Dear everyone! We're happy to present our MUSIC WIDE OPEN podcast - the place for an honest and thought-provoking conversation. About music, business, life, technology and the future. For curious music enthusiasts and musicians seeking personal growth. The first ten episodes have already been recorded and are waiting to be published: once a week, every Tuesday, available on all major platforms. We begin with... EPISODE 01 - "Let's start with why" which provides background on why we started this podcast. This, inevitably, includes summarizing a few facts from Ingolf's life and our shared journey so far. It also gives a subtle glimpse of the wide array of subjects we will cover. Unlike the first episode, the next episodes will be less personal and more general, in which we will talk about complex topics, share our knowledge and experience, and open the door to two worlds: one - unknown to music enthusiasts and another - foreign to musicians but important for them. We will touch upon very human matters, we will explore uncomfortable yet eye-opening topics and we will delve into the profound nature of life, happiness, and self-fulfillment. Always keeping music and musicians as the central focus. We hope that this podcast will not only provide you with food for thought and introduce aspects you haven't considered, but also empower musicians who often feel lost.
Have a wonderful day,
Ingolf Wunder and Paulina Wunder
Welcome to the Music Wide Open podcast, the place for an honest and thought-provoking conversation about music, business, life, technology, and the future. For curious music enthusiasts and musicians seeking personal growth. I'm Ingolf Wunder. And I am Paulina Wunder.
This first episode, I would like to start with a question: why? Why we decided to make this podcast, for whom, and what we will be talking about? There will also be a small summary of our journey—your journey, Ingolf—and let’s call it an explanation of why one of those young pianists, a couple of years ago, who got a popular label, let’s call it "a rising star of the piano scene," pretty soon decided to take a big risk and to change the direction of his career and life.
But first things first: let’s answer the question—why do we start this podcast? Ingolf, maybe you go first.
It’s really the most important question, and it’s impossible for me to disentangle this answer from my life. From the very beginning, it was always, for me about, how to make music—how to make music the best—and about interpretation. My focus is on the quality music angle, which we will come to over the course of this podcast.
And for me, it’s to give people a door into the inside world of music: how it all works and where it might go in the very technological future we’re going into.
The scope of the subjects will probably be quite vast. That’s why Music Wide Open. I would like to share our knowledge and information—simply things that usually no one cares to share with young musicians and music listeners. Either because they don’t want to do it or simply because they don’t know it or have never thought about it.
As for the young musicians, I would like to give them some courage to go through this not-so-easy path—to give them an unfair advantage. Because the more you know, the better you can prepare for what’s to come, the better you can connect the dots in your own life, and make sense of it in order to be happy. And this, in the end, is what we all care about.
I would like this podcast to be comforting in a way, but most importantly, honest—even if it means it will sometimes be an uncomfortable eye-opener.
As for the music listeners and music enthusiasts—Ingolf, please correct me if I’m wrong here—but I think we will always lean a little bit more towards classical music lovers. I would like to open the door to a world that, most probably, is unknown to them. What do classical music lovers usually do… They go to concerts; they have, sometimes, their favourite performers; they might know a few facts about them and about the music itself, and more or less, that’s it. I hope we can make this podcast as interesting and as informative, so that music listeners can feel a bit closer to the world of artists, their reality, and understand its complexity. But let’s see how and where it goes.
Okay, now as a starting point, in this very first episode, I would like to sum up a few facts from your life, Ingolf—your journey and mine together—and you will be the one to do that.
With pleasure. The journey. This is really interesting because my life has been so different from, let’s say, most professional classical musicians' lives. And I’m super thankful that it was different because otherwise, we wouldn’t be sitting here and doing this podcast.
But let’s start at the beginning briefly. I started piano way too late for nowadays standards of a professional classical musician—at age 14. By that time, usually, some pianists are already playing major repertoire live in concert, at age 12 or so. And at that time, I hadn’t even started professionally in any sense.
So, my journey started, of course, before that in a way—musically—because I was doing music as a hobby from age six, seven or even five. I don’t remember exactly because it was always in the family. My older brother played instruments, my father was—he’s a hobby musician—and we simply started playing Austrian folk music for tourists when I was a very, very young child.
We need to add here that you didn’t play the piano at that point; you played violin.
Yes, exactly. We played on the violin, traditional folk music, and my father was on the double bass. We even had a harmonica player—I don’t know what the English word for that is. So, I was actually on stage from age seven. But I call it “just for fun” because there was never any pressure behind it. It always went sort of on its own. I could just play. I didn’t play with a score—nothing. It was just natural. Just folk music. Retrospectively, the best start you can have, because this is “natural music-making”—which we will also come back to in the course of this podcast.
