individuals for whom the war does not exist. People who say: “Why should I lose money because of donations?”
There are those who believe “nothing is black and white,” or talk about “great Russian culture.” I categorically do not accept that. I know such people, at least in my surroundings, and I have one question for them: why are you still sitting here? Why are you sitting in warmth and comfort, having a job, a roof over your head, without having to walk kilometers to positions under shelling, FPV drones, constantly risking your life?
I do not accept this disengagement. You are either in the military or for the military.
At the same time, there are colleagues who do everything for the army. Probably the only thing that truly surprised me was colleagues who showed a very consistent and active stance. I was like: “Oh, I did not expect that from you.” And that is good.
— On your social media you constantly promote fundraisers. Are these your comrades’ fundraisers or your own volunteering initiative?
— First and foremost, these are fundraisers of my comrades who continue serving, fighting, and reducing the number of parasites on our land. I still have not officially obtained volunteer status. And honestly, I do not know if there is an urgent need for it—because regardless of status, nothing prevents me from doing this work.
Fortunately, I have very good close friends who are volunteers, in particular from the Volunteer Association “Zgraya,” which has been operating since 2014, since the beginning of the war. Some things I do on my own, some together with them. There is also the “Doshka Foundation,” organized by the husband of an acquaintance of mine—he is French. It might not concern him directly, but he helps both soldiers and civilians. Meanwhile, some of our individuals do not consider this necessary. So I continue. Now a bit less intensively than before—it is also necessary to spend time recovering my strength and energy so that I can later re-engage in helping my comrades in waves.
— Besides music, you are also training in a new specialization.
— Yes, I recently completed a course in automation of routine business processes. I am gradually retraining in this direction in order to finish my professional career in music. I want to move into a field where I can control processes myself—what happens, when, and how. Where I do not need to constantly be surrounded by people I do not like.
Let’s be honest: in the Ukrainian classical music world there is a lot of rot. And I do not like it; it is hard for me to stay in it. That is one of the main reasons I want to leave this field. And of course, the financial side is also important. So I am looking for other paths of realization.
— When you say “rot,” do you mean pro-Russian views?
— Human relations, first of all. A lot of people who show off without reason. Even if there are professional grounds—it is not an excuse. Many people are not really musicians, but they wear a crown, and you look at it and think: “God, why this?”
As my teacher used to say: when someone starts talking, he would always say, “Come and show me on the bassoon.” Words anyone can say—but show me on the bassoon, and then we will see.
I deeply respect my teacher, Mykola Kamyshnyi. We are still in close contact. He is an extraordinary person—a teacher with a capital T. He has no loud titles, but he works not for himself, but to give young people a chance to succeed. He always worries about every student, always stays in touch. In our class there were many people in the military—some stayed, some were demobilized, some left earlier or later.
Yurii Kusiak worked at the Odesa Opera before joining the military, as far as I remember. Mykola Brusnyk is currently serving. I also recall Mykhailo Dovzhenko, Dmytro Chutchenko, Oleksii Kataiev. They did not all continue in music, but they were part of the class of my teacher. He stays in contact with everyone.
— These thinking patterns—musical and life-related—were they reflected in you during your military service?
— Of course. Apart from parental upbringing, since I have lived independently since 15, my teacher had a very strong influence on my formation. In the military I constantly saw this in myself: organization, responsibility, structured thinking, step-by-step planning, self-control. These things are constantly present.
He taught us to be human—that is the main thing. Anyone can press the keys. But being human in any situation is what matters. He taught systematic thinking. And later you suddenly realize: you are applying exactly what he taught.
— Would you like to teach music?
— At one point I did think about it. I was even invited to teach at Glière, but it didn’t happen. And now I understand it is better that it didn’t. Even in teaching there is a lot of negligence and things I do not accept. I would not fit into that environment.
— Are you originally from Kyiv?
— No, I am from Lviv region. At nine I joined the “Dudaryk” choir chapel and moved to Lviv with my mother. Then I studied clarinet in a music school for four years. In 2008 I entered Glière.
I joke that I was such a “talented” clarinetist that they told me: switch to bassoon or go back to Lviv. In reality, I simply stopped caring about exams and didn’t like the clarinet. My mother asked: “Bassoon?” I said: “Bassoon.”
— Are your parents musicians?
— My mother studied piano in music school and sang. My grandparents sang in a church choir. I sang from childhood. My grandfather (born 1935) told me about WWII and the post-war period. My grandmother was born in 1937. We knew real history: repression, Siberia, Solovky prison camps… That was part of my upbringing.
Now we have a choice, and not everyone uses it for Ukraine. There is an external enemy and internal problems.
Today you can choose a military position openly. We did not have that. We went into the unknown with understanding. And when someone avoids service out of fear of choosing—it is incomprehensible to me.
— What was the hardest part during service?
— The hardest thing was seeing a person’s life drain away in my hands. I once had to perform as a combat paramedic, though I did not choose it. When we arrived at the first bridgehead, there was no medic. The commander assigned me after learning I had shown interest in medicine.
I said: “Are you insane? I am a musician.” But I ended up doing it for a while—until a comrade bled out in my hands. After that I asked for a week to recover. Later I was gradually moved into logistics and paperwork.
— I saw your poetry channel. Was that a form of relief?
— Yes. Poems come in the moment. It was a way to honor fallen friends and release emotions. I wrote about the Maidan, about events, sometimes love poetry.
A major trigger was the death of my close friend Kostiantyn Starovytskyi, a bassoonist. We had planned to meet for coffee—but it never happened. After his death I started writing again. Poetry appears when life becomes intense. When it is calm, I do not write.
— So music and art transform into other forms in your life? And automation is one of those forms?
— Not exactly. Music never leaves me. But I do not want to pursue it professionally anymore. Automation is about structured systems. It is similar to reading a score—many layers at once that you organize into a system.
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The project is a winner of the Per Forma grant program developed by Kyiv Contemporary Music Days with the support of the Performing Arts Fund NL and the Ministry of Education, Culture and Science of the Netherlands, aimed at developing the performing arts sector in Ukraine.
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