Don’t let the title fool you — Margarita Shamrakov’s latest instrumental single, “If You’re Lonely Keep Going, Keep Going,” isn’t a pep talk, it’s a quiet reckoning. At just over three minutes, this piano-driven piece doesn’t shout, it whispers — and somehow says more than most full-length records.
A Ukrainian-born, New York-based artist known for weaving emotional intelligence into every phrase, Shamrakov sidesteps traditional songwriting this time. No vocals, no choruses — just a hauntingly spare piano line soaked in ghostly reverb, colliding with glitchy percussive bleeps, cinematic fuzz, and what sounds like the ghost of a string quartet plucking at the edge of a dream.
The piece conjures comparisons to the sonic minimalism of Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross, mixed with the textural sophistication of early Radiohead instrumentals. Yet Shamrakov’s voice — even when silent — is unmistakably her own. The song moves like a solitary figure walking through an abandoned cityscape: deliberate, melancholic, yet pulsing with life under the surface.
Electronic drums stutter and flicker, not unlike a dying fluorescent bulb in an empty hallway. Pizzicato strings flutter in and out, classical and digital at once, anchored by a melody that resists resolution. Fuzzy synths poke through the ether like radio signals from a lost future — just long enough to warm you before vanishing again.
The track’s greatest strength lies in its emotional ambiguity. It’s sad without wallowing, beautiful without being precious, experimental without ever being cold. You hear shades of Tori Amos’ melancholy, the ambient spaces of Brian Eno, and the itchy dissonance of Jonny Greenwood’s film scores — all distilled into something uniquely Shamrakov.
“If You’re Lonely Keep Going, Keep Going” isn’t just a title — it’s a philosophy. And in Margarita Shamrakov’s hands, it becomes a mantra wrapped in melody, urging the listener not toward triumph, but toward survival. It’s music for the in-between moments: the subway ride after a breakup, the 3 a.m. stare at the ceiling, the long walk home when the city’s asleep and only the piano seems awake.
This is instrumental storytelling at its most cinematic and intimate. No lyrics required.
Listen now on Spotify or watch the video on YouTube.