So, on it went. A normal childhood, which I’m super thankful for now. Then, at age 14—or 14 and a half—this big shift came. This happened because a, now I know, well-known Austrian piano teacher from Linz heard me fooling around on the piano. I could already play a little bit—no repertoire whatsoever, and nothing —but he heard me at the conservatory where I was playing violin. He contacted my parents through the school and basically said he had heard me touch the instrument and that I needed to play piano.
My parents gave me the offer: “Do you want to do this? Do you want to travel to Linz every second week for lessons?” I thought, “Okay, why not?” As I always am, I said, “Let’s try.”
So, this is how it all started, and then it went super speed—warp speed, whatever it’s called in Star Trek. It went from zero to 100. I was offered to play whatever I wanted, and I picked Liszt because I loved romantic music. My teacher said, “This is probably way too difficult for you, but let’s try.”
So, I tried, and a year later, I was already playing at the Konzerthaus in Vienna for a small 20-minute recital. And before that, I had my first proper-length recital at the university, already performing Beethoven sonatas, big Liszt pieces, and stuff like that. It was actually unbelievable, and I still don’t know how it worked.
Looking back now at my scores and the notations I made at that time, it’s almost cute—what I didn’t know. But it somehow worked.
Fast forward again, I had the pleasure of being heard in an artist's room of a concert in Luxembourg by Emmanuel Krivine, who invited me to Orchestre National de France when I was 18.
For a concert in Paris.
Exactly, at the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, I played the Third Prokofiev Concerto. I played it after I started it only a month or a month and a half before, so it was very fresh, but it was a huge success. The reviews were amazing—everything.
In the meantime, you also won a couple of competitions as well.
Yes, sorry, I forgot even that because it was a very, very good thing. My teacher, Horst Matthaeus—that’s his name, by the way—enrolled me in, or encouraged me to enrol in, small youth competitions where you’d play 15 minutes of music, 10 minutes of music, and stuff like this. Very good for trial and preparation—concerts or performances in front of the public.
It all felt natural, and I did everything without thinking —which is kind of a theme in my life. By that, I mean I let the gut feeling rule.
And so, it all went. Of course, now, retrospectively, it all sounds so cool, and everything looks perfect. But of course not everything was perfect. There were lots of ups and downs.
For example, after this Paris concerto, which was a huge success, we all thought, “Wow, okay, this is it. Now it’s going to go.” Well it didn’t go—for some reason, who knows why. The invitations didn’t come as expected, and so on. As it always is in life, it’s up and down. But, so there were the first thoughts of, “Hey, maybe I should do something else.” I was always interested in computers and immersed in technology. Even when I started playing piano, I bought my own set of microphones, digital mixers, and everything. I started recording myself on the computer, editing recordings—it was always part of my life. I even did some coding for computer games and stuff like that. So, I thought, “Maybe something else is smarter to do than playing piano, if it’s not going as well as expected.” Of course, I’m saying this while keeping in mind that my expectations were high.
They still are.
Meaning, when I say it didn’t go as planned, it was still going well—sort of—but maybe not as well as I had imagined. Anyway, long story short, another happy coincidence happened in my life: the encounter with Maestro Adam Harasiewicz. He heard me at my first appearance at the Chopin Competition in 2005, which, looking back now, is amazing. I had been playing piano professionally for only six years when I entered the Chopin Competition, and I was already doing pretty well.
Yes, absolutely. I remember you.
We’ll come to this for sure in the course of this podcast. But yes, so then he heard me there too, and it was a real honour. Because, after I played a concert in 2006, i guess—or maybe it was 2007 I think, sorry—at Studio S1 in Warsaw, where Maestro Harasiewicz came to hear me again where I played Ravel: Gaspard de la nuit and stuff like this, he came to me after the concert and was very happy with my performance. And actually a couple of weeks later, he called me to say again how much he liked the performance. That’s when I used the opportunity to ask if it might be possible to work with him. And he said, like it would be clear for him (laughing), he said, “Of course, I’d love that!” But he also said, “I’m not a professor. I don’t know if I can teach (laughing) because I’ve never had a student on a long-term basis.” And I said, “I don’t mind. I just need someone who really, really knows what they’re talking about”—and he obviously does. So, we started working together. It went really well, and the rest is sort of history. In 2010, I had the great pleasure of achieving so many successes—a record label contract, concerts in so many countries—it was a dream. It’s the dream every young musician has, and I had it too, and it came true for me. Yes, with hard work and lots of ups and downs, but it came true. And then, as it often is in life, realisations come quickly. And here I have to rewind a little bit because my first teacher, Horst Matthaeus, in Linz, had a very old-school mind. He had no clue about how the music business worked—and he told me so. He said, “I cannot help you in any way in terms of what to do in order to make a career. I can only tell you what’s good musically and what isn’t.” He was very much living in the times of the golden age of piano playing, from the old-school pianists—starting from Hofmann to Friedman to, later on, Richter and Horowitz, and so on. You see, I say “more modern”, but they’re still very much part of the golden age of piano. So that was my world. I was immersed in recordings. Before I started working with Mr. Matthaeus, I didn’t know anything about this world. He had all these records, all the scores, in his home—which he called “the Mühle” so "the mill." It was an old mill in Upper Austria, by a river—beautiful, with two pianos inside. That’s where I had my lessons—weekends of lessons with him. Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. I was always in that world—Horowitz, Rubinstein, and so on. I, in my mind, not having any clue about the music business or how it looked already in 2000, I was, in my brain, preparing myself for “If I ever make it, I’ll be Horowitz at Carnegie Hall in the 1960s, televised on NBC, and all that comes with it”, all the enthusiasm from the public, from the press from the society, everything.
