A multiple first-prize-winning pianist and composer is building a new future for classical music—one where tradition and technology amplify each other’s strengths
In the grand concert hall of human creativity, a new instrument has taken the stage — artificial intelligence. It whispers algorithms where once there were only arpeggios, its potential as vast as a symphony yet as enigmatic as an unfinished melody.
Recent figures from Fortune Business Insights quantify this transformation: the global AI music market is projected to reach $4.5 billion this year, up from $3.6 billion in 2023. And yet, a closer look reveals something surprising: despite the hype, only one in five musicians actively uses AI in their creative process. For many, the technology still feels alien — too synthetic, too detached from the warmth of artistic creation. The real question isn’t whether AI can compose, but how it might amplify what makes music human.
In a world where machines can compose symphonies in seconds, pianist Anastasiia Popova bridges tradition and innovation. Trained at Moscow’s Central Music School and later the Tchaikovsky Conservatory, she rose through a world of rigorous standards and centuries-old repertoire. As a winner of the Crescendo International Competition and the Golden Classical Music Awards, she performed at Carnegie Hall, where her playing demonstrated not only technical mastery but a rare emotional depth, earning standing ovations even amid pandemic restrictions.
A first-prize winner at the Golden Classical Music Awards in New York and a laureate of the Brahms International Online Music Competition, she is proving that classical music doesn’t need to resist technology but needs to redefine it. By merging centuries of musical wisdom with AI, data, and code, it is possible to create a new kind of artistry: one where machines enhance human expression rather than replace it.
The Note AI Will Never Play: Why Silence Matters
In film scoring, most composers face a paradox: the more music you add, the less the audience feels. Anastasiia discovered this firsthand while participating in the Berlin International Film Scoring Competition, where her minimalist approach was shaped not by accolades but by introspection. Her composition stood out precisely because of what it didn’t play.
“At first, I worried the piece was too sparse. Like I wasn’t doing enough,” Anastasiia admits. “But then I realized the scene needed room to speak for itself. The hardest part was trusting that simplicity could carry emotion.”
While AI-generated scores tend to flood scenes with wall-to-wall orchestration, Anastasiia’s approach was surgical. She mapped melodies to nature’s breathing patterns, letting the natural rhythm of inhalation and pause dictate musical phrasing. For example, a tense courtroom scene doesn’t need shrieking violins, just a lone cello playing sparse, pizzicato notes timed to the judge’s gavel.
“The software kept suggesting crescendos,” she recalls. “But true tension comes from the anticipation between notes. That’s something AI can’t compute because it’s not in the data. It’s in the silence.”
Her success and impression signaled a change. Judges praised the score’s “emotional architecture” — a rebuke to the industry’s over-scored blockbusters. Where AI defaults to filling every moment, Anastasiia proved that compositional maturity means knowing when to step back.
This lesson now informs her AI-assisted work: we shouldn’t ask machines to compose. We should train them to recognize when not to.
Hackathons That Don’t Just Compute, They Sizzle
Hackathons are usually dominated by engineers racing to build the slickest data visualizations. But at one tech-focused event, Anastasiia Popova arrived with a different tool: music. Her question was: what if we could hear data instead of just seeing it?
She joined the team behind Teragraph Cloud, an innovative project focused on navigating knowledge graphs — dense webs of interconnected information. While others worked on visual mappings, Anastasiia designed something far more intuitive: a system where data relationships became melodies.
By assigning pitch to data points and harmony to connections, she turned abstract numbers into something visceral. The result was both novel and useful. Suddenly, patterns that might take minutes to spot visually could be heard in seconds.
“Our brains process sound differently than sight,” she explains. “A dissonant chord can signal a problem in the data faster than a red warning label.”
The Teragraph Cloud project extends beyond a single technical experiment. It represents a shift in how information can be processed. By translating data into sound, the work opens possibilities across multiple fields. Educators could use auditory representations to simplify complex subjects like biochemistry, while researchers might leverage sound to detect anomalies in dense datasets more intuitively. For developers, sonification offers a new frontier in user experience design, transforming raw data into navigable auditory landscapes. Anastasiia’s contribution went beyond composition; she helped pioneer an alternative language for interpreting information—a critical innovation in an era of overwhelming data saturation.
Stage Presence in a Digital Age: Why the Piano Still Commands the Room
As algorithms inch closer to composing concertos and scoring films, one part of music refuses to be coded: the unrepeatable electricity of live performance. The stage isn still not just a platform, it’s a ground for emotion, risk, and resonance.
While Anastasiia’s known for embracing digital tools, her most transformative musical moments often happen far from screens. In Dortmund, Germany, during a visit to a local cultural exchange center that fosters international understanding, she was unexpectedly invited to give a concert after locals learned she was a pianist.
“I had no time to prepare, no set program,” she recalls. “But I played one of my own compositions — for the first time in public.” The piece had been created in FL Studio, a popular digital audio workstation often used by electronic producers and experimental composers. It combined human creativity with AI-generated elements using Magenta, a tool developed by Google for exploring machine learning in music. Unlike traditional notation software, FL Studio allows musicians to build complex arrangements by manipulating sound directly, shaping texture, rhythm, and harmony with a mix of programming and performance. “For me, it offered a space to experiment beyond classical structure,” Anastasiia explains. “It was like having a sketchbook where I could test sonic ideas freely.” That spontaneous performance would become a turning point. “People genuinely liked it. It was bold — but it showed me that my music could connect.”
Outside the spotlight of competitions and awards, Anastasiia Popova has played across Russia and Europe — often in cultural centers and academic venues, where she pairs classical repertoire with original works and experimental formats. “You learn a lot when you don’t know how an audience will react,” she says. “You listen differently. You play differently. Every silence means something.”
In these spaces, stripped of digital overlays, she refines her core conviction: that while AI can assist in creation, the shared breath between performer and listener can never be programmed.
The Algorithmic Concert Hall: Rachmaninov vs. The Smartphone Apocalypse
In an age of infinite digital distraction, classical music faces its greatest rival yet—the smartphone. As audiences increasingly experience art in 15-second clips, the very act of focused listening risks becoming obsolete. “Music demands your full attention,” she insists. “It’s active. Demanding. Alive.”
So she regularly performs in prestigious concert spaces across Europe, including a packed performance at the Library of Foreign Literature in Moscow as part of a Beethoven tribute project. Anastasiia’s performances weaponize technology against distraction, but she also values the power of raw, unamplified presence. At the NIKO gallery, a respected art space where classical music meets visual art, she played Rachmaninoff’s Moments Musicaux surrounded by paintings and sculptures in dimmed light, where the atmosphere itself became part of the experience. “The live sound, the emotional tension, the setting. It all worked together in a way no recording or digital simulation ever could,” she says.
“Attention isn’t dying,” Anastasiia observes. “We’re just using technology backwards. Instead of fighting for scraps of focus, we should design experiences that demand it.”
As technology transforms every aspect of our lives, today’s composers face a new challenge: they must not only create music but also build bridges between classical traditions, visual arts, and science. The key mission for modern musicians is to make classical music more accessible and engaging, especially for younger audiences, ensuring its timeless artistry remains vibrant in an ever-changing world.