Life shaped Sergey Umroyan by Music, Emotion, and Curiosity……

For Sergey Umroyan, music was not something he consciously chose at the beginning of his life. Born in Gyumri, he was introduced to it at a very young age, largely because of his parents, who recognized his natural musical ability and wanted to give him the opportunity to develop it.

“I started studying music when I was very young, whether I wanted to or not,” he says with what sounds like humor.

As a child, however, Umroyan’s interests were far removed from the world of music. Like many children, he was drawn to movement, competition, and adventure. Football and karate occupied much of his attention, while practicing an instrument was not something he particularly enjoyed.His parents kept showing up for him, kept believing in hi, even on the nights when he resented the piano, when practice felt like a prison sentence instead of a gift. They never pushed, never guilted him, but their faith in his potential somehow made it worse. He couldn’t disappoint them, so he kept playing, kept pretending the music still moved him, even as it hollowed him out.

It was only after graduating from music school that his relationship with music began to change. With greater maturity and a deeper understanding of the art form, Umroyan started to recognize the value of everything he had learned.

“That was when I began to love music,” he recalls.

The piano was his first instrument. He considers it a fundamental part of a musician’s education and an essential foundation for understanding harmony, structure, and musical expression. Sergey learned flute and vocal performance too. It wasn’t just about adding skills, each instrument taught him something the others couldn’t.

Sergey is still in the thick of it, studying, working, and creating music. His world doesn’t exist in some isolated bubble. It’s shaped by the people around him, the ones he talks to, learns from, argues with maybe. And it’s shaped by something bigger too, the whole musical tradition that came before him and surrounds him still.

He doesn’t work in a vacuum. He’s drawn to what other musicians and composers are doing. Aram Hovhannisyan, Arthur Avanesov, Ruben Antonyan, Vahram Sargsyan, these aren’t just names on a list. They’re voices, approaches, ways of thinking about music that have gotten under his skin, that he grapples with, learns from, sometimes pushes against.

His creativity isn’t some pure, isolated thing. It’s messy and relational. It comes from dialogue, with the people he knows, with the composers he studies, with the tradition itself. He’s not separate from all that. He’s embedded in it, shaped by it, building on it, and maybe redefining it in the process.

He speaks warmly about the artistic community around him, while also acknowledging the importance of looking beyond it. World music, with its many traditions, styles, and approaches, remains an endless source of learning.

“There is so much to discover in music,” he says.

Alongside his academic work, Umroyan is gradually moving deeper into electronic music. Rather than treating electronic music as something separate from his education, he sees it as a space where he can apply and transform the knowledge he has gained through academic study.

For him, electronic music offers a different way of working with texture, rhythm, atmosphere, and sound. It gives him the freedom to experiment while still relying on the discipline and musical understanding developed through years of formal education.

Still, no matter what style or genre he is working in, Umroyan sees music as more than a profession.

“Music is simply my way of life,” he says. “I can’t not be a musician.”

Rock music got under his skin early on, that primal energy, the refusal to bullshit, the way it cracks you open emotionally. It shaped him in ways he’s still unpacking. But here’s the thing: he’s never wanted to be locked into one box. Rock, folk, electronic, whatever, he draws from it all without needing a label to justify what he’s doing. The identity question? He’s learned to let that go.

His friends often describe him as someone without creative complexes—someone who is willing to experiment and do whatever feels right to him. Umroyan agrees with that description. He values freedom and believes an artist should not be restricted by expectations or labels.

“I’m very diverse,” he explains. “I can do anything that fits my taste and that I genuinely like.”

This openness can be heard in his approach to creating music. He does not separate the process into parts he loves and parts he dislikes. For him, every stage is meaningful: the first idea, the uncertainty, the development, the mistakes, and the final result.

“Creating music has no favorite or least favorite parts for me,” he says. “It is a process, and every minute of it is important, like asking which part of your child’s body you love the most.”

This way of thinking reflects something deeper than craft, it’s emotional survival through art. Music isn’t a finished product he delivers and moves past. It’s something that  breathes and shifts  throughout the creative process, absorbing his thoughts, his lived moments, the small observations that stick with him. He’s not building in isolation; he’s  leaving himself inside the work.

That’s what makes the live moment so charged. When Sergey  talks about what he enjoys most, it’s not the performance itself, it’s recognizing that the audience is actually listening . Not politely present. Actually there. That concentrated silence, that shared awareness, becomes something almost sacred because it’s a moment when the distance collapses. He’s exposed his choices, his bets on what matters, and the room meets him in it. That quiet can be just as powerful as the music itself because it confirms the work landed. It reached someone.

This is why unfinished feeling art matters. It admits to still becoming, still growing. It’s messy because living is messy. You can feel the hands that shaped it, the doubts, the moments where something unexpected happened and he leaned into it. That vulnerability, that refusal to be neat and complete, that’s what makes people listen not with their ears but with something deeper. That’s when art stops being a thing you consume and becomes  a place where two people actually meet.

He does not expect everyone to interpret his music in exactly the same way. Instead, he hopes listeners will experience it honestly, according to their own emotional and personal realities.

“I want them to feel whatever their inner world allows them to feel, in the most sincere way possible,” he says.

This idea of inner experience also connects to Umroyan’s own personal journey. One of the most important things he is still exploring is self-knowledge. Understanding himself, his emotions, and his artistic instincts remains an ongoing process.

He does not claim to have reached a final answer. In fact, he believes that some discoveries can only happen with time.

“I hope that moment will still come,” he says.

At the moment, Umroyan is working on two new projects. One is a film, while the other is another ballet. He is not yet ready to share details, preferring to keep the projects private until they are further developed.

“I won’t reveal any details yet,” he says with a smile.

Songwriting is not currently part of his creative practice, although he leaves the possibility open for the future.

“I don’t write songs,” he says. “Not yet.”

That small clarification suggests that his artistic path is still evolving. While his background is strongly connected to academic music, his interests continue to expand toward electronic music, film, ballet, and other forms of expression. His work is defined not by a fixed destination, but by a willingness to keep exploring.

For young musicians and artists, his advice is direct: be courageous, trust your abilities, and do the work that genuinely matters to you.

“Be brave and do what you love and what you are capable of doing,” he says.

For now, Sergey  is still moving forward without trying to define exactly where the road will take him. He is studying, experimenting, listening, and working on projects that he is not ready to talk about yet. Some things are still taking shape, and he prefers to let them remain unfinished until the right moment comes.

He does not have all the answers, and perhaps that is part of what keeps him creating. He is still trying to understand himself, still discovering new sounds, and still finding different ways to express what he feels.

Music may have entered his life because of his parents, but it stayed because it eventually became his own choice.

“I can’t not be a musician,” he says.

And maybe that is the simplest way to understand Sergey is someone who does not separate music from life. He listens to people, collects emotions, observes relationships, and turns all of that into sound. He does not want to tell the audience exactly what to feel. He only wants to give them something raw enough to meet them somewhere inside themselves.

The rest is still being written or composed.