Lila Tristram’s music feels like an invitation to connect on the deepest level, reaching into the parts of ourselves we don’t often show. Her goal isn’t just to create songs you listen to; she wants her work to become a part of you, to resonate in a way that shifts something inside. Martha May, her newest single, might just be one of those songs—profoundly cinematic, raw, and emotional, yet never overdone.
“This song isn’t about an ex or any kind of romantic love. It’s about losing a friend, and for me, that’s the hardest loss I have ever had to face,” Lila explains. While recording, the song took on a life of its own, becoming darker and heavier until the weight of it filled the studio. Reflecting on the process, she shares: “Being with the band in the studio, the experience of us all losing ourselves to something much greater—it was as though the song itself was teaching me how to surrender. While the lyrics may be about the confusion and pain of losing a best friend, I have now come to believe that the song itself, as a process, is in fact about surrendering to the plan of the universe and learning how to accept its twists and turns.” The track came to life through a deeply collaborative process with producer Gus White, guitarist Jack Handyside, drummer Heledd Owen, bassist Ailsa Tully, and Tim Gardner, whose experimental violin and synthesizer work added a hauntingly meditative dimension.
“I have now come to believe that the song itself, as a process, is in fact about surrendering to the plan of the universe and learning how to accept its twists and turns.”
Lila’s journey to this moment has been anything but straightforward. While she studied classical music at Goldsmiths, it was her love for artists like Joni Mitchell and Nick Drake that sparked her desire to write songs. She began by sharing her music in intimate folk nights, where her intricate fingerpicking style—one that strangers still ask her about—started to take shape.
But life threw its curveballs. After a string of setbacks, including losing her job, Lila felt adrift, unsure of what was next. She found herself retreating to the Wiltshire countryside, leaving behind the noise and distractions of city life. There, in a remote woodland studio, she and her band dove headfirst into the recording process, letting the music unfold in its own way. It was a turning point for her creativity, and Martha May reflects that freedom. “Martha, come back. You’re not a criminal,” she sings, her voice carrying all the weight of grief but also the bravery it takes to face it. And so this song is more than just a goodbye; it’s part of Lila’s creative rebirth. It’s about letting her music breathe and grow, trusting that it will become whatever it’s meant to be. A bit like life, it’s unpredictable, deeply felt, and full of moments that shape who we are.
photography by courtesy of press and Daniel Glenn Padgett
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