There’s more to being a broadcaster than simply playing music, for Sian Eleri it’s about creating connections that reshape how audiences experience sounds they love. From early days navigating the uncertainty of freelance work to becoming one of the defining voices on BBC Radio 1, Sian Eleri’s trajectory hasn’t just been about airtime, it’s been about intention, curiosity, and learning to trust her own instincts.
Walking into Radio 1, she describes it as something she had built up in her head for years, admitting it felt “slightly weird to idolise a workplace,” but the reality more than delivered. “My job at Radio 1 changed everything,” she says. “I freelanced for several years clutching at any job I could, with little confidence and zero job security, but hoped of eventually being in that big glass BBC building.” What followed was less a single breakthrough and more a series of doors opening in quick succession: “From documentary making, to judging the Mercury Prize, doing live telly at Reading Festival, interviewing artists I love, hosting global franchise The Voice as Y Llais in my mother tongue; it’s been a life-changer.” With that came something she hadn’t always had, “stability, self-belief and a sense of purpose.” Still, she’s careful not to romanticise it entirely. “While I don’t want to put work on a pedestal (there’s more to life than labour!) it has certainly felt fulfilling.”
That confidence didn’t arrive overnight. Early on there was a quiet pressure, mostly self-imposed, to sound like what she thought a Radio 1 presenter should be. “The only pressure I felt was from myself,” she explains. “I worried for a while about what a Radio 1 DJ should sound like, and naturally I was pretty keen to convince the bosses they’d made the right call in hiring me.” Coming from a background of ad-hoc local radio, she saw herself as “a risky bet,” which pushed her to overprepare. “I’d be pretty hard on myself for the slightest stumble and script loads,” she confesses. Over time, that rigidity gave way to something looser, more instinctive. “As the years have gone on I’ve grown in so much confidence thanks to making mistakes, listening back to shows to find more creative ways to describe music, and ultimately knowing the world won’t cave in on itself if I fluff up.” The shift was simple but defining: “All my favourite DJs are ones that are comfortable being themselves on air, embrace the spontaneity of live radio, and put the listeners first. That’s what a Radio 1 DJ ‘should’ sound like.”
There’s no formula. It should be fun. And now I’m having a blast.
It’s that same openness that underpins her Future Artists show, where discovery isn’t dictated by hype cycles but by connection. So when the conversation shifts from emerging musicians to being given the opportunity to create a documentary based on a historic painter like Gwen John, it doesn’t feel like a leap, more like a natural extension. “As someone who doesn’t ‘know art’, I was honestly pretty intimidated by the prospect of making an art documentary,” she says. But curiosity took over. “What I knew of Gwen beforehand made me want to scratch the surface of what made her such a compelling person. A Welsh woman who took risks, stayed true to herself, a life lived on her own terms ” The process reshaped her perspective. “It opened up my own world to know that art is and should be for everyone, and is made by anyone.” The connection to music came naturally. “While it’s great discovering rising musicians, being ‘new to you’ feels just as great when it’s someone you really gel with.”
But Gwen John’s story also raises a more uncomfortable question: who gets remembered, and who doesn’t? It’s something Sian is acutely aware of in her own space. “A big part of my job is ensuring that the playlist is both sonically diverse, as well as with geographics, genders, ethnicities, sexualities, languages and classes where possible,” she says. “I think it’s the bare minimum to make an effort.” With control over her playlists comes responsibility. “I’m fortunate that I have total control over what I play and what order I play it, so I don’t take that responsibility for granted.”
Artists go to tremendous lengths to make music – the least I can do is share it.
The documentary also brings her into conversation with Jonathan Anderson, whose work at Dior and JW Anderson often pulls from historical references, including Gwen John’s paintings. What stands out to Sian isn’t just the influence itself, but how fluidly it moves through time. “I love how something can be both frozen in time and future forward,” she says. “What makes Jonathan Anderson such a visionary is his eye for the past, and using this historical appreciation for his predecessors from all walks of life as a tool to make beautiful things.” She’s drawn to the subtlety of those references. “They’re almost like Easter Eggs you can spot in collections, the nudge-nudge-wink-wink treasure hunt.” Even the smallest details linger. “In the doc he describes the cornets Gwen drew… like birds, and I love that.” Seeing those ideas reappear today is striking. “Over 100 years on, we see headwear similar to this in his debut SS26 womenswear collection for Dior… Knowing Gwen’s work continues to have ripples a century later, just amazing isn’t it.”
That sense of time and how it shapes creativity, takes on a different edge when considering Gwen’s preference for privacy. In contrast to today’s constant digital visibility, her work feels almost defiant in its stillness. “In an alternative universe I would love to sit down with Gwen to see how she would feel about her level of fame now,” Sian reflects. “What success looks like for her, and whether she would have been happier if she was ‘better off’ thanks to the recognition of her work.” It raises a broader tension. “We’re now at a point where if you don’t post something online, then it didn’t even happen.” Still, she hopes music resists that pressure.
I hope that online virality doesn’t become the automatic metric for whether you’re successful or not.
Across radio, documentary, and fashion conversations, Sian’s role starts to feel less like a presenter and more like a connector. “I love people, stories, and what led them there,” she says. “It’s so satisfying and gratifying finding artists you really resonate with, the ones you wished you’d found years ago as your life feels better with their music in it.” If there’s a through line, it’s that desire to share. “I hope I’m a vehicle for that feeling, as other DJs have done for me over the years.”
Stepping into long-form documentary work with Keep The World Away – Finding Gwen John only reinforces that. Where radio is immediate and cyclical, documentary making stretches time. “Radio is a weekly cycle of finding music – building the show – making notes – doing the show – and going again,” she explains. “It’s cosy and familiar.” Film, by contrast, is expansive. “Documentaries take months, are filmed all over the place, interviews take hours not minutes, teams can vary, and the different subjects can really make you feel like a total amateur.” But that discomfort is part of the appeal. “It’s good to get out of that comfort zone. I want to be a sponge, take it all in…”
Be open to feedback all the time. Be a creative chameleon.
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Words: Jamila Woodley