There is something fitting about the title Almost There. For Naya Yeira, it is less a statement of arrival than an acknowledgement of movement of becoming, questioning, creating and refusing to stand still. Three years in the making, the Indonesian-born, London-based artist’s debut EP captures the uncertainty of navigating your twenties while identity, ambition and relationships continue to shift around you.
When House of Solo first spoke with Naya, she was still defining the shape of her artistic world. Since then, that world has expanded considerably. Music now sits alongside digital design, 3D art, mixed media, projections and creative coding, forming an increasingly distinct visual language around Naya Yeira. Raised in Jakarta before moving to London and exposed to filmmaking from an early age through her director father, storytelling has always been part of her creative instinct. Today, she is beginning to bring those influences together with far greater confidence and intention.
That evolution can be heard on her latest single, “hit record”. Built around minimal production, deep bass, soft vocal layers and flashes of electronic detail, the track carries the laid-back energy of alternative R&B while confronting something far more personal. Written during what Naya describes as a rock-bottom period, the song became an exercise in taking back control — creating without waiting for permission, validation or the perfect moment.
It follows the introspection of “twenty9” and “raffle ticket”, songs that similarly examine self-doubt, recurring patterns and the desire to move beyond them. Together, they form part of Almost There, due 30th October: a record less interested in presenting a finished version of Naya than documenting the process of becoming one.
With growing support from BBC Radio 1Xtra, BBC Radio 6 Music and BBC Introducing, alongside recognition from titles including NME, The Independent, Wonderland, Clash and The Line of Best Fit, Naya’s profile continues to expand. Yet, as she tells House of Solo, external validation is becoming less important than learning to trust her own instincts.
Returning to House of Solo, Naya Yeira speaks about building the world around Almost There, breaking creative and personal patterns, growing between Jakarta and London, finding confidence through action and why being “almost there” might be exactly where she needs to be.
Welcome back to House of Solo, Naya. A lot has happened since we last spoke. When you think about the artist you were during our first interview and the artist you are now, what feels most different?
I think I’ve definitely grown a lot, especially visually. I feel like I have much more of an artist persona now and a clearer idea of the world I want Naya Yeira to exist in. For this release, I’ve really leaned into this digital-surrealist, tech-driven world through projections, collaborations, mixed media and creative coding. Before, I knew what I liked, but I don’t think I necessarily knew how it all connected. Now, the music, what I wear, the visuals and everything around it feel much more aligned.
Your debut EP Almost There has been three years in the making. Did the project become something different from what you originally imagined as you changed and grew during that time?
Definitely. I think Almost There ended up becoming a project about the pursuit of becoming something in your twenties. I was figuring myself out while I was making it, so naturally, the project changed with me. Even aesthetically, I was very streetwear-focused when I started, whereas now I feel like I’ve found this more ethereal aesthetic that represents me much better.
The songs changed too. There were songs I originally thought would be on the EP that aren’t anymore because I became clearer about what I wanted it to say. At its core, Almost There is about recognising the patterns you keep falling into and deciding that you actually want to break them. It follows that cycle of awareness, denial, breaking patterns and trying to start again. It’s basically me trying to take a more active role in my own life instead of letting life happen to me.
The title Almost There feels particularly honest because it refuses to suggest that you have everything figured out. What does being “almost there” mean to you at this stage of your life and career?
I think there are two sides to it. Career-wise, I’m still in pursuit of something. I’m always almost somewhere, almost reaching the next thing, and then the goalpost moves again.
But personally, Almost There is also about being stuck in patterns and deciding to break out of them. I definitely don’t have everything figured out, and I don’t think I’m supposed to. I’m still trying to understand myself and what I want, but I think the difference now is that I’m actually up for that challenge. Being “almost there” isn’t necessarily a bad thing anymore. It means I’m moving.
“hit record” came from what you have described as a rock-bottom period, yet the song feels confident and almost defiant. What helped you turn that difficult moment into something that feels empowering rather than defeated?
I think when you’re really at the bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up. For me, it was realising that nobody is coming to save you, and sometimes the most important thing you can do is just ask, “Okay, how can I show up for myself today?”
I also learned that confidence comes from proof. You can sit there wondering whether you’re capable of doing something, but until you actually do it, you don’t have any evidence that you can. Then you do one thing, and suddenly you have proof. You do another thing, and you have more proof. That’s really what hit record is about for me. Even if nobody else is there, I can still show up for myself.
You said that the embarrassing thing is not trying at all, rather than trying and failing. Was there a point where you realised fear, perfectionism or other people’s expectations were holding you back creatively?
