David Zbavitel: „A moderator who is afraid to ask questions is not a moderator.” A man who conducts interviews while also spreading laughter as the clown Chytrolín.

David "Zbavoš" Zbavitel is a man of two worlds that, at first glance, couldn't be further apart — yet in his case, they work in perfect symbiosis. On one hand, he is a host who has been interviewing metal legends as well as figures from the domestic scene for years; on the other, he is the clown Chytrolín, bringing smiles to places where they are often in short supply. His projects Klauni z Balónkova and Klaunosanatorium prove that even a hard rock soul can have a big heart.

In the interview, we dive not only into the behind-the-scenes of his hosting work and encounters with music icons, but also into moments when laughter heals more than words. How is a good interview born? What keeps him moving forward after years on the air? And where exactly do the rocker and the clown meet? You can find out more in the full interview.

Davide, how did the clown actually come to life within you? When did the initial impulse to found Klauni z Balónkova arise?

Klauni z Balónkova came about as a combination of events and circumstances. In 2000, I took over an artist agency from my father. At the same time, I was already working at Radio Čas. While organizing events for various clients, a friend in Plzeň taught me a few balloon tricks, which I started to enjoy, so I kept learning more. As a host, I was doing events for children. During those events, organizers were surprised that we performed in plain clothes without costumes. So I borrowed a costume from a friend, gave myself the name Chytrolín (inspired by the character of the mayor's son Chytrolín from the fairy tale Fear Has Big Eyes), brought other colleagues into the project, and in 2007 Klauni z Balónkova was born.

This March marked the start of the nineteenth edition of Klaunosanatorium. What is it like for you to leave everyday life behind and enter a children's ward where joy is not a given?

I've never had a problem going into hospitals. After the revolution, I worked as a caregiver for a few years, even spending a year in pathology. It felt great — but I only realized that after my first visits, when I discovered I could genuinely bring smiles and gratitude not only to children's faces. Over time, it became something like a mission for me. And I've been grateful for that mission for nineteen years now, something I would have never expected in my life.

How mentally demanding is it to "prescribe" laughter in places where there is sadness? Do you leave the children's wards energized, or on the contrary drained and in need of distance?

It's clearly a positively charged experience and a good feeling. Every time I visit, I just walk onto the ward and everyone is smiling and happy that I'm there. And whenever I talk to anyone — whether it's a child, a parent, or the staff — the result is always a smile and a sense of joy. It's not possible to feel drained in such an environment. Even when I do feel tired, these hospital visits recharge my batteries.

How do your rocker side and your clown persona Chytrolín come together? Is it more of a natural connection, or a conscious way to maintain balance?

That's a difficult question. I'd probably answer it like this: each of those "sides" is completely different and, in theory, they wouldn't necessarily meet at all. On the other hand, I believe we've managed to connect these two very different worlds. For example, in my clown performances I sometimes use rock songs that I've rewritten for children.

At the same time, my rocker side is very similar to the metal community as a whole—they're people with big hearts who like to help. I see that every year when I realize how many rockers financially support the Klaunosanatorium project. So I'd say that while these two worlds didn't overlap much in the beginning, over time they've truly become a natural connection.

Your show Backstage is now in its sixth chapter. How has your interview style evolved over that time? Do you rely more on instinct today, or do you return to the honest "old school" approach from the 90s?

Six years isn't such a long period that would lead to a dramatic change in interview style. I'd still describe it as honest old-school. What has changed are rather other aspects that require adjustment. The Czech metal scene is quite small, so it happens that some guests appear more than once. In those cases, the second or third interview needs to be prepared more thoroughly and approached differently, otherwise the questions and answers could end up repeating. That means doing more research and thinking about how to make it different — through topics, structure, and so on. Another change we've introduced this year is interviewing guests who meet the criteria of being musicians or rockers but at the same time have another interesting profession or activity. Two examples: one recent guest was a drummer from the metal band Decay who is also a primary school principal, and another was an evangelical pastor who married me last October and is also a rocker who still attends concerts today.