But things had changed in the meantime.
I don’t know why I thought this—don’t ask me why—but I did. I was only loving the substancematter: the interpretation, the micro-timings, the volume, etc. and how to make something emotional, how to make something great.
And then, when all that happened to me in 2010, I thought, “Wow, Deutsche Grammophon recordings, concerts everywhere”. I thought I’d be Horowitz in the 1960s.
I remember you also got an offer from Sony Music around the same time.
That’s correct, yes. So, even more so I thought, “Wow, this is the top now.” (laughing) Look at me.
We were so green, generally speaking, at that point.
And then, as I said, the realisations come as they always do in my life. I looked around me, at the top of the classical music world, where the peers you meet at the parties are the top names and you think “Wow, yes. Now I’ll be working with the best people in the world, meeting only the… as I said Horowitz in the 60s.” And... that didn’t happen. So I was looking around, asking, “Where are those people?” (laughing)
“What am I doing here?” (laughing)
So, I thought, “I will not mention names, but the people you are dealing with—they have no understanding of the stuff we’re actually doing, the stuff a pianist should care about.”
We probably need to explain this a bit more so it doesn’t come across as arrogant. What do you mean exactly?
I mean exactly that importance of quality music and the interpretation angle that we’ll really dive into in detail in future podcast episodes. But essentially, it’s about micro-timings and volume changes in interpretation—how you play the music to emphasise its emotional impact. And this is what classical interpreters in the past cared about. That’s why pianists like Rubinstein, Friedman, Rosenthal, and Hofmann were so expressive and so great. And the society and people of that time appreciated these nuances and knew these artists did this, which is why they were so good. That’s what I expected to see and what I thought would be the only topic at that level.
Right, and we discovered that it’s not the main topic anymore.
Exactly. The main topics at that level are business, numbers, and money. And this was true back then too, by the way..
…but not to this extent.
Well, or maybe to the same extent…
…but the proportions were different.
Yes, exactly. On the same level was the other stuff, that is the only thing you care about for an active musician (focus on quality and interpretation). So this was kind of a cold shower. But nevertheless, it continued to be great. I’m immensely grateful for this experience, for this success I had. I mean, come on—what an honour to be the first major Austrian prize winner…
…German speaking actually, I would say the first ever, I believe, I’m not sure…
Definitely there was after the war, especially in a German-speaking country.
Yes, definitely. I think there was one from Austria in the 1920s or 1930s, but he got a seventh or eighth prize, so not one of the main prizes.
Exactly. Especially after the war.
So, this was such an honour and I’m still chuffed about it. Of course, it took lots of hard work, which we’ll talk about in this podcast. What happened in the preparation phase will surely come up at some point. So lots of work, but a great great honour. I’ll cherish that all my life. But the realisations that came because of it—I cherish those even more.
I’m sorry to interrupt you here, but I think we’ll talk about this at some point—not now, not in the first episode—also why you’re actually happy you didn’t win the competition, even though there was a scandal and many people were rooting for you.
That’s a good point…
…but I think we should leave it for later.
Yes, but I’ll just briefly touch on why the reason what you just said is true, is because of those realisations and what came afterwards.
Because we together, we were so lucky. Because I remember Adam’s wife telling me a funny story. You have to imagine, this was way before the 2010 Chopin Competition. (laughing) I didn’t have a girlfriend at the time—I didn’t have anything but practice and piano. She told me over coffee after a lesson with the Maestro, “Ingolf, you know, if you start travelling a lot, never travel alone.” (laughing) And I said, “Yeah, I’d love not to—I just need to get a girlfriend first.” (laughing)
Well, you know, some pianists travel with their parents until they’re 40.
