Looking back at these archival tapes from the summer of 2010, the hiss on the line can’t mask the cautious optimism in Tasha Ray’s voice. It’s a sound many in the industry recognized back then: the voice of a major label survivor, now navigating the choppy, unpredictable waters of indie life. Lillix was on the comeback trail, a full four years after their sophomore album and the messy collapse of their record label. And this time, they were betting on themselves.
The band was gearing up to release Tiger Lily on Aug. 24, an album that was more than just a collection of songs. It was a declaration of independence, a reclamation project. Listening to Ray explain the title’s origin is to understand the entire ethos of their return. It was a full-circle moment, a deliberate reset to a time before the industry machine got its hooks in them.
“Tiger Lily is actually the name of our first band,” Ray says, the energy palpable even on this old recording. “We started when we were in elementary school... there was no outside influence. It was just us having fun and playing shows and just playing music.” That purity was the goal. After years of navigating the expectations and politics of Maverick Records, getting back to that fundamental joy was everything.
But this wasn't just a nostalgic trip. The album was forged in rejection and resilience. The early 2010s were a brutal landscape for a band trying to mount a second act without major backing. Ray doesn’t mince words about the fight. “We've had a lot of doors slammed on us, and we just kind of broke through them by releasing this record on our own,” she explains. “That would probably be the theme on this record is just not taking no for an answer and moving on.”
It’s a classic story. A band gets chewed up and spit out by the system. But the Lillix story had a particularly Hollywood sheen to it, which made their subsequent struggle all the more compelling. They were, for a time, on Madonna’s label. The glamour was real and, for a group of kids from Cranbrook, British Columbia, completely surreal.
“Being signed to Maverick was definitely an amazing experience,” Ray recalls. “We got to meet Madonna. We got to meet all these celebrities. We met Gwen Stefani and talked with Lenny Kravitz there.” It was a baptism by fire, a whirlwind of exposure and opportunity that most bands only dream of. They were young, talented and thrust directly into the epicentre of pop culture.
And then came the inevitable ‘but’. The creative cost of that access was steep. “But at the same time, we're definitely really enjoying being independent because we have 110% control over what we're doing, and we're our own boss,” she says. The subtext is clear. The Maverick years, for all their glitz, were a period of compromised vision. You can’t be a true artist when your art is being guided by a boardroom committee.
The end came abruptly. Maverick Records, once a powerhouse, folded. Lillix, at least the all-girl version the world knew, went down with the ship. It was a brutal lesson in the fragility of the industry. For core members Tasha Ray and her sister Lacey-Lee, however, the end of the label wasn't the end of the band. It was a forced reboot.
We've had a lot of doors slammed on us, and we just kind of broke through them by releasing this record on our own. So pretty much just not giving up.
This new era saw lineup shuffles, a common symptom of a band in transition. Ray is diplomatic about it, describing a search for chemistry that ultimately solidified around her, Lacey and drummer Eric. The core, however, remained the sisters. They were the engine, the writers, the heart of the project. The decision to relocate the whole operation from the Kootenays to Vancouver was a pragmatic one, a move to be closer to studios, venues and the industry’s nerve centre.
One of the most telling moments in this old interview is when Ray talks about their hometown roots. It’s a brilliant snapshot of the cultural chasm between small-town Canada and the music business. How do you explain signing a deal with Madonna to people in a hockey town? You find a metaphor they understand.
“We kinda have to explain it in NHL or hockey terms,” she says with a laugh. “It's like we would say, ‘Oh, no. It's like getting... you got drafted or you're in the NHL now.’ Because our hometown wouldn't really understand.” It’s a beautiful, honest admission that speaks volumes about where they came from and the bizarre world they had entered.
This grounding in their past gave them a unique perspective on their early fame. They opened for Aerosmith and Kiss, shared stages with Alanis Morissette and Metric. It was an incredible education that happened at hyperspeed. “I was so young when all of that was happening. I was 16, and I'm 25 now,” Ray reflects. “I think it's really amazing that we got to experience that at a young age because I have all of that experience behind me now.” There’s no bitterness, only an appreciation for the crash course they received.
The sound of Tiger Lily itself was a product of this newfound freedom. Ray cites a fascinating and eclectic mix of influences, from the dance floor to classic rock radio. The ambition was to create a sound that was uniquely their own, pulling from everything they loved. That meant Fleetwood Mac-style harmonies and acoustic textures sitting alongside synth tones worthy of The Cars.
It was a bold sonic palette for 2010. While Ray’s description is compelling, here lies the album's core challenge. In retrospect, the record’s refusal to pick a lane may have hindered its ability to connect with a specific audience. It was a little bit rock, a little bit pop and a little bit Laurel Canyon folk. While artistically honest, it lacked the singular, driving identity needed to cut through the noise of the exploding blogosphere and the dominance of sleek electro-pop.
Still, listening to Ray detail their plans for a cross-Canada tour and their excitement to play new cities like Montreal, you can’t help but admire the hustle. They were doing it all themselves. The driving, the promotion, the fan engagement through their ‘Ask Lillix’ video blogs. It was a grassroots effort, a testament to their belief in the new material and their desire to reconnect with the fans who had stuck with them.
The confidence she projects about their live show is genuine. It wasn’t about just playing songs anymore. It was about creating an experience, a party. “We just wanna have involvement with the crowd,” she insists. “And we just love to dance and just throw all your cares away and just have a good time.”
This interview captures a critical moment in time. It’s a snapshot of a band reborn, armed with hard-won experience and the intoxicating freedom of being their own boss. They had survived the major label meat grinder and came out the other side with their artistic integrity intact.
Tiger Lily may not have catapulted them back to the heights of their TRL days, but that was never the point. The point was to make a record on their own terms, to tour it for the people who cared and to have fun doing it. It was about proving they could break through the doors that had been slammed in their faces.
And in that, they succeeded entirely. The hiss on this old tape is a ghost of a specific era, but the determination in Tasha Ray’s voice is timeless. It’s the sound of an artist taking back control.
519 Magazine Archive: We are thrilled to officially unearth the Rockstar Weekly Digital Vault. This isn't just a re-post; it's a high-fidelity restoration of a pivotal era in music journalism. By pairing original print dates with modern retrospectives, we’re bridging the gap between historical rock-and-roll grit and the lightning-fast performance of today’s web. These stories—once locked in physical print and lost URLs—are now back, fully searchable, and optimized for a new generation of fans.
We are thrilled to officially unearth the 519 Magazine Digital Vault. This isn't just a re-post; it's a high-fidelity restoration of a pivotal era in music journalism. By pairing original print dates with modern retrospectives, we're bridging the gap between historical rock-and-roll grit and the lightning-fast performance of today's web. These stories—once locked in physical print and lost URLs—are now back, fully searchable, and optimized for a new generation of fans.
