In today’s artist spotlight we have Ankit Shrestha who makes intimate indie folk music that brings together poetic lyrics and intricate guitar work. This Nepal-born artist first caught attention in his homeland, where his 2017 debut album and hit song “Yaadharu” earned him a huge following. After honing his craft busking in New York’s subway stations, Shrestha expanded his reach into India’s indie scene with tracks like “Dust and Bones” and “Winter,” gaining radio play and playlist features. Now based in London, he bridges cultures by writing in both English and Nepali, creating music that feels both personal and universal. His recent publishing deal with Anara Publishing marks another milestone as he builds his presence in the UK’s vibrant indie community.
Ankit’s latest sophomore album “Naya Din” (2024) consists of eight tracks that chronicle personal transformation and resilience. Following its release, the album propelled Ankit’s streaming numbers up 40% and drew 38,000 YouTube subscribers. A sold-out Nepal tour across five cities showcased the album’s impact, with crowds of 200+ fans singing along at each venue. At its heart, “Naya Din” embraces a simple philosophy that every day offers a chance to begin anew.
The album opens with “Intro,” an instrumental piece that immediately grabs you with its cinematic scope. What begins as simple guitar strumming transforms into a rich tapestry of sound, with piano and guitar trading moments of intensity and restraint. It’s the kind of track that makes you close your eyes and sink into your chair, setting up the emotional journey ahead.
“Banda Aakha ko Chitra” shifts gears with Shrestha’s soft, breathy vocals. The lyrics are in Nepali and he brings an intimate warmth that contrasts beautifully with the track’s alt-rock edge. The track features a standout guitar lead mid-song, while maintaining a consistent, dreamy tonality throughout. Unlike the complex arrangements of the intro track, this song takes a more straightforward approach, allowing its meditation on idealism versus reality to breathe through measured composition and thoughtful production.
“Sunaulo Rajya” opens with gentle acoustic strumming and Ankit’s dreamy vocals, gradually building into a powerful indie rock anthem. The folk-inspired introduction evolves into grander arrangements and you can hear tabla percussion towards the second half. Mid-song, the tension rises dramatically, evoking revolutionary fervor. Lyrically, it challenges the concept of a ‘golden kingdom,’ questioning societal ideals of happiness and freedom.
“Somewhere in the West” catches you off guard with its country-tinged opening, before settling into Shrestha’s sweet spot of contemplative indie folk. His English lyrics hit differently here – more direct, more vulnerable. His humming was pleasant to listen to and gives an ethereal touch, while the languid, windswept soundscape perfectly captures the song’s themes of longing and personal freedom.
“Afnai Chhaya” might be Shrestha’s most personal statement yet. The Nepali lyrics feel like whispered confessions, backed by guitar work that starts sparse but grows more assured with each verse. The song employs reverb and multi-layered production to create both fullness and distance, while electric guitars add emotional weight to the melancholic atmosphere.
“Winter” begins with delicate acoustic strumming and Ankit’s whispered vocals in English. The song has a crisp morning feel to it, like frost on grass. Originally released in 2021, it set the contemplative tone for Naya Din. The arrangement builds gradually with evocative instrumentation that captures the essence of solitary winter days.
“Trains” opens with distinctly urban textures, drawing from Ankit’s experiences busking in New York’s subway system. The gentle acoustic strumming and reflective lyrics paint fleeting moments of human connection in the city’s constant flow. Though shorter than other tracks, it captures the essence of solitude felt in the city while maintaining the album’s intimate, dreamlike quality.
Shrestha saves his most ambitious piece for last with “Taadhaa ko Taapu.” Over six minutes, he crafts a spellbinding farewell that speaks to the heart, whether you understand Nepali or not. What begins as a quiet confession grows into something massive yet never overwhelming. The mix of acoustic, electronic, and soaring electric guitar work feels earned, not forced. It’s the kind of closer that makes you sit in silence for a moment after it ends, processing what you’ve just experienced.