Exactly! Anyway, but then it all happened. We met, as well because of the Chopin Competition - I’m sure we will get to that as well at some point - but so we started traveling together—to so many countries – 40 or 50 countries or whatever it was, and in all those countries, we saw the same issues, the same problems with music understanding and music education. And this was both at the amateur level and the professional level—because these are two very different things. Yes, and we also saw how music was being cut in schools. It didn’t have the same importance as subjects like language or mathematics, even though it absolutely should. And then, I think it as around 2016—or maybe 2015…
It depends what you want to say…
When we thought about actively…
Well, the first ideas came in 2011. But we weren’t ready back then. Yes, we couldn’t act on it yet.
Exactly. But around 2015, we started actively forming projects, creating companies, and stuff like this. While I was still playing concerts, we were actively thinking about how we could make a difference. Because when we realised that so many things were going wrong or in the wrong direction, we felt that if we didn’t do something about it, we were also guilty. And we didn’t want that to happen.
One of the main things we realised was the obvious decline in the importance of classical music in society.
When I talk about the golden age of piano playing, where I was kind of educated in - sort of —then it was different. Back then, 3,000 people would come to a Liederabend at Carnegie Hall. Nowadays, they’re happy if 300 people show up.
And we saw this firsthand, and we had a hunch—we still have a hunch—that this is directly connected to the quality of music and its interpretation, the emotional aspect of it. Alongside all the obvious other factors too: that life is getting quicker, people have more choices, and all these things.
Yes, but that was the main reason why we started this technological journey.
Thank you for keeping me on track. Yes, this is exactly what I meant. When we started actively trying to change things or do something about it, we embarked on a technological journey in a way. The first idea we had was distance learning
That was way before 2020, so it was not yet popular.
Yeah. The idea was to bridge the distance problem because obviously there’s never a lack of talent. There are always great young talents around the world…
… and also great teachers too.
That But often, they’re not in the same geographic location.
Right. But sometimes, or most of the time they are not in the same geographic location. And sometimes even great talents are quickly lost if they’re not nurtured or caught at the right time and place.
Let’s put it this way, we wanted to make it easier for students and teachers to connect, to find each other. And this was also partly based on your own experience, Ingolf.
That’s correct. If I’d had a system like Appassio or Appassimo when I was young, my life would have been so much easier. My parents amazingly, now that I’m a parent I can appreciate that even more, they drove 300 kilometers every weekend just so I could have piano lessons in another city. This is an amazing effort. I recently talked to my parents about this, and they told me they drove 70,000 kilometers per year just for me.
That’s incredible.
I’m immensely grateful for their support—always was, by the way.
And let’s not forget your trips by train to have lessons in another country.
Yes, the night trains to Paris, Brussels, and things like that. For example, I met the wonderful Idil Biret for the first time. I forgot when, I must have been 15 or 16 at the time, something like this. These experiences formed not only lifelong friendships but also gave me so… you know such meetings with people that have so much knowledge: they say one sentence and it’s worth much more than three years in some university.
So we thought about all that while we were launching Appassio.
Yes, and that was our first project that kind of deviated from the traditional path of a successful classical young pianist, if you will.
It wasn’t an easy start, though.
No, it wasn’t.
Maybe someday we’ll talk about that or even write a book about it.
Yes, it never is easy, isn’t it?.
No, it’s never easy, but it’s very exciting.
So, all of that—that long story from the beginning to why we’re doing this podcast—is connected to all that - to the journey in technology. Always having Music at the absolute centre, and it always will be, but leveraging state-of-the-art technology, this is why I also want to share the perspective I’ve gained over these years in this podcast.
Let’s keep the timeline here. So, we launched Appassio, and at the same time, you were still touring and giving concerts of course—quite prestigious, quite big, and important ones.
And then came something that really decided for us that technology was a path we had to go deeper into— was coming with the whole disaster of 2020. And I think we should talk a little bit about that.
That’s correct. The whole bomb that was the virus in 2020, especially for musicians. It supercharged everything. I’ve mentioned before that I often make decisions without thinking and sometimes life gives back in the form of not giving a choice other than doing the one thing. This was one of those times. I remember we were in Italy at the time, in Florence, when the first lockdown hit.
Yes, exactly.
And as for all musicians, the whole concert calendar—the planned one for the next year...
One concert after another: bam, bam, bam, red, red, red…
They were just canceled.
But since we were already working on technology—while I was still touring and playing big concerts—it was a bit different for us. You said it earlier: after my concerts, I was coming home (I call it home when coming to a hotel) it was the real deal, I’d work with developers until 3 or 4 in the morning, and solve issues or push forward on projects.
Just to underline this—this work always happened after the concerts, not before.
Exactly.
The responsibility of the concert always came first.