In the 1990s, you hosted romantic "Songs of Love" on the radio. What from that school of empathy do you still use today when you need to "break the ice" with a tough metal star?

That's really ancient history. At present, I don't really use anything from that, because I've basically never encountered a "tough" metal star. It's usually their managers and the people around them who can be difficult and sometimes make the environment unpleasant. There's quite a lot that could be said about the management of bands like Electric Callboy or Lordi, for example how they constantly kept track of interview time.

As a teenager, you used to devour metal bands from tapes and posters in your room. What did it feel like the first time you put a microphone in front of someone you admired as a kid? Did you have to suppress the "fan" in you to stay professional?

The feeling was fantastic. It was like a dream come true—to meet and talk with people like Ronnie Atkins, Mille Petrozza, or Dee Snider. And the great thing is, I still have plenty of those names ahead of me, so sometimes I deliberately look for contacts to bands I personally like. At the same time, I have to keep in mind that I won't always match with every rocker, so I need to balance it out appropriately. As for personal meetings, I often openly admit that I've been a fan since my youth, because it helps break the ice and makes the atmosphere more relaxed. On the other hand, some of them even know what I do on TV Rebel and have watched it when they were in the Czech Republic — for example David Readman or Gus G.

Have you ever met guests who appear tough or closed-off on camera but are completely different backstage? How do you, as a moderator, work with this loss of authenticity?

Well, that kind of "official" persona is something you see with most of them—whether it's masks, clothing, or even, in some cases, controlling every shot to make sure they look good. I've also experienced guests who requested to review the entire recording to make sure nothing was said incorrectly. In most cases, they're actually very pleasant people who behave differently backstage. It mostly comes from the fact that they are often on the road and need to present themselves in a certain way, or simply act according to how they feel in that moment. How do I work with it? I understand it and respect it. I'll add two contrasting examples. In Vizovice, we were sitting in a catering tent, and five men sat down at the table next to us who looked like they'd just stepped out of a Vietnamese market stall — wearing flip-flops, colorful shorts, and "BEACH" T-shirts. And those were the members of The HU — on stage, they're like demons with throat singing. Another example is Lita Ford. After her concert, I was waiting for her outside the dressing room with an umbrella to escort her to the filming location (inside a distillery). When we brought her inside, she was absolutely amazed, and we had to explain everything to her about slivovitz and the other spirits they produce there.

Which of your dream bands surprised you the most with their down-to-earth nature, and with which did you realize it's better to keep your idols on records rather than in real life?

From the bands I've listened to since my youth, I'd mention Exodus — Tom Hunting is an absolutely easygoing guy who was open to discussing even his health issues with us. Another very relaxed person was Mark Osegueda from Death Angel — I'm really looking forward to meeting him again, as our last conversation took place before the release of Kerry King's solo album. As for the idea of keeping idols only on records, I can't really point to a case like that. Of course, there were refusals or situations where we waited for hours without success, but I attribute that more to the barriers created around musicians by their various managers.

How has your approach to preparing interviews changed from your early days in radio to today?

It depends on how you look at it—from which angle. I've been in radio for about 15 years and in television for roughly 11 years. In the beginning, there was probably more nervousness, especially when meeting the stars I grew up with. Later on, preparation became more demanding, particularly in order to avoid repeating interviews—or rather, repeating questions. It's also necessary to occasionally upgrade your approach to keep things interesting for the audience. And last but not least, a person gets older and sometimes remembers less.

What do you consider the most important trait for a moderator today, given that interviews are often getting shorter and space for dialogue is limited?

Perspective. It's a very important thing for a moderator, especially in rock radio. At the very least, you need a basic understanding of who you're talking to and what they're about. I've always been a supporter of the idea that "less is sometimes more," which makes it all the more important to have solid information in advance — to have perspective.

After all these decades on air, do you have an internal "red flag" that lets you recognize within the first minute that a guest won't cooperate and that you'll have to really work hard for the interview?

