There’s a strange contradiction at the heart of success: the closer you get to the life you once imagined, the more you realize that nobody really knows what they’re doing.
The people you once admired from a distance turn out to have their own insecurities. The milestones you spent years pursuing become stepping stones toward another set of expectations. And the confidence you assumed would accompany achievement somehow remains just out of reach.
For London-based singer-songwriter Sonia Elisheva, that realization became the foundation of “Playground,” an infectious, electro-leaning alt-pop single that introduces a new chapter in her increasingly eclectic musical career.
“I’ve often found in my own life that I’ll reach these places I’ve dreamed about getting to, only to realise that the people around me don’t necessarily have it any more figured out than I do,” she explains. “Some people are just better at pretending than others.”
It’s a deceptively simple observation, but one that challenges the culture of performance surrounding contemporary creative life.
From carefully curated social media identities to the constant pressure to demonstrate professional progress, appearing successful has become almost as important as achieving anything meaningful.
And for musicians, whose careers are increasingly measured through streams, followers, playlists, and ticket sales, the distinction between external validation and genuine fulfillment can become especially difficult to maintain.
“Playground” doesn’t pretend to solve that contradiction.
Instead, it finds freedom in acknowledging it.
With playful electronic production, soulful vocals, and an instinct for combining introspection with danceable melodies, Elisheva transforms imposter syndrome into something unexpectedly cathartic.
The message is reassuring: nobody has everything figured out.
And perhaps that’s precisely what makes life interesting.
The Myth of Finally Making It
Since launching her project in 2021, Elisheva has accumulated more than a million streams, received support from playlists including New Music Friday and Jazz UK, and performed extensively across Britain and Europe.
Her live career has included sold-out London jazz venues and performances with a seven-piece band.
Yet those achievements haven’t necessarily produced the sense of certainty she once imagined.
“When I was starting out, I definitely imagined that there would be some point where I’d reach a certain level and suddenly feel like, ‘Okay, I know what I’m doing now.’”
Instead, every accomplishment introduced another question.
A dream venue becomes the starting point for pursuing a bigger one.
A successful release creates anxiety about the next song.
Another artist’s career becomes an opportunity for comparison rather than inspiration.
“You can look at someone else’s career and think they’re miles ahead, while they’re probably having exactly the same thoughts about someone else.”
That cycle became central to “Playground.”
The song questions the assumption that success eventually provides a permanent sense of arrival.
And it suggests that the people who appear most confident may simply have become better at concealing their uncertainty.
Elisheva is particularly interested in the distinction between measurable success and emotional fulfillment.
“You imagine that a milestone is going to produce a feeling, but often it just produces another milestone.”
It’s an observation that feels especially relevant in an industry where numbers increasingly shape how artistic achievement is perceived.
But Elisheva isn’t arguing that those numbers are meaningless.
She recognizes that streams, ticket sales, and playlist placements have real professional consequences.
Her concern is what happens when they become the only way an artist evaluates their work.
“Playground isn’t really about becoming indifferent to validation. It’s about not letting it become the only way you decide whether what you’re doing has value.”
Jazz Bar Meets London Nightbus Meets Sweaty Nightclub
If the philosophy behind “Playground” is about abandoning unrealistic expectations, its sound represents a similar kind of liberation.
Elisheva built her early musical identity around jazz and electro swing, genres that helped establish her reputation as a dynamic vocalist and live performer.
But those traditions also came with certain expectations.
Particular instruments.
Recognizable arrangements.
Specific tempos and vocal approaches.
With her new material, she’s becoming less interested in respecting those boundaries.
“I can have a great vocal melody, a weird electronic sound, a really simple pop hook and a jazz chord in the same song without having to justify why they’re there.”
The result is a sound that embraces contradiction.
Musically sophisticated but playful.
Emotionally introspective but physically energetic.
Rooted in jazz while drawing from contemporary electronic pop.
Elisheva describes her artistic identity with a phrase that captures those competing instincts perfectly:
“Jazz Bar meets London nightbus banter after a sweaty nightclub.”
