Between the last Lala Lala record, 2021’s underrated I Want the Door to Open, and her newly released Sub Pop debut Heaven 2, songwriter Lillie West has been movin’. Oddly enough, it was the lack of travel—a shortened touring schedule for the last album during COVID—that allowed West to recontextualize her relationship with the cyclical hell of writing, recording, releasing, touring, writing, recording, releasing, and touring, ultimately leading to the inception of Heaven 2. In the interim, she packed up her Chicago apartment, moved to Taos, participated in an Icelandic artist residency program (where she made an ambient album under her given name, fished, and learned how to make knives), went back to Taos, fell in love, and moved to Los Angeles.
Recorded with Jay Som’s Melina Duterte, the new LP is a reflection of our current era, a toxic stew of repeated “what the fucks” translated into some of the best music West has written. Her ideas are sharp and subversive but immediate; a gut punch from an invisible force. Heaven 2 is instinctual, a reaction to the stimuli that dictate our relationship with the world, whether we want that to be the case or not.
We caught up with West from her home in LA to discuss the process of making Heaven 2, learning to love life on the road, and her assessment of her music as “one prolonged ‘what the fuck is happening?’” Find our conversation below.
You lived in LA growing up at some point, right?
I was born in Los Angeles. Both my parents are British. We moved back to England, I lived there until I was 13, and then I went to middle school and high school in LA, and then left for Chicago.
How do you like being back here as an adult?
When I was in high school I smoked a lot of cigarettes, which I don’t do now. I was into art and going on a hike in a waterfall and swimming or whatever. When I went to Chicago, I went crazy and was partying. I had a real young-person vibe. Now, I’m back to relaxing.
After I Want the Door to Open, you traveled around for a while after touring, right?
Yes. I went on a multiple-year-long finding-myself journey.
Why was that necessary after that album in particular, do you think?
Before COVID I was on tour constantly. To take a break was very confusing for my identity and my value system. I didn’t realize I’d just been on this conveyor belt, like a treadmill. It consumed everything that I did and thought about. Having that space away from touring allowed me to go to the Earthship school in Taos. I had such an amazing, eye-opening experience that I was like, “Oh, maybe there are other ways, other places.” My whole life was indie rock. What’s next? I just got the opportunity to open my mind a little bit.
Was it scary to step away from the road? Isn’t that a big source of income?
Not really anymore. Touring has gotten so expensive. On this upcoming US tour, I’m tour managing and doing merch. When I lived in Chicago, my rent was, like, $400. The max my rent ever was in Chicago was $800. Then my stuff was in storage for a while and I wasn’t paying rent. I designed my life to have that freedom.
“I didn’t realize I’d just been on this conveyor belt, like a treadmill... My whole life was indie rock. What’s next?”
When were you in Taos?
2021.
So that was right when I Want the Door to Open came out. Were you able to tour it at all?
Yeah, we did one US tour and then we had such bad luck with the Europe tour.
Did you feel like that record got swallowed by that whole era?
Yeah. For whatever reason it didn’t do that well. I think I understand why: It was challenging and it was really different from The Lamb. Yoni [Wolf] and I did a great job and I love it. I’m still proud of it, but I think I had a lot to prove in that I could do more than a straightforward indie-rock record.
Where did you go after Taos?
I was still living in Taos, but then I did a residency in Iceland. I kept going back there and I ended up putting my stuff in storage in Taos. I could only stay in Iceland for three months at a time because of Brexit. I’m a British citizen, so I would go back to England and come back here, too.
Were you making Heaven 2 at that residency?
No, I was actually making my instrumental album. It takes me so long to write a Lala album. When I was in Iceland the last time, I was going into the office every day and started sourcing things. This is typically how I work: I’m just writing. I’m not really thinking about it. I have these random things, and then I’m like, “OK, it’s sort of getting close to time to record an album.” It really came together when I started working with Melina [Duterte], which was in the fall of 2024.