You can usually tell right from the very first sentence. Most guests are talkative, but occasionally you come across someone who answers every question in a single sentence—or even just one word.

How do you think a truly deep interview is created—is it more about the guest, the atmosphere, or your own mindset?

It's probably a combination of all of those. It helps when the moderator and the guest really "click" and have something to talk about. The atmosphere and the setting of the conversation are quite important too. And it's also good to have something up your sleeve that the guest doesn't entirely expect. That's why before most interviews, I go through older ones and look for something interesting the guest has said in the past. It actually works quite well, and this approach definitely contributes to a good conversation.

How do you think rock and metal audiences have changed over the past twenty years?

They've gotten older. But otherwise, not that much. It's still a fairly consistent community. Of course, new technologies for listening to music have emerged — things that simply didn't exist twenty years ago.

As a fan of the '80s and a vinyl collector—what about today's overly technologized metal production do you find most tiring, and what gives you hope in 2026 that honest musicianship still matters?

"Tiring" isn't exactly the right word — it's more that it's a shame how much is done by technology these days, and how the rawness of the '80s has been lost. But at the same time, that's exactly where the hope lies—there are still guys out there who simply play, for real.

What is a bigger challenge for you today: making a hundred children laugh, or getting an introverted musician—who would rather run away from the camera—to open up?

A musician who would want to run away from the camera — I haven't really come across one like that yet, so I can't say. Making a hundred children laugh is something I manage quite regularly. It's probably not entirely comparable, but hypothetically, the bigger challenge would be the children. A child audience is the toughest critic, because unlike adults, they don't hold anything back — if they don't like something, they'll let you know immediately.

When was the last time your "clown ability" to read people helped you diplomatically handle a backstage situation that your hot-headed rocker side would rather tell to get lost?

To be honest, I'm not really sure what "clown ability" to diplomatically read people actually means. I'm the kind of person who says what's on their mind — sometimes very directly and without much diplomacy. If anything, I'd say I can allow myself a bit more when dealing with people who hold certain positions. As a clown and a man in his fifties, I can casually say something like "hey, kiddo" to a director, and everyone — including him — takes it just fine. I probably wouldn't tell anyone to get lost. Another trait I think I have is that I'm pretty thick-skinned — if someone is unpleasant, I just let it go.

Your tattoo – Hetfield's microphone with a clown hat – has become your signature. Is it the ultimate symbol of accepting that these two worlds within you simply can't be separated?

I've never really thought about it that way. I didn't have any tattoos for a long time, and when I finally decided to get one, I wanted something that would represent me. A moderator and a clown — two clearly different worlds. And since Metallica is my all-time favorite, the choice was obvious. But actually, you might be right — in my case, it really is all connected.

How would you like the scene to remember you in twenty years? As a moderator who wasn't afraid to ask questions, or as someone who connected seemingly incompatible worlds?

A moderator who's afraid to ask questions isn't really a moderator. Definitely as someone who connected two different worlds — that's something I managed to do, and I'm truly glad for it. So the second option.

What makes you smile the most in 2026 when you observe the upcoming generation of moderators? Do they lack that "hard-earned" field experience?

There are people who think they are moderators, but the opposite is true. These are the types who, as I like to say, just "ramble" on air — saying whatever comes to mind without any real structure or connection. Rather than lacking field experience, what they're really missing is self-reflection.

What would you recommend, in conclusion, to someone who is just starting out with interviews and moderating?

There's quite a lot, actually. Don't be afraid, have a bit of healthy nervousness (because without it, you can't be good), be confidently yourself, develop your own style, and keep working on it —practice, practice, and practice. I mean especially voice training, because without training and repetition, there's no champion. I used to read newspapers out loud from start to finish, and I highly recommend that to everyone. It really works.

We would like to thank David for the interview and for the time he devoted to us. It was a pleasure to gain insight into his world, where moderation meets a clown's mission, and we appreciate the openness with which he shared his story. At the same time, we take away from the interview his valuable insights and advice not only on conducting interviews, but also on the overall approach to this profession.