Yes, the concert was done. I’d leave the artist room, say goodbye to the promoter, and go to the hotel to work. It was hardcore, to be honest.
But then, in 2020, our platform, Appassio—which was designed for individual use, connecting single teachers with single students—became so much in demand. That was probably the busiest time for us.
That’s what I meant by life giving us no choice. Even before the pandemic, it was serious work—lots of effort put in while being on the road. But when the road disappeared, for a while at least, because of COVID, the demand for our platform exploded. It became obvious that we had to focus on it, because it was there and will always be there anyway. And as you said the interest was there, as you said, musicians and institutions suddenly needed a solution, and our solution was better…
…and they wanted one immediately.
…yes and we were ready. That was, of course, lucky. But luck came because of the hard work we had already put in before.
Exactly, that was one thing. And then immediately, we started developing Appassimo a—also a platform for remote teaching but for institutions. This was very much needed at the time.
That was a super busy period. Launching new apps like Appassimo with a small team, as a startup is, that’s of course really 17-hour workdays over a long period of time. But for us both, we don’t really call work “work”. It’s life. If you like what you do or if you have a mission…
…if you’re passionate about what you do
…it doesn’t feel like a chore. That’s why you just do it. Of course, it’s still tiring because you need to sleep unfortunately (laughing), but that’s the point. So, this went very, very well. But you have to imagine that within this period, with our small team, we were literally helping hundreds of music professors, pianists, and other musicians…
…personally—because many of them had no clue how to move their lessons online.
…right, helping them get online, teaching them how to run quality lessons, and troubleshooting their issues.
…what they should choose etc. “Your app isn’t working!” “No, your internet isn’t working.” Or, “Your router is too far from your computer.”
Yes, exactly but that’s why I mentioned this hardcore groundwork. In this journey, which was hypercharged because of covid, we got to know so many things and again realisations started to kick in.
That’s true.
Let’s put it this way. We realised what kind of problems musicians, teachers, and students actually have. We got this knowledge first hand. Directly from hundreds and hundreds of teachers and students from institutions worldwide.
Yes, and these realisations led us to the next part of our journey: directly into deep tech and AI.
Artificial intelligence in other words…
Yes, exactly because we thought, due to these realisations we knew that “This knowledge, that we felt was most of the time lacking” can help classical music become more interesting and maybe reach more people - that kind of thing. That’s why we thought why not use AI and deep tech models—to directly help students and teachers as well - so that current journey started out of this distance learning journey.
We’ll be talking about this in future episodes, along with many other subjects.
Here, I’d like to interrupt and clarify one thing because I know many people, especially those who used to see you on concert stages around the world, are asking themselves a question: Is he still playing? Has he already stopped? What is he doing now? Where is he? What would you say to this?
(laughing) What do I say to this? Well, we’ve just gone through my journey from the very beginning, and for me, what’s happening at the moment feels very natural
…but people don’t know that…
Even if it’s not immediately understandable to people on the outside, but to answer the question: I will obviously never stop playing, also live. And I haven’t stopped, even with the companies and projects that need to be managed. I’ve always continued to play, and I always will. Maybe at some point, I’ll play more; maybe I won’t—I don’t know yet. I’ve also started composing, because of you…
…I’m happy about that…
…and that’s going well. But let’s put it this way: I love being on stage—I really do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have chosen the life that I did. But, the future of the quality in classical music, and the importance of this beautiful art form, is more important to me than my own ego. And especially now that we have our son, Amadeo, I feel even more so, because this what we’re working on—and the things I’ve always cared about—might as well just disappear if we stay on the trajectory we’re on. And I just don’t want that to happen. This mission is much, much more important than anyone wondering, “Where is he? What’s he doing?” because I’m doing an awful lot (laughing).
I know you’re doing an awful lot, but people don’t know that. You said something earlier that many people might not agree with: that classical music might disappear. I think they would understand something very different from what you mean.
