Lily Lyons is Learning to Hold Every Version of Herself

Daria Slikker
4 minutes ago
5 min read

Lily Lyons has always lived between places. As a teenager, she spent eight-hour drives shuttling between London and Somerset, tracing the stretch of motorway. Those journeys became her earliest classrooms. In the backseat, headphones on, she absorbed the softness of Simon and Garfunkel, Nick Drake, Nora Jones, and Joni Mitchell, finding in their tenderness a version of herself that didn’t yet have space in her day-to-day world.

Since releasing her debut single ‘Slow Motion’ in 2022, Lyon’s songs have reached listeners from London to Melbourne, drawn to melodies that lean warm and folk-toned while the lyrics tug toward something sharper, more candid. Her new album Re-Open The World, released at the end of October, gives those opposites full permission to coexist. Love and disappointment, hope and irritation, longing and self-protection – the songs pull like two ends of a string, creating their own resonance. Tracks like ‘57,’ ‘Only Lonely Person,’ ‘Here With You, Jo,’ and ‘Can’t Be The One’ move between boundary-setting, ache, nostalgia and emotional volatility, yet feel bound by the same steady voice at the centre.

2024 pushed her even further into herself. A year on the road with Glastonbury, headline dates, and support tours with Hailaker, Tiny Ruins and Blanco White and more, revealed new energy she didn’t know she carried. Earlier years spent feeling isolated in Falmouth, with only her voice for company, gave her a grounding she still returns to. Even now, with bigger rooms and broader audiences, singing remains the anchor.

We spoke to Lyons as she prepares for her upcoming shows in Vienna and London, how she’s holding all of these versions of herself at once: the soft, the scathing, the grateful, the bruised. The result is an artist learning not to choose between them, but to let them coexist – sometimes in harmony, something in friction, always in truth.

You grew up moving between London and Somerset, spending hours in the car each week. Do you feel those long drives shaped the way you listen to music or even the way you write now?

Yes, definitely. Being in transit has always felt like a safe place for me. It’s where I first really listened to music, earphones in, looking out the window. Those drives feel dear to me even though they were so mundane. There’s something beautiful about moving without doing anything, almost like being carried somewhere. That feeling still comes into my writing.

You’ve said that artists like Joni Mitchell showed you the importance of holding multiple versions of yourself at once. How does that idea play into the person you are on your new album, Re-Open The World?

With Joni, I love how sincere she can be and then suddenly playful or mischievous. I’m sure people wanted to put her into a box but she never allowed that. Jeff Buckley’s Grace has the same kind of emotional range. I’ve always been drawn to artists who show the whole spectrum. I wanted this album to hold all of me instead of staying in one lane.

Your music often sits in a space where soft melodies meet sharper, more candid lyrics. Do you feel drawn to that tension naturally, or is it something you lean into intentionally when you’re writing?

I try not to be too intentional when I write. I like being surprised. Musically I tend to lean towards the soothing and gentle, because that’s where the truth comes out for me. Sometimes what comes out is softer, and sometimes it’s more scathing or angry, and that feels honest too. I’m really drawn to that contrast: beautiful sounds paired with something a bit ‘ugly’ in the lyrics. That tension excites me.

You spent most of 2024 on the road, from Glastonbury to supporting artists like Hailaker and Tiny Ruins. Was there a moment on tour that shifted something for you creatively or personally?

The festival circuit changed me a lot. I’d always thought of writing and playing as something that happens in a bubble, so stepping into the chaos of festivals was overwhelming at first and then really energising. It made me question the idea that soft music can only live in soft spaces. I realised there’s a version of what I do that can meet that wild, communal energy in a surprising way. I’m excited to explore that more.

You’ve spoken about feeling quite alone when you lived in Falmouth, and how your voice became a companion through that time. Do you find that singing still has that grounding effect for you now, even when life looks completely different?

Yes. Singing is my truest friend. It’s always there. On the days it feels harder, it’s usually because I’m holding onto an idea of how my voice ‘should’ sound. I’ve learned to love the process of falling back in love with it every day. When I hit a wall, it usually mirrors something in my life that needs clearing. Singing requires openness, and those are the same qualities I want in my day-to-day life. There’s a quote I love: ‘I hate writing and I love having written.’ Singing can be like that. Once I begin, I become the version of myself I most want to be.

Re-Open The World embraces opposites: longing and boundary-setting, gratitude and frustration. Was there a song on the album that taught you something about yourself while you were making it?

‘Cover the Trails,’ the opening track, stands out. It came from a dream I had, and it was the first time I really allowed myself to write vulnerably in the room with someone else. Joel, my producer, and I were writing every day for a month, and I reached a point where I couldn’t come in with prepared ideas anymore. I just described this dream – about seeing someone I loved outside the Horniman Museum and not being able to follow them – without knowing what it meant. Writing the song helped me understand it afterwards. The harmonies are beautiful but also a bit wonky and strange, which feels exactly like the twist-in-the-stomach feeling of the dream. It taught me to trust feelings first and explanations later.

You’re about to play Vienna and then London early next year. What kind of energy are you hoping to bring these shows, and what do you hope people take with them when they leave?

Presence, above everything. I love when artists show up exactly as they are. I played a show recently with someone that admitted he didn’t feel like playing that night but still gave it a go, and I found that so beautiful. Touring with Willy Mason taught me the value of that kind of transparency on stage. I remember going to see Adrianne Lenker and Nick Hakim at the Barbican one night when I was completely in my head, and within minutes I was pulled into the room of how present they were. Everything melted away. That’s what I hope to offer: truthfulness, presence, and a feeling of being completely there together.

Listen to Lyon’s new album on Spotify, Apple Music, SoundCloud, and follow here on Instagram.