You know that strange feeling when someone tells you your life is about to change, but doesn’t explain how? That’s pretty much what going viral feels like for many artists. One moment you’re just chilling in your room, and the next, your music is everywhere—on millions of phones, in reels, remix packs, and even wedding DJ sets. Your followers shoot up overnight. Someone tags you in a meme featuring your chorus, and suddenly, your face is part of the wave. It’s all a bit surreal. For a few months after, you’re riding high on that thrill, the kind that disrupts your sleep pattern, overloads your brain with adrenaline, and makes each notification a mini-dose of dopamine. Everything happens faster, louder, brighter, like life itself comes with an Instagram filter. But then, one night, a thought hits you: “What’s next?” and a quiet panic starts to creep in. Everyone’s eyes are on you, as if you’ve got a detailed plan all laid out.
Here’s the thing no one really talks about: what comes after a hit can sometimes feel worse than not having one at all. Suddenly, you’re not just pursuing your sound anymore, you’re chasing your own shadow.
I’ve always found that moment intriguing. If going viral is like throwing a party, then the comedown feels like waking up to empty cups, dead speakers, and your floor covered with glitter you didn’t spill. That one hit lingers like a persistent echo. And then there’s the Spotify algorithm, relentlessly promoting the same viral song, no matter how much the artist behind it has evolved. You’d think that a breakout hit would open doors to even greater things. But sometimes, it feels more like a golden prison.
When singer-songwriter Dikshant released his heartfelt track “Tum Aankhon Se Batana,” it didn’t just go viral—it became the heartbreak anthem for a whole generation. Sure, he could have easily churned out a remix or a copycat song to keep the algorithm happy. But that wasn’t what he was going for. “I didn’t rush it,” he says. “There was definitely some pressure, but I didn’t see the point in releasing something just to stay in the spotlight. I wanted my next track to truly represent me, not just be a way to grab attention. It had to come from a genuine place, not out of fear.” Dikshant’s candidness is a breath of fresh air in an industry where streaming numbers often overshadow creativity. He even confessed that while his follow-up track didn’t reach the same heights as his breakout song, it didn’t sting as much as you might expect. “Yeah, it hurt a little. That nagging voice in your head says, ‘Maybe it’s not as good as the last one,’ but I reminded myself that success isn’t a straight line. I wasn’t in competition with my past self.” In a world where many artists simply react, Dikshant is making deliberate choices.
On the flip side, some artists wear their virality like a badge of honour instead of a weight on their shoulders. Take Yung DSA’s journey, for instance. His track “Yeda Yung” was more than just a hit. It was a cultural phenomenon that sent shockwaves through the scene. With millions of streams, thousands of reels, a co-sign from Gully Gang, and a global reach, his success is impressive, to say the least. If I were in his shoes, I’d probably be stressing about how to top that. But not him. “It never felt like a burden,” he says with a casual shrug. “I had support from the scene. My work just started to take off. People began reaching out. I didn’t worry.” Even as Yung DSA maintains a rare kind of nonchalance, he admits, “the track is more viral than I am right now.” When you think about it, that’s both funny and a bit sad. It’s like your creation is outshining you. Your music can explode in popularity while you’re left in its dust. People might recognize your sound even when they don’t know your name. But DSA isn’t caught up in the numbers. He’s in for the long haul, dedicated to beautifully crafting his image over time.
Now, let’s talk about Kratex—if there’s anyone who seems completely unbothered by the whirlwind of viral fame, it’s him. His breakout track “Taambdi Chaamdi” as a producer was this raw, unapologetically Marathi electronic house anthem that skyrocketed without any marketing budget or flashy promotions. When I asked him if he felt any pressure to follow up on that success, he quickly dismissed the thought. “Hits are determined by the audience, not the artist. I create music for myself first. If I believe in a track, I put it out there,” he says, giving off a punk-rock attitude. So what does he consider success? Not the streams, not the charts, but just the simple act of finishing the song. “My next track, ‘Jevlis Ka‘, is already a success because I completed it. If I measured success by stats, I’d be too busy refreshing Spotify instead of actually making music.” Honestly, that really hit home for me. How many of us gauge our worth by numbers, likes, and metrics? Maybe the real victory is just putting the work out there.
And then there’s Nyn, the mastermind behind the super catchy and first breakout Haryanavi Pop hit “Kitse,” who sees virality as just a quick stop along the way, not the final goal. He doesn’t overthink things or put too much emphasis on any single moment. He’s all about keeping the momentum going. Nyn understands that expectations can skyrocket after a viral hit, but instead of letting that pressure weigh him down, he believes, “Great artists are those who create new moments and don’t get trapped in the limbo of past successes.”
One of the most interesting, sharp-edged voices to burst onto the viral scene is Shreyas Sagvekar, the same talent behind “Taambdi Chaamdi” and, more recently, the theme track for Shahid Kapoor’s electrifying entry in the movie Deva titled “Marji cha Malik.” It’s easy to think that an artist juggling indie fame and Bollywood endorsements would feel weighed down by pressure, perhaps strategically waiting for the ideal release date or obsessing over the latest trends. But that’s not him. He trusts his gut.
“As soon as the second track was ready, I released it. I didn’t overthink it. There was no pressure—none from fans, none from myself. I just go with what feels right in the moment.” In an industry that often treats artists like fleeting trends, Shreyas has chosen to embrace maturity over mere momentum. He’s not running away from the shadow of a hit but navigating through it with his own light.
Even someone as grounded as Shreyas knows that virality isn’t all just a series of highs and fireworks. The sudden fame, the noise, the assumptions— it all comes with its own set of challenges. If he had the chance to do it all over again, he admits he might take a different approach. “If I could rewrite my journey, I’d try to leave out the negative aspects that came with going viral.”
We really don’t talk enough about the emotional rollercoaster that comes with going viral. The cheers are loud, but they fade quickly. The pressure to keep your name in the spotlight is relentless. Sure, fans might be all about your latest hit, but that doesn’t always mean they’re invested in you as an artist—at least not yet. Algorithms tend to highlight what works, which can trap artists in a sound they never intended to create. But here’s the interesting part: none of the artists I chatted with are looking to chase that same high again. They’re all focused on evolving beyond that initial spark, whether that means completely reinventing themselves or simply creating from a place of authenticity. And maybe that’s the key. As Dikshant wisely pointed out, “You can’t cater to expectations every time. You’d lose your soul that way.” Honestly, if that’s not the most poetic mic drop in this whole piece, I don’t know what is!
Perhaps the “second hit” isn’t really about outdoing the first; it’s about navigating through it. I get it, it’s easy to judge an artist based on their biggest success. We all do it. But what we should really be paying attention to is what they do next. That’s where the real story starts.
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