Yes, correct. What I mean is, again I have my Horowitz in the 60s hat on, (laughing). What I mean is that this highest form of interpretation—which is classical music— let’s not forget classical music IS interpretation, we are all playing the same pieces – if that’s disappearing, which it obviously is, by now we have studies to proof that… then at some point it will be all the same. It’s already like this that people don’t care who is playing the concert as long as it’s a Rachmaninov piece. But it will be even more so, that the interpretation and with this classical music, might disappear. I don’t say that Mozart will not be played – Mozart will probably be played by an AI or something (laughing) you know what I mean…
… I think this what we are talking about here is – that the main problem is that musicians – and I’m sure many people will not agree with what I will just say – many people, many musicians become very robotic in their playing and unfortunately it might be a natural transition for simply a computer to take over. Because we human beings we don’t demand from musicians to be authentic, inspired –not in this what they say, but in their music…
Exactly. Music, as I always say –you know that, since I keep talking about it (laughing)-- has more than two layers, but two main ones: the compositional layer, where the melodies, structures, harmonice, etc. are set and then the interpretational layer or performance layer, where a person, sometimes a robot or a midi-machine plays the music. And we humans hear the music or get to know the music with our ears, with our sensors through that performance layer. Like you cannot hear a compositional layer without the performance layer in the middle. And that performance layer can, so many times, ruin a wonderful compositional layer and the other way around a mediocre compositional layer can be made into a masterpiece by a fantastic performance layer. And that’s why it’s so important. And this is what I mean by classical music might disappear, because the compositional layer will not disappear, because already in the 1980s they trained models to compose new pieces in the style of Chopin. If you really know the repertoire, you hear that this segment was copied from this one and this was transposed here… but it sounds “Chopinesque”. But the point is the compositional layer will stay, because it’s already in the AI models. But the performance layer not, but this is the one through which humans communicate music, and this might disappear.
So, what’s the conclusion of this first episode?
Awareness.
True.
People need to become aware. You know, I think it was… at least I heard it from Dr. Joe Dispenza the first time —maybe he was quoting somebody, I forgot – it’s about Columbus sailing to America.
When Columbus’s ships appeared on the horizon, the indigenous people couldn’t see them. Because they didn’t know the concept of a ship. By the time they finally saw the ships, it was too late. They were all dead. In other words, if people are not aware of what we just touched upon, these intricate details of music and this importance of the interpretational substancematter, if people are not aware of that, it has already disappeared - it’s already not there anymore. I think this is my conclusion.
I hope that through this podcast, we can make you, dear listeners, more aware of the subjects that you might not have thought about.
—------------ MADE UP —--------- (maybe for substack) ????????????
Welcome to the Music Wide Open podcast, the place for honest and thought-provoking conversations about music, business, life, technology, and the future. This podcast is for curious music enthusiasts and musicians seeking personal growth. I'm Ingolf Wunder.
And I'm Paulina. In this first episode, I’d like to start with a question: Why? Why did we decide to make this podcast? Who is it for, and what will we be talking about? We’ll also include a small summary of your journey, Ingolf—your journey and ours together. Let’s call it an explanation of why one of those young pianists, once labeled a "rising star" of the piano scene, decided to take a big risk and change the direction of his career and life.
But first things first: why did we start this podcast? Ingolf, maybe you go first.
It’s really the most important question, and it’s impossible for me to disentangle the answer from my life. From the very beginning, it was always about how to make music—the best music—and about interpretation. My focus has always been on the quality of music and interpretation, which we’ll talk about over the course of this podcast. For me, this podcast is about giving people a door into the inner world of music: how it works, and where it might go in our very technological future.
The scope of the subject will probably be quite vast—that’s why we named it Music Wide Open. I’d like to share knowledge and insights that are usually not shared with young musicians or music listeners. Either people don’t want to share it, or they don’t know it themselves. For young musicians, I want to give them the courage to walk this not-so-easy path and provide what I’d call an "unfair advantage." The more you know, the better you can prepare for what’s ahead. You can connect the dots in your own life and make sense of it, ultimately to be happy—which is what we all care about.
I want this podcast to be comforting, but most importantly, honest—even if that means it will sometimes be an uncomfortable eye-opener. As for music listeners and enthusiasts—Ingolf, please correct me if I’m wrong here—but I think we always lean a little towards classical music lovers. I’d like to open the door to a world that’s probably unknown to them. Classical music lovers often go to concerts, have their favorite performers, and know a few facts about the music or the artists. But that’s usually where it stops. I hope we can make this podcast interesting and informative so that listeners feel closer to the world of artists, their realities, and the complexity of what they do. But let’s see where it takes us.
Now, as a starting point, I’d like to sum up a few facts about your life, Ingolf. You’ll be the one to do it—pleasure or not. Your journey is really fascinating because it’s so different from the lives of most professional classical musicians.
Yes, absolutely. My life has been very different, and I’m incredibly thankful for that because otherwise, we wouldn’t be sitting here doing this podcast. To start briefly: I began piano very late by today’s standards for a professional classical musician—at age 14. By that age, some pianists are already playing major repertoire live in concert halls. At 14, I hadn’t even started professionally in any sense. My journey did start musically before that, as a hobby, around age six or five—I don’t even remember exactly—because music was always part of the family. My older brother played instruments, and my father was a hobby musician.
We started playing Austrian folk music for tourists when I was very young.
But you weren’t playing piano at that time—you played violin, right?
