In the middle of a sunlit June afternoon in a Parisian park, I sat down with lyam, a rising French artist blending Americana and indie pop with an unmistakably queer lens. His music, as he puts it, is “very gay”—intimate, honest, and rooted in personal reflection. With humor and vulnerability, he opened up about identity, creative growing pains, and the beautifully chaotic process of finding your voice—both in music and in life.

lyam started making music around the age of 15, when he first picked up the piano and guitar. But he wasn’t really happy with it, so he let it go until COVID hit in 2019, when he was 19. That’s when he picked up his guitar again and started writing songs—songs that were “bad, very bad, but here we are,” he laughs.

lyam is French but sings in English, so I had to ask him about that choice. He told me bluntly that he hates singing in French. “I like French, I do. I read books in French sometimes and I like some of the French media, but I think I’ve always been into pop music, English, American. All of my inspirations when I was younger were pop girlies from America. I love Lorde. I’ve been loving Hannah Montana. She’s my girl.” He’s always been drawn to American culture—“not politics though,” he adds. Singing in French feels too “cringe” and too vulnerable for him, especially because he’s afraid his mom might hear the lyrics and understand what he’s really saying.

When it comes to inspiration, lyam has always looked up to the pop girlies like Miley Cyrus and Ariana Grande, but discovering Lorde was a turning point in both his mindset and his music. Since then, his sound has evolved through many genres, including folk, alternative, pop, and even a bit of rock. “I’d say my biggest inspiration right now is C Rose, who’s a folk artist I really love. I love Dijon, and Lorde too, yeah. And Lizzie McAlpine. These are my big four.”

I first discovered lyam through his single “lactose intolerant (boy in a dress),” released on April 16 on streaming platforms. It’s his most streamed track to date. I immediately related to the theme and felt a deep connection to the song. I asked him what the song meant to him, especially the lyric:

“I’m the worst of crimes, I’m a boy in a dress”

For lyam, the song was a way to explore parts of himself he hadn’t fully voiced before. “I’ve always wanted to write songs about boys,” he said. “That’s what most people talk about—like, love, at least.” But he quickly realized he hadn’t actually experienced love in the traditional sense, so instead, he chose to dig into something more personal. “I remember thinking, I have to write something about me more. I haven’t known love before.”

That reflection led him to a part of his identity he had long kept in the background. As a kid, he often wished he could be a girl. Over time, that desire changed shape, but it never fully went away. “When I was really young, I wanted to be a girl. And growing up, I started shifting away from it… I feel like I’ve always been not sure of my gender.”

By the time he was 18, he began to understand his identity differently—not as a need to become someone else entirely, but as a way of expressing himself more freely. “I still wanted to be a boy, but I wanted to dress up more… I’ve always felt jealous of all the feminine clothes and everything that’s more feminine.” That tension—between identity, presentation, and societal expectations—shaped the emotional core of the song. For a long time, he saw expressing femininity as something forbidden.

Much of his current music still centers around love and boys—what he calls his ongoing inspiration—but lyam shared that his next body of work may take a more introspective turn. “In the next one, I think I’m leaning more into this self-reflective thing about my gender, my sexuality… that’s something I want to talk more about in my songs.”

After releasing “lactose intolerant (boy in a dress),” lyam followed up with his debut album How Everything Starts, which dropped on April 25th and features eight tracks. When we spoke, he walked me through the journey of making it. “I’ve been wanting to write an album for my whole life.” Originally, the project was intended to be a six-song EP. But by the time he finished recording, producing, and mixing, he realized he wasn’t done yet. “I felt like these six songs represented like this part of my childhood about pop music, boys, and what I wanted to talk about when I was younger.” Those first tracks were a way for lyam to give a voice to his inner child. They were his attempt at healing, at saying the things he had always wanted to say when he was younger. But as he reflected on who he is now—both as a person and as an artist—he felt the need to expand the project and let it evolve alongside him. “I made four songs with another producer, and I made a whole mix out of it.” That decision turned the EP into a full album, one that tells a broader, more layered story. “How Everything Starts is a story, lyrically it’s a story about a guy that doesn’t know how to tell his feelings. And so he learns how to, like, express his feelings and just tell what’s on his heart.” But for lyam, the project is also deeply personal on a sonic level. It traces his growth and reflects the music he needed at different stages of his life. “The whole thing about this album is just how I grew up. I wanted to make music for my younger self and for myself now. I think it’s just a mix of all these things.”

When I asked lyam to name his favorite song on the album, he paused, visibly conflicted—like many artists, it felt a bit like choosing a favorite child. “It changes a lot,” he admitted. “My mind always goes to ‘kill myself’ because sonically, it’s my favorite song. I think it’s what looks the most like what I’m about to make in the future.” But it’s not just about the sound. For lyam, the track also carries emotional and conceptual weight, acting as a kind of bookend to the entire record. “Lyrically, too, because it’s a cycle. It starts with ‘how everything starts’ and it ends with ‘kill myself’.”