The jazz bar represents her appreciation for musicianship and attentive audiences.
The nightbus represents her observational humor, her fascination with strange conversations, and the particular absurdity of London after dark.
And the nightclub represents the part of her personality that simply wants to stop thinking and dance.
“I don’t want to choose between being musically interesting and being fun.”
That philosophy also helps explain her diverse influences, which range from Amber Mark and Charli xcx to Caravan Palace, Lily Allen, L’Impératrice, and the musical traditions of her Eastern European heritage.
Rather than trying to imitate any one artist, Elisheva is interested in the feelings their music creates.
A strange chord progression.
A clever lyric.
A vintage sound.
Even a melody discovered in an old Eastern European cartoon.
“If it makes me feel—it’s valuable art to me!”
London Is Part of the Music
For Elisheva, London isn’t simply where she lives.
It’s a central character in her songwriting.
The city provides a constant stream of contradictions: ambition and exhaustion, sophistication and absurdity, glamour and chaos.
“You can walk down one street and see five completely different versions of life happening at once.”
Those observations have shaped her lyrical perspective, particularly her tendency toward irony and self-deprecating humor.
There’s something distinctly British about finding comedy in uncomfortable situations, and Elisheva embraces that sensibility.
“A lot of my lyrics have that cynical, ironic, self-deprecating sense of humour.”
It’s also why the nightbus has become such a useful metaphor for her music.
At two in the morning, strangers become accidental storytellers.
Conversations become increasingly surreal.
And the distinction between tragedy and comedy becomes surprisingly thin.
Elisheva admits that some of her songs have emerged directly from bizarre late-night experiences in the city.
But London’s influence extends beyond lyrical inspiration.
Its mixture of cultures, personalities, and musical communities reflects the eclecticism she wants to preserve in her work.
She doesn’t want to become predictable simply because audiences have grown familiar with one version of her.
And “Playground” gives her permission to explore those contradictions more freely.
Keeping the Human Element in an Electronic World
Despite moving toward a more electronic sound, Elisheva has no intention of abandoning the live musicianship that shaped her early career.
In fact, she believes the unpredictability of performing with other musicians has become more valuable in an era increasingly dominated by artificial intelligence and carefully curated digital experiences.
“I find myself craving unplanned, spontaneous on-stage moments that are imperfect but are real.”
She plans to continue performing with her seven-piece band, translating the electronic textures of her new material into arrangements that preserve the spontaneity of jazz.
It’s an intriguing creative challenge.
How do you transform an electronic pop recording into something that feels alive, flexible, and unpredictable onstage?
For Elisheva, the answer lies in refusing to treat different musical traditions as incompatible.
She’s already experimented with adapting electro swing material for a large live ensemble.
Now she wants to explore what happens when that same approach is applied to pop.
The objective isn’t to recreate the recording perfectly.
It’s to create a different experience that captures the same emotional energy.
And perhaps that’s another expression of the philosophy behind “Playground.”
Perfection isn’t necessarily the point.
Sometimes the most memorable moments are the ones nobody planned.
The Freedom of Not Knowing What’s Next
For an artist whose previous work combined Eastern European folk influences with electro swing, unpredictability is hardly unfamiliar territory.
But “Playground” represents a more conscious decision to embrace it.
Elisheva no longer wants to feel obligated to reproduce whichever version of herself audiences have come to expect.
She wants the freedom to make pop music, return to jazz, experiment with house, or bring an entirely different arrangement to the stage.
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my career trying to recreate the version of me that people already expect.”
That willingness to evolve is particularly meaningful given the song’s central message.
If success doesn’t provide certainty, perhaps uncertainty doesn’t need to be treated as failure.
It can become an invitation.
To experiment.
To change direction.
To pursue something simply because it feels exciting.
And to stop confusing artistic growth with the obligation to maintain a perfectly coherent public identity.
“Playground is basically me accepting that I don’t know exactly where I’m going yet,” Elisheva explains, “and I think that’s more interesting than pretending I do!”