Exactly. I played violin, my father was on the double bass, and we even had a harmonica player. I was actually on stage from age seven, but it was just for fun. There was never any pressure; it was natural and enjoyable. We didn’t use scores or formal training—it was pure, natural music-making. In retrospect, it was the best start I could have had.
Then, at age 14, everything shifted dramatically. A well-known Austrian piano teacher from Linz happened to hear me fooling around on the piano at the conservatory, where I was studying violin. I had no repertoire and no formal training, but he heard something and contacted my parents. He said, “He needs to play piano.” My parents gave me the choice: Did I want to travel to Linz every two weeks for lessons? I thought, "Why not?" So, we tried, and that’s how it all started.
What followed was like warp speed. I was given free rein to play whatever I wanted, so I picked Liszt—my favorite. My teacher warned me it was way too difficult, but he said, "Let’s try." A year later, I was playing a recital at the Vienna Konzerthaus.
Before that recital in Vienna, I had my first full-length recital at the university, performing Beethoven sonatas, big Liszt pieces, and other significant repertoire. It’s still unbelievable to me how it all worked out because I had to learn everything from scratch. Looking back at the notations I made in my scores back then, they’re almost cute in their simplicity. I didn’t know so much, but somehow it worked.
Fast forward a little, and at age 18, I had the pleasure of being heard by Emmanuel Krivine in an artist room in Luxembourg. He invited me to perform in Paris, where I played the Third Concerto just a month and a half after learning it. It was incredibly fresh, but it was a huge success, with fantastic reviews.
You also won several competitions during that time, didn’t you?
Yes, I did. My teacher, Horst Matthäus, encouraged me to participate in smaller youth competitions where I’d play 10 to 15 minutes of music. These were great opportunities to perform in front of an audience and gain experience. Everything felt natural—I did it without overthinking, which is a recurring theme in my life. I let my gut feeling guide me.
Of course, looking back, it might seem like everything was perfect and smooth, but it wasn’t. There were plenty of ups and downs. For instance, after the Paris concerto, which was a huge success, we thought, "This is it! Things will take off now." But they didn’t quite go as expected. Invitations didn’t come in the way we had hoped, and it was a bit of a reality check.
That’s when the first thoughts of doing something else started creeping in. I’ve always been interested in computers and technology. Even when I started playing piano, I bought microphones, digital mixers, and recording equipment to record myself. I’d edit recordings on my computer and even dabbled in coding and computer games. I started wondering if maybe I should pursue something in technology instead of music, especially when things didn’t progress as I had envisioned.
But then another happy coincidence happened. At the Chopin Competition in 2005, which I entered after just six years of playing piano professionally, I met Maestro Adam Harasiewicz. He heard me play and took an interest in me. After another performance in Warsaw, he approached me and praised my playing. A few weeks later, he even called me, which gave me the courage to ask if he would work with me. To my surprise, he agreed, even though he wasn’t a professional teacher and had never taken on a student long-term.
Working with him was transformative, and everything started to fall into place. In 2010, I had the great pleasure of experiencing enormous successes—record label contracts, concerts in numerous countries, and all the things a young musician dreams of. It felt like the pinnacle of a career, and for a moment, I thought, "I’ve made it!"
But then, as often happens in my life, realizations came quickly. I have to rewind a bit here to explain. My first teacher, Horst Matthäus, was very old-school. He had no idea how the music business worked and openly admitted it. He would tell me, "I can’t help you with your career, but I can guide you musically." He was deeply rooted in the golden age of piano playing—Hoffman, Friedman, Rachmaninoff, Rubinstein, Horowitz—and that was the world I was immersed in.
I had this romanticized idea of what a career in classical music would be like. In my mind, if I ever made it, I’d be like Horowitz playing at Carnegie Hall in the 1960s, with the same public enthusiasm, press coverage, and societal appreciation. But by the time I achieved success, the world had changed.
When I finally reached what I thought was "the top" of the classical music world, I looked around and realized it wasn’t what I had imagined. I met other professionals in the industry, and many of them didn’t care about the things I thought mattered most—the quality of music, the emotional depth of interpretation.
Let’s clarify that point so it doesn’t come across as arrogant. What exactly do you mean by "the things that mattered most"?
I mean the essence of classical music: the quality of interpretation. It’s about micro-timings, volume changes, and how you play music to emphasize its emotional impact. These are the details that made pianists like Rubinstein, Horowitz, and Friedman legendary. Back then, audiences appreciated these nuances, and the music world revolved around them. But I discovered that at the "top" of the classical music world today, these aren’t the primary topics anymore. The focus is more on business, numbers, and image.
This realization was a cold shower, but it also motivated me to make a difference. I didn’t want to become just another cog in a system that prioritizes superficial aspects over the true art of music.
You’re talking about the decline in the importance of classical music in society, right?
