I grew up in a concrete skybox, somewhere in the static of Tbilisi.
Gray buildings stacked like old servers,
storing lives in silence.
Suffocating inside small apartments,
surrounded by poverty and hope.
Hope managed to survive.
My sister and I would climb to the rooftop, chasing stars through cracked antennas.
An initiation to the sky, a silent plea for escape.
That’s where I learned to truly dream —
not with eyes closed, but wide open.
I was singing before I had language —
at two, songs poured out where words could not.
Braided in harmonies with my sisters,
raised inside the ancient hum of Georgian polyphony,
I carried voices older than memory.
But I had to run.
The air grew too thick to breathe,
the ground too heavy to hold my dreams.
At 20, I packed my fragments and moved to Berlin —
searching for the glitch in reality where my world could boot up.
That glitch became nana.ios.
A portal, a mirror, a digital diary of sound and vision.
Born from the magic of early internet wonder —
where everything sparkled, glitched, and meant something —
nana.ios is my system.
New system, infinite way.
The way of double existence.
The way of letting myself dream.
The way of joy.
Self-written, self-coded, self-produced.
*The Way of Joy was the first album.
Pulses like dream-pop wrapped in soft static;
the first commitment to the joy.
And my latest single *Unknown drips in hyper-pop haze.
Shadowplay of anger that was trapped inside of me.
This isn’t just music.
It’s storytelling,
documenting one’s existence,
full-body upload.
I don’t sit in one window. I open tabs. Many tabs.
Sound, movement, touching, mixed media, memory fragments — it all belongs.
The visuals are as loud as the songs.
Influenced by weirdcore, early internet decay,
soft surrealism, and digital illusions.
My ability to walk where no path remains, and still not be lost.
I love the edges of the internet —
where dreams hide in low-res gifs and forgotten code.
This project is fully me.
Every beat, every pixel, every breath.
The code that runs even after the system has crashed.
And now, the system is rebooting.
After silence, after the storm of loss, grieving
and the soft cocoon of grief,
I’m emerging —
allowing myself to let go and release new music in summer, autumn, and winter 2025.
These are the most vulnerable files I've ever rendered.
Raw, bright, and unfiltered.
It’s all bittersweet.
Bittersweet memories.
Bittersweet present.
Bittersweet future.
After the storm of grief, the world tilted.
Nothing looks the same.
Nothing feels the same.
I shall change too —
therefore, I am alive.
Slowly, quietly, entirely.