Drawing from her decades-long career as a soloist, Mrs. Mutter reflects on gender dynamics in classical music, the importance of mentorship, physical and mental resilience, and her personal philosophy for wellbeing.
The University of Oslo and Sara D’Amario warmly thank Mrs. Anne-Sophie Mutter for her time, generosity, and candid reflections.
Sara D'Amario: What does it take to maintain mental and physical resilience as a soloist?
Anne-Sophie Mutter: Mindset is everything. I’ve always found strength in Stoic philosophy—it helps me stay grounded and not be shaken by the outside view, by criticism. As a young musician, you need to build a strong sense of self and surround yourself with people you trust. I was lucky to have mentors like Karajan and my violin teachers who taught me that music is a lifelong pursuit, not a quest for so called perfection.
Physically, playing the violin is incredibly unnatural. You twist your neck and spine in ways that aren’t sustainable. I’ve always done yoga and loved hiking in the mountains, but I regret not starting weight training earlier. I only began in my mid-50s, which is late. If I could give advice to young women, I’d say start in your 20s. Muscle mass declines, and hormonal changes make it harder to stay fit.
Fitness isn’t just about youth—it’s about prevention. I remember finishing long recitals and still having the energy to play five encores. That’s the kind of stamina you want, and it comes from being physically strong.
D'Amario: How important has mentorship been in shaping your artistic journey?
Mutter: Mentorship has shaped my life. My teachers and Karajan didn’t just teach technique—they taught me how to think about music. They helped me understand that every performance is just one interpretation, one attempt to reveal one facet of a complex work. Competitions often reward slickness and predictability, but real artistry comes from curiosity and vulnerability. You have to be okay with uncertainty.
I often think of Roger Federer’s speech, where he said he had thousands of mishits and only a few hundred winners. That’s life. You have to forgive yourself and keep trying. When I’m on stage, it’s like having two voices on my shoulder—one praising me, the other criticising. The challenge is to find balance and stay open.
D'Amario: What kinds of social pressures have you faced as a woman in music?
Mutter: When I had my children, I was shocked by the judgment I received. Women would come backstage and ask, “Where are your children now?” implying I was neglecting them. That kind of comment, especially from other women, was deeply hurtful.
We need to study why women aren’t always supportive of each other and why society makes it so hard to combine motherhood with a career. Childcare is expensive, and many women are forced to choose between family and profession. It’s a social issue, not just a scientific one. Equal pay, flexible support systems, and cultural change are essential.
D'Amario: How have you experienced gender dynamics in classical music, particularly in orchestras?
Mutter: I’ve never played in an orchestra myself, so I can’t speak from direct experience. My musical life has always been as a soloist, which means I come in, perform, and leave—I’m not embedded in the group dynamics that orchestral musicians face. But I do remember how rare it was to see women in orchestras when I started performing internationally at age 13. The Vienna Philharmonic and Berlin Philharmonic resisted female membership for decades.
One vivid memory is the scandal in the late 1970s when Karajan brought Sabine Meyer, a brilliant clarinetist, into the Berlin Philharmonic. The backlash was intense—anti-feminist sentiments surfaced, and it was clear that the presence of women was still controversial. Things have changed since then, but I still rarely see female concertmasters or conductors. That’s something we need to talk about more.
D'Amario: What kind of support do you think musicians need to thrive today?
Mutter: Musicians often lack the mental health support they need. Athletes have coaches and safe spaces—so why don’t we? In my foundation, we provide some coaching, but I aim to establish a genuine safe space for young musicians to discuss their fears. Many are reluctant to ask questions or show vulnerability. That needs to change.
I’ve learned a lot from the younger generation. They’re more receptive to therapy and conversations about mental health than we ever were. My children’s generation considers mental health a normal part of life, and I admire them for that. Personally, I’ve gained a lot from them—about trauma, problem-solving, and emotional resilience. We’re in a better place than 30 years ago, but there is still a long way to go.
D'Amario: What concerns you most about the working conditions of orchestral musicians?
Mutter: I know colleagues who play six days a week, sometimes two operas on Sundays, and teach on their day off, year after year. That’s not sustainable. There’s no time for recovery or prevention. We need to study these working conditions and advocate for change.
Some orchestras are trying. The Sydney Symphony once had a yoga teacher travel with them on tour. That’s brilliant. Usually, you only get a doctor who prescribes painkillers. We need physiotherapists, mental health coaches, and wellness programs embedded in the profession.
D'Amario: What gives you hope for the future of classical music?
Mutter: I’m optimistic. Classical music is evolving—it’s becoming more inclusive and more connected to the emotional and social realities of our time. I see more women, more musicians of color, and a growing understanding that music is about community.
When I see my scholars, I’m convinced the world isn’t lost. They’re passionate, curious, and open. Music is the one place where cultural heritage, religion, and gender shouldn’t matter. What matters is the shared experience. That’s the essence of my life—sharing music and supporting others in finding their own joy and strength through it.
D'Amario: If you had to describe your personal formula for wellbeing, what would it be?
Mutter: I loved it when you asked about a “secret formula”—it sounds like a perfume or a cake recipe! But of course, there is no formula. If anything, it’s a lifelong process of learning, adjusting, and staying connected to what truly matters.
For me, it begins with a deep love for music. Music has always been more than a profession—it’s a calling, a way of being in the world. I believe in its power to connect people, to transcend boundaries, and to bring us together in ways that words cannot. I’ve seen this happen on stage, in rehearsal rooms, and even in the most unexpected places.
I also believe in the importance of staying physically and mentally strong. Build the physical foundation that will carry you through the demands of a long career. Equally important is emotional resilience.
There’s no such thing as perfection in music, and that’s a beautiful thing. You have to be curious, vulnerable, and open to growth. And finally, I believe in people. I love people. I love seeing the next generation of musicians rise with passion and purpose.
So if I had to sum it up, my “formula” is this: love what you do, take care of your body, nurture your mind, and never lose your sense of wonder. And above all, stay connected to music, to others, and to yourself.