Yes, exactly. When we think back to the golden age of piano playing, concerts were events that drew thousands of people. Today, if 300 people attend a classical recital, it’s considered a success. This decline is partly due to societal changes—life is faster, people have more choices—but I believe it’s also connected to the diminishing focus on the emotional and interpretative aspects of music.
Yes, it’s connected to that decline. And this realization is what led us to begin thinking about how we could make a difference. Around 2015 or 2016, while still performing concerts, we started exploring ideas for change. The first real idea was distance learning—creating a platform to bridge the gap between students and great teachers, regardless of their location. This idea was very much influenced by my own experiences.
If I’d had access to something like Appassio or AIMO back then, my life as a student would have been so much easier. My parents were incredible—they drove me 300 kilometers every two weeks for piano lessons in Linz. They logged around 70,000 kilometers a year just for me. I’m immensely grateful for that kind of support, but it’s not realistic or accessible for everyone.
There were also my trips by night train to places like Paris and Brussels for lessons. These experiences taught me how important it is to connect with great teachers, even if they’re not nearby. Sometimes, a single meeting with the right person can give you insights worth more than years of formal education.
This was the motivation behind launching Appassio. We wanted to make it easier for students and teachers to connect, no matter where they were. The platform started as a tool for individual use, enabling one-on-one lessons online. But as we developed it, we started to see a bigger picture. We realized that technology wasn’t just a tool to solve logistical problems—it could also address some of the deeper challenges facing classical music.
That realization became even more urgent in 2020 with the pandemic. Suddenly, the entire concert world stopped, and musicians were left without their primary means of expression and income. For us, it was a moment where all our technological efforts became even more relevant. Appassio was already built and functional, so when the pandemic hit, there was a huge demand for it.
Exactly. It was one of those moments where life gives you no choice but to act. We were already working on the platform while you were still touring. I remember how you’d play a concert, then head back to your hotel room and work with developers until 3 or 4 in the morning.
Yes, it was intense, but I’ve never seen it as work. For me, it’s all part of life. If you’re passionate about what you do, it doesn’t feel like a chore—it’s just what you do. That’s how we approached Appassio, even before the pandemic.
When 2020 hit, we shifted into overdrive. Teachers and students suddenly needed tools to continue their lessons, and Appassio became a lifeline for hundreds of professors, students, and institutions around the world. We helped them not just get online but also understand how to teach effectively in this new format. We solved issues like internet connectivity, equipment setup, and lesson quality.
Through this work, we gained firsthand insights into the challenges musicians and educators face. And these insights led us to our next step: deep tech and AI. We realized that technology could do more than just connect people—it could also address some of the core issues in music education and performance.
Yes, and this is where we began exploring artificial intelligence as a way to help musicians directly. We saw AI as a tool to make music education more effective, engaging, and accessible. The idea was to create tools that could analyze and provide feedback on performance, helping students improve faster and more systematically. This is the journey we’re on now.
I think we’ll discuss this in more detail in future episodes, but for now, let’s address a question that’s probably on many people’s minds: Is Ingolf still playing? Has he stopped performing on stage?
That’s a fair question, and I understand why people might wonder. The answer is: I’ll never stop playing. Performing is a part of who I am, and I’ve continued to play even while managing these projects. Whether I’ll play more or less in the future, I don’t know yet. What I do know is that the future of classical music—the quality and importance of this beautiful art form—is more important to me than my personal career. Especially now, as a parent, I feel a responsibility to ensure that the things I care about in music don’t disappear.
You’ve said something that might surprise people: that classical music could "disappear." What do you mean by that?
What I mean is that the highest form of classical music—interpretation—could disappear. Classical music is unique because it’s an interpretative art form. We’re all playing the same pieces, but what makes it special is how we play them. The performance layer, the interpretation, is what allows music to communicate emotions and connect with listeners. If that layer disappears or becomes robotic, classical music as we know it could fade away.
And unfortunately, we’re already seeing this happen. Many musicians today play in a way that’s very robotic and uninspired. If we don’t demand authenticity and emotional depth from performers, it’s only natural that technology will take over. AI can already compose music in the style of Chopin or Beethoven. If human interpretation loses its importance, there will be little difference between a live performance and a computer-generated one.
This is the danger, and it’s why we feel so strongly about raising awareness. People need to understand what’s at stake. If they don’t, classical music could become something entirely different from what it is today.
So, what’s the conclusion of this first episode?
Awareness. People need to become aware of the deeper layers of music—the emotional, interpretative aspects that make it special. Without awareness, these things can disappear without anyone realizing until it’s too late.
I hope this podcast can make our listeners more aware of these subjects—things they might not have thought about before. That’s our mission, and we’re excited to begin this journey with you.
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