Is self-preservation futile? Saya Gray seems to think so, weaving in and out of confidence, insecurity, grief, and the potency of being in love on her impressive debut, Saya. The Canadian singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist earned her chops as the bassist and musical director for Willow Smith and Daniel Caesar, with three EPs under her belt that solidified her as an artist in her own right. But Saya gives us a proper introduction with her first full-length record.
Throughout Saya, Gray constructs a world of sonic surrealism — seamlessly melding swirling harp, taut acoustic guitars, and warm piano tones with glitchy beats and lite-industrial bass lines. Throughout the album, there’s an acknowledgement that to be human is to revel in self-destruction and rebuilding while opening yourself up to the painful risk of being known.
“You woke up yesterday, I watched the seasons change,” she repeats on the opening track “Thus Is Why.” With resignation, she sings “This is why I don’t fall in love in the springtime.” She revisits this sentiment later in the record on “How Long Can You Keep Up A Lie,” this time with the clever flip, “this is why I don’t spring for love.” There’s an element of exasperation in her vocals as she throws up her hands to the evident unreliability of someone she once trusted.
On “Shell (of A Man),” Gray explores country-tinged sounds that seem to come naturally to her, putting on a cocky attitude over plucky guitars. “If you don’t like me now, you’re gonna hate me later,” she sings. The highlight “Exhaust The Topic” opens with bright guitar chords accented by pedal steel, harp, and unexpectedly heavy bass over a ticking snare — vaguely reminiscent of Chalk Mark in a Rain Storm era Joni Mitchell. Between the percussive vocals and ease of the pedal steel, she sings of an exhausting existential crisis. The line “‘I’ve been looking for God every day, it's a symptom of the system” is striking, as it gives reason to why some of us must seek glory in everything. The last 30 seconds of the track erupt with a rage of clanging guitars, tearing up any tenderness she may have shown before in a fit of fury.
Closing out the record is “Lie Down,” a vulnerable resolution questioning her own relevance in a relationship, echoing larger existential questions expressed earlier on. The song was inspired by real-life experience: Needing space after the end of a romantic endeavor, Gray booked herself a trip to Japan (she was born to a Japanese mother and Scotch-Canadian father), keeping her guitar in the passenger seat beside her as she drove across the country. Just like her hero Mitchell’s road album Hejira, this is a record born at the wheel, weaving through a dramatic sonic and thematic landscape, with Gray’s delicate vocals guiding the listener with care. Though this is only her debut album, Gray has already built a world we feel lucky to be let into — and she’s a protagonist worth rooting for.