Yeah, definitely. There was a period when I was writing where I think I was literally trying to chase a “hit record”, whatever that even means. I was making things for approval or because I thought they were what people would consider cool.
Eventually, I realised I actually don’t care about any of that. I’d rather make something weird that genuinely interests me because I think the right people will find me, rather than make something because I think it’s what I’m supposed to do. I think the embarrassing thing for me now would be never finding out what I could make because I was too worried about how it would be received.
Across “twenty9”, “raffle ticket” and “hit record”, there is this recurring tension between doubt and possibility. What have you learned about your own patterns while writing these songs, and were there any truths about yourself that were uncomfortable to confront?
I realised how often I live in doubt and how much I was waiting to feel confident before doing things. I wish I naturally had this endless confidence, but I don’t. Writing these songs taught me that if confidence comes from proof, then you have to do the thing first. You can’t wait around for it to magically appear.
A lot of the EP is me recognising patterns that I already know aren’t serving me and asking why I keep ending up back in the same place. That was probably the uncomfortable part: realising that once you’re aware of a pattern, at some point you have to take responsibility for whether you keep repeating it. Honestly, my life looks very different now from how it did before.
When we look at your journey from Jakarta to London, your identity exists across different places, cultures and creative influences. As your career has developed, have you become more conscious of how your Indonesian upbringing appears in your music and visual world?
Definitely. I think when I first moved to London, I was so focused on figuring out where I fit here that I probably wasn’t consciously thinking about how Indonesia appeared in my work. There also aren’t that many Indonesian artists around me here, so for a while, I felt like I existed between different worlds without fully belonging to one.
Now, I think I’m much more comfortable with that. Growing up in Jakarta and then spending most of my young adult life in London has given me this strange mixture of references, and I actually think that’s a strength. Even beyond Indonesia specifically, I grew up around film because my dad was a director and I was always around sets, so that cinematic way of thinking has stayed with me. I don’t necessarily want to force my identity into the work in an obvious way. I think it naturally comes through because all of those things shaped my taste.
Your work now extends far beyond songwriting into digital design, 3D art, mixed media and creative coding. How important is it for you to build an entire universe around Naya Yeira rather than simply release music?
It’s really important to me. Music by itself sometimes doesn’t feel tangible enough for what I’m trying to express. There are emotions and spaces in my head that I can hear in a song, but I also want to be able to physically see them. I feel like we’ve really achieved that with this EP. We managed to build a tangible set where the Naya Yeira world can actually exist and breathe, which I can’t wait to show people. It brings together mixed media, projections and this ethereal, slightly ragged approach to fashion.
That’s why I became obsessed with 3D, mixed media and creative coding. It actually started out of necessity because I didn’t have the budget to pay someone to make everything I imagined, so I started teaching myself. Then I realised I genuinely loved doing it. Now, I’ve also learned how important collaboration is. It’s how you take something that only exists in your head or on a Pinterest board and actually bring it to life.
I want Naya Yeira to exist somewhere between music, digital art and cinematic storytelling. I love the idea that you could hear a song and then enter the world that song belongs to. Especially with Almost There, the digital surrealism and these slightly liminal, dreamlike spaces let me visualise feelings that would be much harder to communicate if I just filmed myself somewhere in the real world.
Since we last spoke, the outside recognition has continued to grow, from BBC support and major editorial coverage to performing more live shows. Has that recognition changed your confidence, or are you still learning how to trust yourself without needing external validation?
I think it definitely gives you little moments of reassurance. When somebody you respect connects with the music, or you get to perform somewhere you never imagined you would, of course there’s a part of you that thinks, “Okay, maybe I am doing something right.”
But I’m also trying to be careful about not making that the source of my confidence, because then you’re constantly waiting for somebody else to tell you that what you’re doing is good. That’s almost the opposite of what I’ve been learning through this EP. I want to get to a point where I trust my own taste enough that I can make something I believe in before anybody else validates it. I’m still learning how to do that, but I think I’m much closer than I was before.
Our first conversation captured you at an earlier point in your journey, while Almost There feels like another snapshot of an artist still becoming. If we sit down with you again in a few years, what do you hope will have changed by then?
I hope I’m artistically fearless and abundant, so I can express my artistry and creativity to the fullest. I want to have the freedom and resources to take the ideas in my head as far as they can possibly go, without fear being the thing that limits them.
I don’t necessarily hope I’ll have everything figured out by then. I actually hope I’m still experimenting and changing. I just want to trust myself enough to go all the way with an idea, even if it’s strange or people don’t immediately understand it. I think that would be the biggest evolution for me: not finally “arriving”, but feeling completely free in what I create.
