When it comes to albums, I unfortunately almost always judge them by their covers. And when it came to Japanese-Canadian star Saya Gray’s debut album SAYA, my judgment did not steer me away. I strongly believe a good album cover should reflect the nature of a record while being visually appealing, and SAYA checks both these boxes. The primary focus of the cover is Gray herself, painted in a traditional Japanese portrait style. However, masterfully woven into this classic aesthetic are striking modern details, like heavy metallic jewelry and a tattoo. Likewise, the album’s tracklist fuses the old (traditional pop-rock acoustic riffs and soft vocals) with the new (electric beats and unconventional instruments).
Integrating elements from a plethora of eras and genres, country-inspired riffs, mellow piano interludes, angelic harp instrumentals and heavy thumping electronic beats, SAYA appears to be a mosaic of musical artistry. The expansive nature of this record doesn’t become apparent just in the transitions between songs but also within each track. For instance, “..THUS IS WHY ( I DON’T SPRING 4 LOVE )” showcases an impressive range, blending mellow vocals with a pulsating electric beat and experimental voice modulation — all within a single track — before immediately shifting into the jaunty, banjo-like energy of “SHELL ( OF A MAN ),” highlighting Gray’s ability to traverse genres.
The track that stands out to me the most within the tracklist, though, is “CATS CRADLE!” The eerie background music, haunting electric keyboard refrain and distant nonsensical speech weave a sonic illusion — almost like a time-warp — that feels nostalgic and unsettlingly dystopian at the same time.
Gray’s previous work has definitely highlighted her experience and mastery as a music director and producer, but SAYA — centered around the theme of heartbreak — highlights her songwriting. As someone who is a self-proclaimed “lyric-listener,” this choice worked in the album’s favor. Poetically sorrowful lyrics like “Your needle and thread pulling in and out of me” and “You spend all your spare change tipping your own cup” paint her heartbreak in a different light on each song: sensual, angry or just plain soul-crushing. SAYA sets sail through the fluidity of heartbreak, smoothly guiding listeners across the shifting tides of loss and longing.
Yet, for all its eclecticism, SAYA feels surprisingly less radical than Gray’s reputation as an experimental “vagadbond” might suggest. Don’t get me wrong: I thoroughly enjoyed this album and do believe it strays from the cookie-cutter trap of generic pop music, but compared to her previous alternative work like QWERTY II, SAYA seems to conform dreadfully to more mainstream music. At times, the album leans so heavily into familiar indie-alternative elements that certain tracks feel eerily similar to artists like Kate Bollinger, Japanese Breakfast and even Grimes — almost as if I’ve heard them before.
And this isn’t a bad thing: the term “basic pilates princess” seems to pop up a lot on my Spotify “daylist,“ and I enjoy that! But for someone who has built an image around being unconventional (see: the inspiration she’s drawn from insects like mantids, violent sexual lyrics like “My ovaries spit you out” and being vocal about growing up with perfect pitch), this shift feels unexpected if not a little bit self-contradictory.
This album is a great accompaniment to the painstakingly slow ebb and flow of heartbreak and a painstakingly slow-thawing spring, but if you’re looking for something a little more out of the box and “experimental,” SAYA may not be the album for you. While it resists the formulaic nature of mainstream pop, it still treads parallel to familiar ground, amounting to a record that is just a little too self-conscious to be unique.
