Saya Gray’s second full-length album, Saya, signals a turning point for the Japanese-Canadian musician, known until now for works that felt like living sketches rather than polished statements. This time, her spirited blend of influences takes shape around an unmistakable emotional thread. The record might read as a breakup saga, but Gray’s touch is anything but ordinary—her intricate production and shifting moods pull listeners into corners that standard heartbreak albums rarely reach.
Before Saya, her releases (19 Masters, QWERTY, QWERTY II) had a spontaneous energy, with titles and tracklists that hinted at creative processes left in flux. On the new album, she offers a more tightly woven vision while preserving her trademark sense of experimentation. She zooms in on the delicate intersections of longing and self-discovery, illustrating the real sting of realizing someone can’t hold all the parts of you. As she reminds us in the final song, “I can turn your dust into sparkles.”
Gray’s balancing act is on full display in tracks like “Line Back 22,” which begins as a measured, jazz-inflected waltz before it veers into a surreal, wordless coda. That exploration continues on “Puddle (Of Me),” where she gently confronts desire and doubt with the line, “You know how obsessed I can get/With your needle and thread pulling in and out of me,” capturing a moment that’s part confession, part quiet surrender. Later, she subverts any expectation of sweet romance on “Shell (Of a Man)” by snapping, “If you don’t like me now, you’re gonna hate me later!”
A stretch of songs near the end plunges deeper into tension. Ominous feedback, rumbling bass lines, and Gray’s resolute vocals mark a shift from a bright outward gaze to an introspective one, hinting at both vulnerability and raw confidence. She even changes course mid-track on “EXHAUST THE TOPIC,” as if restlessly skipping stations on a radio, proving she can push her sound far beyond the boundaries of a traditional singer-songwriter framework.
Yet the final moments, anchored by “Lie Down,” loop neatly back to the opener. By naming this record after herself, Gray reframes the concept of a self-titled album as a moment of creative renewal rather than a simple introduction. “You’ve got me colorless!” she proclaims early on, only to splash bold statements across every measure that follows. It’s a personal reckoning set to a sonic kaleidoscope—thorny, daring, and completely her own.
