There’s music that demands attention—and then there’s music that invites quiet presence. Dorota Konchevska’s new single *“This is bye bye”* does the latter. It doesn’t shout or sparkle. It hums low, pulses softly, and echoes like a half-forgotten memory flickering back to life.
The Dublin-based experimental artist has carved out her most intimate sonic space yet with this haunting release. Built from fractured beats, ghostly vocals, and the mournful slide of acoustic guitar, *“This is bye bye”* is less a single and more an emotional séance. A space to sit with sorrow. A mirror for the moments we don’t post about.
“There’s so much pressure to be okay, to feel happy, to keep moving,” Dorota tells us. “But sadness is natural—it’s part of our emotional landscape. It deserves its time.”
And she gives it that time—stretching it across barely-there production and whispered truths. The result is what feels like a diary entry accidentally left open on the piano. Raw, unrehearsed, and brave in its simplicity.
Dorota’s voice, processed but never distant, floats above the track like a thought you can’t quite let go of. There are no theatrics here. No forced crescendos or pop song structures. Just an artist showing you how goodbye can feel when no one’s looking.
“I didn’t set out to make something upbeat or easy,” she adds. “I just wanted it to feel true.”
And it does. Deeply so.
Konchevska, who has previously performed at international venues like London’s Kings Place and Rome’s Auditorium Parco della Musica, comes from a lineage of musical experimentation. With roots in jazz vocals and an academic background in music technology, she bridges analog intuition with digital deconstruction. Her performances—often in collaboration with other jazz-minded futurists—blur the line between composition and improvisation.
But with *“This is bye bye,”* the spectacle is stripped away. What’s left is the feeling. The ache. The tenderness of truth.
“For me, writing it helped close a chapter,” she says. “It gave me space to feel disappointment, and that quiet ache we all carry when life doesn’t unfold the way we hoped. I hope it can do that for others too—to be a soft companion through whatever goodbye they’re holding.”
This isn’t music for the dance floor. It’s for the forest path. The late-night walk home. The quiet breath before starting over. If you’re looking for an anthem, look elsewhere. But if what you need is someone to sit with you while you fall apart a little, *“This is bye bye”* is already holding space.