It’s a fitting conclusion for an artist whose music thrives on the unexpected.
Because perhaps the point of the playground isn’t to reach a particular destination.
It’s to explore what’s possible while you’re there.
In Conversation With Sonia Elisheva
“Playground” comes from realizing that reaching the places you once dreamed about doesn’t necessarily mean suddenly finding people who have everything figured out. Was there a particular moment when success stopped looking like certainty from the inside?
I think it happened gradually rather than through one huge moment. When I was starting out, I definitely imagined that there would be some point where I’d reach a certain level and suddenly feel like, ‘Okay, I know what I’m doing now.’ But every time I reached one of those milestones, there was just another thing to worry about.
You can play the venue you dreamed about and then immediately wonder why the next venue hasn’t happened. You can have a song doing well and still be panicking about the next release. You can look at someone else’s career and think they’re miles ahead, while they’re probably having exactly the same thoughts about someone else. So that was the idea behind Playground: there isn’t really an arrival point where everyone else gets handed the answers. In reality we’re all just making it up as we go along.
The song reframes imposter syndrome by suggesting that almost everyone is improvising to some degree—some people are simply better at hiding it. Has recognizing that changed the way you compare yourself to other artists or people in your industry?
Definitely! I still compare myself, I’m not going to pretend I’ve transcended Instagram and become completely enlightened, But I’m much more conscious now of how little I actually know about what’s happening behind someone else’s image. Comparison feels a bit less absolute – someone can be doing something brilliantly and still be figuring things out and I can admire what someone else is doing without deciding that their success means I’m failing.
You describe “Playground” as being about releasing the pressure to appear as though you have everything figured out and detaching from external validation. For an artist whose work is constantly quantified through streams, followers, ticket sales and industry support, how realistic is it to actually stop looking outward for reassurance?
I don’t think it’s realistic to completely stop looking outward, and that’s not even to do with being an artist. I think that’s just part of the human experience. But of course, music is an industry built around numbers, and unfortunately Spotify doesn’t send you a little message saying, ‘Don’t worry about this one, it was artistically fulfilling’ haha. You get judged based on streams, ticket sales, playlists etc. so I’d be lying if I said you could pretend they don’t matter. But in my experience, the feeling when your numbers are doing well is superficial and fleeting, and if you’re constantly chasing that particular measure of success, it’s going to be an unfulfilling and pretty thankless journey. So I would say that Playground isn’t really about becoming indifferent to validation. It’s about not letting it become the only way you decide whether what you’re doing has value.
“Playground” signals a new sonic direction after your background in jazz and electro swing. What did electro-leaning alt-pop allow you to express about yourself that your previous musical language couldn’t quite accommodate?
With Jazz and Electro Swing, there are certain expectations in the sound and live show – certain instruments, tempos, vocal styles that you’re expected to follow to sit within the genre, but that can be quite limiting. With the new music, I wanted to follow my instincts a bit more. I can have a great vocal melody, a weird electronic sound, a really simple pop hook and a jazz chord in the same song without having to justify why they’re there. I also think there’s more freedom to be introspective but still make something that makes people want to dance. I love being able to create something that’s deep and thoughtful but still a bop.
You describe your sound as “Jazz Bar meets London nightbus banter after a sweaty nightclub.” Beyond being a great description, it captures three very different versions of a night. What does each of those spaces represent about your personality and the music you want to make?
The jazz bar is probably the part of me that loves real musicianship and atmosphere. I didn’t realise until I performed other genres that you don’t always get attentive audiences that sit quietly and actually listen. I took that for granted in jazz, but it’s something I deeply value. The London nightbus is the observational, more playful side of me. I don’t want to take life too seriously and I do believe the answer is usually just to laugh. Plus, who doesn’t love overhearing a really weird drunken chat on the nightbus at 2am? I have written a few songs based off of the bizarre experiences I’ve had late-night in LDN. And the sweaty nightclub is the part that just wants to stop thinking and dance. I think those three things existing together is basically the music I want to make. I don’t want to choose between being musically interesting and being fun. I want the songs to have something going on underneath them, but I also want you to be able to have a slightly unhinged night to them.