Still, another track holds a special place in his heart—though for a very different reason. “I also really like ‘BREAK THINGS’, because I used to hate it a lot. It wasn’t supposed to be on the album.” The song originally came from a piano demo that brought him a lot of excitement. “When I made the song with my piano, I was so happy with it. I was so excited about it. And then, as it happens a lot… we produced it. I overheard it, and then I started hating it.” He left it aside for months, convinced it wasn’t working—until he gave it another listen right before finishing the album. “I listened to it again, and I just fell in love with it all over again. I started feeling more things about it.” Now, “BREAK THINGS” stands out not only because of that emotional turnaround, but also for how it breaks away from his usual creative patterns. “I think ‘BREAK THINGS’ is just an intemporal song that I love, that I will always like—because also, it’s not guitar-based. One of the only songs I’ve made without my guitar.”

I asked lyam how involved he is in the production process, and he didn’t hesitate to answer “producing is the worst thing ever. It’s so hard,” he laughed. While he doesn’t handle all the technical aspects himself, he’s still deeply present in the creative process. His usual workflow starts with simple demos, just his voice and guitar, layered with whatever ideas come to mind. “So it’s a drum, it’s a guitar, it’s piano, whatever. And I just don’t care if it sounds good, or if it sounds produced.” Once the foundation is there, he sends the rough version to his producer, and together they shape it into a finished track. His producer helps bring in the elements lyam can’t create on his own—like properly arranged drums or electric guitar parts. They re-record his vocals and master everything together. Even if he’s not behind the mixing board, lyam is still hands-on and co-creating throughout the entire production.

When it comes to writing lyrics, lyam has his own personal process—one that’s more instinctive than structured. “It’s a weird thing because I feel like my favorite songs that I’ve ever written, I’ve written them without thinking about writing songs, I think when I want to write a song so bad, it ends up being bad.”

Rather than sitting down with a theme in mind or forcing the words out, lyam usually picks up his guitar and lets things flow. The lyrics often come effortlessly, almost like a stream of consciousness. Still, it doesn’t always happen that easily. “Sometimes it doesn’t work that way, so I have to actually work. And I think what I do is just take my guitar, I just mumble some words with melodies. And I like to record myself, and sometimes I just hear words in the mumbling, and I just make out phrases of it.”

It’s an intuitive process—he doesn’t begin with a clear idea of what the song is about. Instead, he lets the words reveal themselves. “Usually I don’t sit down and think I’m gonna write a song about this. I just let it happen, and whatever the words are, I’m gonna make a song about it. It’s usually about me, and I realize it years later.”

On another note, I brought up a question I’d been curious about: If you could choose any artist to tour with, dead or alive, who would it be? lyam didn’t hesitate—his answer came quickly. “Lizzie McAlpine,” he said. “She did a tour last year for her last album Older, and the set was just a bedroom, a living room. She’s just sitting there playing music. She doesn’t stand up, she doesn’t make anything out of it.” It’s a style that deeply resonates with him, especially as someone who doesn’t always feel the need to “perform” in the traditional sense. “I think that would be a great thing for me, because sometimes I just sing the songs. I don’t want to make a show out of it. Sometimes I feel like that’s what’s being asked of artists.” Still, he’s not against a good production—he just wants the freedom to do both. “I love doing a great show, too,” he added. “So I would say Lizzie McAlpine… and maybe like Conan Gray, I guess—since everyone tells me I have his voice.”

When I asked lyam about his dream venue, he had two answers—one rooted in nostalgia, the other in awe. “One is in France, in Paris. There’s always one I go to—it’s the most famous one in Paris, the Accor Arena.” He’s spent years attending concerts there as a fan, and the idea of someday headlining it himself clearly means a lot. “I don’t know, there’s something about it. Just walking past the venue brings up this excitement. I would be so, so happy if one day my face was on it, and I was singing my songs there.” His second choice was a bit more unexpected: Red Rocks Amphitheater in the U.S. “It’s a venue in an old volcano, and there are rocks all over. It’s just the prettiest place ever, so I guess that would be exciting.” And like many emerging artists, lyam is also dreaming of big stages in the open air. “I want to do festivals,” he added with a smile.

Before we wrapped up, lyam shared two final things. First, there’s more music on the way. “I think I’m releasing music in the next month or so,” he teased. “I have another project coming up, which is exciting—more, like I said, diving into sexuality and gender and lessons about love and voice. So I hope people are interested in that, too.” And outside of music, he’s returning to another creative love: theater. A self-described theater kid, lyam is currently performing in La Mouche, with a show scheduled for June 23rd. By the time this comes out, that date will have passed—but if you’re in Paris and curious, keep an eye on his socials for future performances.

He ended our conversation with a quiet sincerity that lingered long after we said goodbye: “Otherwise, I’m just happy to be here.”

lyam is an artist still shaping his sound, his story, and himself—with openness, courage, and just the right amount of chaos. Whether it’s through dreamy guitar ballads or stripped-back piano tracks, he’s carving out space for softness, for truth, and for anyone else still figuring it all out, too.

If you haven’t yet, take a moment to listen to his music—you might just find a new favorite voice that speaks honestly to the complexities of love, identity, and growing up.

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Read more in The Concert Chronicles’ third ezine issue HERE.