SOWA: “I Am Part of My Country’s DNA. My Music Can’t Stay Silent”

In a raw and deeply personal interview, Ukrainian artist SOWA opens up about creating music during wartime, the untranslatable grief her people carry, and reclaiming femininity as power. From the letters she took when fleeing home to the dream she still whispers to herself — her voice is more than sound. It’s a statement. And a weapon.

UKRAINE & IDENTITY

How has being Ukrainian shaped your music — especially now?
Ukraine inevitably touches my heart, because I’m not just a citizen of this country — I’m part of its DNA. Ukrainians are people who are aware of the power of their voice. Right now, our goal is to end the war once and for all. To stop the daily loss of lives and the suffering we are enduring, caused by the enemy.

We were very unlucky with our neighbor — but we’re lucky to be who we are: strong, despite everything. Not in words, but in action.

Do you feel more free abroad or at home?

Freedom is something you must grant yourself, no matter where you are. Sadly, Ukraine has a neighbor that has tried to take our freedom for centuries. But it will never succeed, because freedom isn’t something physical — it’s something we, Ukrainians, are born with.
I feel free in my own country. We’re not fighting for freedom — we already know it’s ours. We’re fighting to stop the pain and suffering of our people, and to build an independent future for the next generations.

Our youth think in revolutionary ways now, and are in step with the modern world. I feel it strongly — our youth have a powerful future ahead of them.

Is there a sound or word in the Ukrainian language you could never translate — because it’s just too emotional?

Yes — tuha. A deep, aching longing. Ukrainians feel it today: longing for homes that no longer exist, for fathers, sons, husbands, and brothers on the frontlines. For sisters, wives, daughters who are also fighting.

Tuha isn’t just sadness — it’s a feeling that stays inside you for a long time.
Also, my favorite word: shchemyt. It’s hard to translate, but easy to feel. It’s when your heart suddenly tightens — like when you remember a childhood moment, or hear the familiar voice of someone you haven’t heard in years. That’s shchem — a deep, piercing emotional pull.

What do you carry with you from home, wherever you go — something physical or symbolic?

At the start of the full-scale invasion, my mom, my sister, and I left Ukraine after hearing explosions near our home. The first three things I grabbed instinctively were: my equipment — microphone, in-ear monitors, and other gear in case I’d need to perform.

Also, our flag, and two handwritten letters from a fan. There were only two, but they meant a lot. One girl had written kind words and wished me success. Her first letter came after my debut song “Rika” — she even sent me a gift: a photo of the song’s cover, printed and framed. I took it all with me.

FEMININITY & IMAGE

Do you feel the pressure to look a certain way as a woman in music?

I’ve felt pressure about my appearance — like I had to look “right” to be seen as worthy of attention. People told me, “Only post on social media with your hair down.” But I liked being different. Sometimes I wanted to be strict, with my hair in a bun or tied back.

I started my career at 16 — already a mature age to begin. I wouldn’t say I felt pressure, but I had so many thoughts about my age, and what kind of music I should make to be “successful.” You’re not quite a child anymore, but not yet an adult — and you have to decide where to adapt, and where to stay true to yourself.

In today’s digital world, where you constantly see other people’s lives and growth, it’s so easy to compare yourself. But that’s the trap.

What’s your relationship with femininity — is it a weapon, a disguise, or a truth?

There was a time when I struggled to accept myself as a woman. I was ashamed of it. That’s a story I’ll tell someday.

Today, I’m happy to be who I am — because I feel it so deeply, and I understand the power my gender carries. Femininity is an essence. You don’t have to learn it — women are born with it. It becomes a disguise only for those who haven’t accepted themselves and try to wear a role society expects.

Femininity isn’t just softness — that’s a distorted view. It’s a driving force when fully activated. It is a weapon. And it’s one we must learn to use — for our benefit and for good.

Have you ever been underestimated because you look “too soft” or “too pretty”?
Yes — sometimes I catch myself thinking that people may not take me seriously because of my soft facial features or my age. I imagine the perception would be different if I had sharper, more defined features.

What would you say to a young girl who feels like she has to choose between beauty and power?

That beauty is power. Any tool you have — even what people call a flaw — can be turned into your strength.

Don’t focus on choosing between one or the other. Focus on what’s most effective.
You know, I have a personal motto: why choose, when you can combine?

FUTURE & FEARS

What’s the dream you’re still afraid to say out loud?

It’s the one I still whisper quietly to myself when I look at big stages. I won’t say what it is — but I will say: I know how to dream big.

When you imagine your future — are you alone, or with someone?

When you learn to be with yourself, you’re never truly alone. What matters to me is not the number of people around me — but how much love and energy we exchange.

I dream of a future filled with people who share a deep love for music. For all of us, music holds a sacred place — just like it does for me.

Will you ever stop singing? And if so — what would make you stop?

Nothing will ever stop me from loving music — because it’s what makes me feel alive. So, no — I will never stop.

Music is everywhere: in words, in sound, in space, in everyday things. You can’t leave music — because it never leaves you.

What do you want people to feel in complete silence, after your song ends?

That moment of silence — I want it to echo with something personal. A feeling that stays. Maybe it reminds them of someone they love. Or of themselves.

Silence can be louder than sound — if it comes after something real.