Seda Tevanyan’s story begins in Yerevan, but it doesn’t stay there. The city is where she was born and raised, yet when she speaks about herself, she reaches back to Javakhk, the place her roots come from, and that sense of origin seems to shape everything about her. There is something deeply human in the way she tells it: not as a polished biography, but as a story carried by family memory, by songs heard in childhood, by a grandmother who loved to sing folk melodies. Those songs stayed with her. They were not background noise. They were the first signs of a life that would eventually move toward music.
What makes Seda feel real is that her relationship to music is not limited to one role. She is a singer, yes, and she trained in vocal performance, but she is also someone who plays piano, dhol, and guitar. The dhol and guitar, which she learned on her own, which says something important about her. She does not seem like an artist who waits for permission. She learns, listens, tries, and builds her own path. That combination of formal education and self-taught instinct provides her work a kind of sincerity that feels earned rather than performed.
Her musical education reflects that same seriousness. She studied at the Nor Nork House of Culture, then continued at the Jivani Ashugh School, and later graduated from the A. Babajanyan College of Music and Pedagogy. These are not just lines on a résumé; they show a long relationship with Armenian musical tradition. She has spent years inside that world, learning not only technique but also the feeling behind the songs. That matters, because her art seems less about personal display and more about carrying something older forward without letting it lose its soul.
When she speaks about the artists who influenced her, she starts with childhood and then moves into national memory. She mentions Sirusho as an early favorite and later names Hayrik and Ofelya Hambardzumyan among the voices that shaped her understanding of music. These influences place her firmly in the Armenian national tradition, where folk and ashugh music are not museum pieces but living forms. Her taste seems rooted in songs that still breathe with emotion and story and place. She is drawn to music that feels like it comes from somewhere, not just something made to fill a stage.
That connection becomes especially clear when she discusses the songs she loves most. Choosing a favorite is difficult for her, but she keeps returning to mountain songs like “Sari hovi mernem,” “Sari sirun yar,” and “Sarer kaghachem.” The fact that these are the songs she names says a lot. Mountains, for her, stand for freedom and happiness. That is not a fancy answer. It is simple, direct, and revealing. Seda also speaks about songwriting in a very honest way. You can tell that she is attracted to songs that allow for breathing space.
Seda also speaks about songwriting in a very honest way. She says she has written a few musical sketches, but not yet a full song. There is something refreshing in that admission. She does not pretend to be further along than she is. She talks about finding her muse, about wanting to grow more confident as a creator. That kind of openness provides her a rawness that polished public stories often lack. She is not presenting herself as complete. She is presenting herself as someone still in motion, still becoming.
In her professional life, she works independently. People contact her directly, she says, and that directness seems to fit her personality. She has performed with “Yergetsuts” before and is now involved with the Relax Project. There is a grounded practicality in that. She is not floating above the work; she is in it, handling the relationships, the logistics, the stage work, and the reality of being a working performer. That makes her feel less like an image and more like a person navigating an actual career.
What she values most in performance is the live connection. She loves the audience, the exchange of energy, and the chance to share the stage with fellow musicians. That tells you something important about why she does what she does. For her, music is not only an expression. It is a connection. The concert space becomes a place where emotion moves both ways, from artist to audience and back again. That kind of relationship can’t be faked. It has to be felt.
At this stage in her career, recognition matters to her, not as vanity but as encouragement. She says she is inspired by the attention she is gradually receiving because it helps her bring national songs to more listeners. That goal feels central to her identity. She wants to keep Armenian songs alive, but not trapped in nostalgia. She wants them heard, felt, and passed on in the present. That is a serious artistic purpose, and it imparts her work a sense of responsibility.
She also reflects on how the music scene has changed over time. In her view, it began more choral, then moved into Ashugh performance, and now leans more toward folk and folk-pop. That observation shows that she is paying attention not just to her own path but also to the larger shifts around her. In the project “Yergos” was generated one of the most difficult moments of her career, where she had to face competition and emotional strain. She seems to understand change, but without ever giving in completely.
One of the more difficult moments in her career came during the “Yergos” project, where she faced both competition and emotional strain. That experience seems to have tested her in a way that went beyond singing. It forced her to confront her strength. Those are often the moments that shape an artist most, not the applause but the pressure. And from the way she talks about it, she came out of that period more certain of herself.
Looking ahead, she is keen to explore folk-jazz and hopes to join a group in that style. That desire is intriguing because it shows she is not locked into tradition as a cage. She respects the roots, but she is curious about what happens when those roots are stretched into something new. Seda’s openness and experiment meet around the folk-jazz space, which gives a sense of heritage.
Out of many experiences Seda treasures, singing with the Merangulyan Ensemble stands out.
She describes it as an honor, and that feeling matters. It suggests that she still measures success not only by visibility but also by belonging to a musical lineage larger than herself. Those moments on stage become part of her story because they affirm that her voice has a place in the wider cultural conversation.
If there is one thing she says to young musicians, it is blunt. She states, “Do not listen to anyone, even elders, and follow your dream.” Behind the hardness of that advice is a clear emotional truth. People can be discouraging, jealous, or fake in their support. She seems to know that from experience. So her message is really about self-trust, persistence, and not letting other people’s doubts become your own.
In the end, Seda Tevanyan comes across as someone holding several things at once, like heritage and change, discipline and instinct, and vulnerability and strength. Her story is not flashy. It is grounded, searching, and alive. And maybe that is exactly why it feels human.