I was born in 2008 into a house that never shut up, in the best possible way.
My dad still has scars on his fingertips from the balalaika strings back in the Soviet Union. My grandmother could silence an entire room with one lullaby. Music wasn’t decoration in our family; it was oxygen.
I started piano at six and outplayed my teacher by eight. At ten I stole my dad’s old guitar and didn’t sleep until it felt like an extension of my own hands. Royal Conservatory curriculum that takes most kids a decade? I finished it in three years, then taught myself violin, viola, cello, bass; whatever had strings and grief inside it.
I was a walking miracle to everyone except myself.
I hid. Every time someone asked, “Play something you wrote,” I’d die a little and mumble that I only did covers. The melodies in my head were louder than bombs, but the idea of letting them out felt like jumping off a cliff with no guarantee anyone would look up.
Then March 2025 happened. I was 16, on a dumb family trip to Missouri, arguing with my cousin at midnight about whether passion is something you wait for or something you decide to have. Something in that stupid argument cracked me open. I came home, opened the DAW for the first time in years, and BenGurWaves was born before the sun came up.
The first uploads were embarrassing. Mechanical. Safe. I almost deleted everything again.
Then summer 2025 gave me silence for the first time in my life. One night I played something on the piano that physically hurt. I cried so hard I couldn’t see the keys. I hit record anyway. That raw, ugly, honest take became the seed of everything that followed.
The Six Views was my shaky first breath.
Finally Home (October 10, 2025) was my first scream.
I’m still the same shy kid who apologizes for taking up space. But I don’t lock the songs in my chest anymore. Every track now is a piece of scar tissue I’m willing to show the world.
If you’re reading this at 3 a.m. feeling like you’re too late, too broken, or too much; turn this up. Cry. Laugh at how dramatic I am. This is for you.
– Ben
November 2025