There’s an interesting tension in your influences—from Amber Mark and Charli xcx to Caravan Palace, Lily Allen and L’Impératrice, alongside your Eastern European heritage. How do you take such disparate references and turn them into a musical identity rather than simply a collection of influences?
I like music that has a story and makes you feel something, so what I’m really trying to capture is the different feelings these influences evoke in me. That’s what I try to bring into my own music, and I think that’s what gives it an identity rather than making it feel like a collection of influences. Those artists all have very different sounds, but what they have in common is a very distinct style and a lot of personality. I try to draw influence from them in so many different ways. It might be a great electronic production, a really clever lyric, a strange chord progression, a vintage sound, or a melody from an old Eastern European cartoon I found on YouTube. If it makes me feel – it’s valuable art to me!
You’ve performed extensively with a seven-piece band and sold out London jazz venues, while “Playground” pushes further into electronic production. As your music becomes more electronic, how important is it to preserve the spontaneity and human unpredictability that comes from your jazz background?
Very important. In the era of AI and everything being so curated online, I value the unpredictability and energy of playing with a big band even more. I find myself craving unplanned, spontaneous on-stage moments that are imperfect but are real. It’s all about the vibe you can only get with other musicians. That’s something I really love about jazz. Even though this new music has a more electro-pop leaning edge, I want to continue my jazz live show with the 7-piece because I think there’s an interesting challenge in taking a record like this and turning it into a big-band show. I did the same thing with my Electro-Swing album and I think it’ll be really fun to try and now do it for a pop record.
London seems embedded not only in your sound but also in your sense of humour and storytelling. What does the city give you creatively—the contradictions, characters or conversations—that you don’t think you would write about in quite the same way somewhere else?
London is a highly intense place to live and it’s not for the faint of heart! You can walk down one street and see five completely different versions of life happening at once. Someone is dressed like they’re going to a rave, someone is dressed like they’re going to parliament, someone is having a breakdown outside Tesco. And no one stops to stare. It’s just normal. You keep going on with your life. There aren’t many cities in the world like this one, where such a diverse range of characters all share the same space. But there’s also something quite funny and quite sad about London at the same time, and I think that comes through in my writing. It can also be a tough place – you need to have your wits about you. A lot of my lyrics have that cynical, ironic, self-deprecating sense of humour. I don’t know if I’d be able to express something dark in a funny way without my British/London identity. I think it’s a core part of growing up here.
Since launching the project in 2021, you’ve accumulated over a million streams and received significant platform support. Considering “Playground” questions the need for external validation, has reaching some of those milestones actually made you more skeptical of the idea that achievement automatically creates confidence?
Completely. I think that’s one of the reasons I was able to write the song. You imagine that a milestone is going to produce a feeling, but often it just produces another milestone. You think, “Once I get to this number, I’ll feel established.” Then you get there and your brain immediately goes, “Okay, but what about the next one?” I’ve had moments where things I’d been working towards for years happened, and instead of feeling completely secure, I found myself worrying about what came next. That doesn’t make the achievements meaningless. I’m genuinely proud of them. But I think I’ve become much more interested in the difference between having evidence that something is going well and actually feeling like you’re doing well. They aren’t necessarily the same thing.
If “Playground” represents the beginning of a new chapter, does letting go of the need to look like you have everything figured out also give you permission to become a less predictable artist from here?
I definitely think so, although I might argue that I was never a particularly predictable artist! My last project was basically a niche within a niche: Eastern European folk influences in Electro Swing music. If I wanted to play it safe, I probably would have done the 1920s samples and flapper dresses aesthetic haha. But yes, I don’t want to spend the rest of my career trying to recreate the version of me that people already expect. I want to be able to make a pop song, then something really jazzy, then a house track, then put a seven-piece band on stage and see what happens.
Playground is basically me accepting that I don’t know exactly where I’m going yet and I think that’s more interesting than pretending I do!
“Playground” by Sonia Elisheva is available now. Listen here.
