Lila Gray on Queer Joy and Female Rage

The rising alt-pop antihero is drowning out the noise on the deluxe version of Scared Of The Dark (You Should Be Too).

by Cam Delisle

Photos by Devin Gillis

My day with Lila Gray begins in lowercase chaos. Vancouver finally exhales into sunlight, and Gray is already mid-motion—sunglasses on, iced latte in hand—when we convene outside a Yaletown café to sketch out the vague geometry of our RANGE shoot. Photographer Devin Gillis flanks us, and within minutes, we’re spiraling into a 45-minute odyssey through the city’s core. As we chase the ghost of an Evo that never arrives, our afternoon is derailed by underground parkades and cosmic indifference.

It’s in the static, not the spectacle, that a person reveals themselves. Under the petty tyranny of sun glare and failed location pins, most would fold. Gray doesn’t. She recalibrates. She paces, troubleshoots, and laughs at the absurdity. When the elusive Evo finally materializes like a mirage with Bluetooth, she slides in and cue-cuts straight to Lorde’s latest—“What Was That”—like it’s a mantra or a middle finger to the mayhem.

Of course Gray’s dial is tuned to Lorde. There’s a shared voltage there: music that shivers with exposed nerves and inner monologues, equal parts confessional and reckoning. Both build worlds from the wreckage of feeling, where self-reflection curdles into quiet rage. Artists of their stature don’t just sing about the storm—they map its coordinates, then walk straight into it.

The deluxe edition of Scared Of The Dark (You Should Be Too) doesn’t just revisit old wounds—it reframes them. It features a remix and a live version of “Something I Knew I Was Missing,” alongside a brand-new offering: “First To Bleed.” “‘Something I Knew Was Missing’ is one of my favourite songs in my discography,” Gray shares, her tone calm but certain—proof enough for its doubled presence on the tracklist. “The lyrics are pretty heartbreaking, so I wanted to add the live version to showcase some of that sadness.”

 

As for “First To Bleed,” it emerged during the album’s original sessions—one of the earlier wounds that didn’t scab over until now. “It was the one song that I regret not having put on the original version, and eventually I realized that I wanted that song to be a part of this album cycle in some way,” she explains. The result of that reflection is a fully formed moment—restless in sound, razor-sharp in feeling—delivering some of Gray’s most emotionally charged songwriting to date. “How did you do it?” she repeats, almost accusingly, as the track spirals inward. “I’m sure I’m not the first to bleed, but I’ll be the first to leave.” It’s resignation disguised as defiance… or maybe the other way around.

Following the release of the deluxe edition of Scared of the Dark (You Should Be Too), the music video for “Oh, Hey Honey” is slated to drop on May 23. Self-described as her favourite video to date, Gray reveals that the concept was born from her thirst for a dance-driven video. “We shot the dance scene for 10 hours, and because it’s a music video… you don’t know which take they are going to use. So you’re just going full out every single time.” It’s this steadfast commitment that grounds an artist in their final product. Despite describing her sheer exhaustion by the day’s end, waking up the next morning more sore than she’s ever been, Gray remains so connected to the end result that the physical toll feels irrelevant. 

The video incorporates characters and motifs from earlier visuals in Gray’s album cycle, a conscious decision driven by her desire to create a throughline within her musical world. Her videos aren’t just visual accompaniment; they’re relics of an ongoing ritual, piecing the album into her universe. By pulling from her past visuals, she’s creating a maze where the audience is forced to piece together meaning from the dissonance. There’s a constant flux, a destabilizing force where everything repeats, yet nothing is ever the same. It’s not just about continuity, it’s about constructing a narrative that doesn’t want to be understood, but to be felt.

 

Tying into that aforementioned feeling, Gray’s upcoming More Than A Kid Tour looks to channel the same emotional volatility as the album itself—less a series of performances, more a lived-in continuation of its world. “I like to include some slower songs. Those moments always feel so tender, and I feel so lucky that I get to connect with people in that way,” she says, her words carrying the kind of clarity that only comes from doing what feels like home. She hints at moments designed to thrill—an unreleased track, a cover “everyone knows”—breadcrumbs for fans already immersed in her lore.

There’s no tidy arc to Gray’s world, no polished ending to package it all up. What she offers instead is something rarer: a sustained emotional frequency, unapologetic in its vulnerability and refusal to simplify. Whether through a trembling vocal take, a chaotic shoot day, or a cross-Canada tour, Lila Gray isn’t asking to be decoded—she’s asking to be witnessed. 

Tickets for the More Than A Kid Tour are available here.