Did you have to make a certain kind of music to qualify for the Icelandic residency?
They’ve had an art residency for years. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s outdoors and experimental. It was like survival stuff [laughs]. We hiked to this remote research center in a snowstorm and we had to bring all the food that we were going to eat. We got stuck there for a couple days because of the weather. We did fishing and knife-making and studied Icelandic herbs. I actually went there with no intention of making anything in particular, but I just made some field recordings and it sort of spiraled.
What made you want to apply for the program?
At that time I was living in Taos. I was so heartbroken and I was like, “Oh my God, I need an escape.” My friend Dana [Margolin] from Porridge Radio does alt residencies and stuff. She was like, “I’ve heard great things about this longer art residency.” The art residency is three months, which felt like a really big commitment. When I applied, they were accepting applications for a beta version of this experimental one that was only a month. I didn’t believe that I was going to go there until I was on the plane.
What led to the LA move?
I’d just been traveling without a place for two years and I was like, “It’s time to choose somewhere.” And I fell in love.
Is Heaven 2 your love record?
No, actually, not at all. I’d finished writing it when we met. [My partner] Cyrus and I made an instrumental album that we’re going to put out ourselves this year—that’s sort of like a love album.
Were you and Melina friends before working together?
Yeah, I’ve known Melina for a long time. She used to live with Jilian [Medford] from IAN SWEET. Her partner played in Lala for a tour. I love her. I’d done this thing that I’d never done before, which is very LA: I’d done a lot of different demos with different producers to see what it was like. We connected, and she’s so good. She’s so immediate and has really interesting ideas and can easily translate what I’m thinking. It can be really frustrating for producers and engineers if I’m like, “I want the drums to sound spicier.” People are like, “OK, literally what does that mean?” Melina’s really good at interpreting it. She’s such a good musician, too. She can immediately lay something down and be like, “Is this what you’re thinking of?”
What was the recording process like? Was it just you two?
It was just us. We outsourced strings to Macie Stewart once or twice, and Sen Morimoto played sax on a few songs. Outside of that, it was mostly just us in Melina’s house. I think it took two weeks.
You said it takes a long time to write Lala records. Was that the case for the instrumental project, too, or is that unique to Lala?
I think it’s Lala-specific. Instrumental music I do immediately and I’m like, “It’s done.” With Lala, I have to write eight horrible songs for one that I find acceptable. I really don’t like to overthink it, so I try not to go into an album with a specific idea. I just write a lot and then see where the through line is or what’s interesting to me.
What’s the through line of this record?
I mean, it’s mostly sonic things I’m seeking. An instinctual sonic through line. I came to Melina with 15 songs and she helped me identify [it], because often I’m like, “I’ve been working on this for so long, I know there’s something here, I can’t tell what it is.”
“I have to write eight horrible songs for one that I find acceptable. I really don’t like to overthink it, so I try not to go into an album with a specific idea.”
Lyrically, is there anything that unites the whole thing?
I mean, I’m always just like, “What’s going on?” I’m like, “This is crazy, dude.” It’s just one prolonged “What the fuck is happening?”
Are you comfortable talking about where you’re at with your sobriety?
Yeah. With The Lamb, I didn’t understand what a one-sheet was, and I did a quote for the one-sheet and then every single article was like, “She got sober.” It was a big part of this record, actually. I had to get sober again three years ago. That’s definitely part of the through line of what’s going on.
Does getting back on the road—getting back on the treadmill, so to speak—make you hesitant?
I kind of hated my life when I was on tour constantly, and after COVID I was like, “I’m going to fucking enjoy this.” I’m so lucky. I refuse to not have fun on tour now, so no, I don’t feel scared of the treadmill.
How do you make it more fun?
It’s about changing your mindset. When I’m the one in charge, I get a little stressed and I just have to try really hard not to be stressed. Nothing matters. This is fun.
That’s a good way to operate your entire life.
That’s what I’m trying to do. FL
