Lily Vakili’s artistic journey is as multifaceted as the life she’s led—spanning law, dance, human rights work, and now, a deeply personal return to music under her own name. With the upcoming release of Oceans of Kansas, Vakili opens a new chapter that blends vulnerability with bold sonic experimentation. From navigating change to embracing her role as a mother of a neurodivergent child, her insights reveal a compelling artist grounded in truth and transformation. Read below to find out more about Lily’s evolution, her latest music, and the stories that shaped them.

Where are you based?
I live in Montclair, NJ.

What inspired you to get into music?
When I was a child, I was first inspired to make music because listening and dancing to music was such a central part of my family’s home life. My parents’ musical tastes were wonderfully eclectic: jazz, big band, salsa, bossa nova, Persian, classical. The influence of my older siblings was also profound, especially my eldest sister, who had an acoustic guitar and played the folk songs of Joan Baez. I made the decision to make music and songwriting a vocation much later in life, when, for so many personal reasons, I felt an intense need to express myself as, and make of myself, an artist.

You released a full band version of “Tannersville” on July 17, 2025, as a lead in to your upcoming album Oceans of Kansas. Can you share how this new arrangement transforms the emotional or sonic landscape of the song compared to the original?
The first version of “Tannersville,” the solo acoustic version I released in the fall of 2024 as part of a four-song EP, was intended as an inner dialogue; as close as possible to the origins of the song, which began as a poem. Even then, I knew another, much more intense arrangement was waiting to come together. The inherent rebelliousness expressed in the song called out for Eric Burn’s audacious guitar solo. My producer on the album, Reed Turchi, was completely on board with exploring the possibilities with this song, and it was Reed, together with Eric, that came up with the guitar solo/refrain that runs through the song. Where the first recording of “Tannersville” is a melancholic paean to nostalgia, the new arrangement reflects the very natural human desire to rebel against low expectations and “not go gentle into that good night” (Dylan Thomas).

You’ve chosen to record under your own name again rather than the Vakili Band, signaling a new artistic area. What does using your own name mean to you this time around?
It means everything. It means I’m willing to accept my work as my own (no hiding!), and it also means I accept the different level of exposure that comes with it. It is proving to be a very distinct experience from Vakili Band; it is an incredibly provocative experience and one that I am still learning to navigate. I will always deeply love and appreciate the work, history, and camaraderie of Vakili Band, but all things considered, it was a good time to reclaim my full name.

Last summer you began with an acoustic EP that evolved into this full album. What was that transformation like? Was it spontaneous or planned?
Moving from a solo acoustic arrangement to a full-band arrangement for the four songs on the EP was mostly a fantastic, exploratory ride. This is because I was working with intuitive and generous musicians (Eric Burns, Joseph Yount, Seth Barden, Chris St. Hilaire, and David Mann) and an excellent producer and mixer (Reed Turchi at Second Take Sound in NYC). The idea to record the EP songs on a full band album evolved as Reed and I worked on the EP. I had told him about a collection of songs I referred to as my “orphan songs,” that I wanted to do right by them and build their sound out with a band. When I returned from my solo west coast tour with John Douglas, I knew, without a doubt, that I would be making a new album and that I wanted to make it with Reed at Second Take Sound. He pulled together the core group of musicians and, as a kind of test case, we got together to record “Okoboji” before considering a full album. The vibe, the sound, and spirit that emerged from that recording session locked everything in for me. So, like many wonderful things in life, the full album was both planned and spontaneous.

You have spoken about this album as your most intimate, collaborative, and expansive work yet. What made now the right time to push into new artistic territory?
In one word: change, both personally and in the life circumstances of several band members. One member of the band, who I was close to and who felt it was time to step away, told me, “I know you’ll keep going, you won’t give up. That’s because you are an artist.” No one had said something like that to me before, and, coming from a person whom I had worked with so closely over some seven years, it was powerful. As difficult a time as it was to kind of start over (and it was), his words were deeply encouraging at a highly uncertain time for me artistically.

Did any songs from the album change form or meaning from the first draft to the final recording?
The song “Photograph” went through a surreal metamorphosis, from what I considered to be a pretty gorgeous singer/songwriter ballad to an otherworldly, jazz-fusion, improvisational meditation on fame, the illusion of success, and LA. It would not have happened unless the band, Reed, and I hadn’t found ourselves in a bit of a conundrum, where we all liked the original solo version of the song and couldn’t seem to develop a complementary sound with a full band arrangement. We’d been in the studio for hours and felt we weren’t getting anywhere with it. Reed told us all to take a break and come back in a few. When we returned, Reed, very casually, suggested maybe we try something totally different. The guys, Eric, Seth, and Joe, happen to also be members of a progressive jazz quartet called - magnificently enough - Marked For Death. Reed, being familiar with their MFD sound, said, “Why don’t you play Photograph like you would in Marked For Death?” and then turned to me with a “Are you game to try this?” look. I’m pretty much always game. Being a little uncertain about a trajectory can really bring out the focus and adaptability that make for good improvisation. I adore the band version of “Photograph.” I consider it to be one of the distinctive hallmarks of Reed’s, the band’s, and my work together on this album. After we recorded bass, drums, guitar, and vocals, the song’s evolution entered a new stratosphere for me when the unparalleled David Mann came in and laid down a saxophone accompaniment that plays like a co-conspirator with my vocals.

Oceans of Kansas weaves together rock anthems, blues grit, and delicate ballads. Was this genre blending intentional, or did it emerge naturally from following each song’s emotional truth?
The answer is a bit of both. When I write a song, I do not begin by categorizing the musical style; instead, as you say, I follow the song’s own truth, story, and logic and see where it leads me. The blending was intentional, however, in that I approach the making of an album as I do when I get to know someone. I am more interested in the complexity and variety of a person’s personality, what makes a person both relatable and unknowable. No person is really a one-note song, and an album should, in my view, express the variation and evolution of the artist making the songs.

Many of the lyrics seem to confront change, both longing for permanence and accepting impermanence. How do you walk that line emotionally as both a storyteller and a person?
My poem says it best for me: “Everything is fleeting, everything is here.” The fact is, in my life, I have either been the unwitting recipient of, or have sought, change more than permanence. In my own life, love has been the guide, and it is a way of orienting myself to the world that is constant, changing, and challenging. I don’t believe anyone, ever, said it was easy, but living (for oneself and, especially, for others) can be powerfully beautiful in an exponential way.

Do you approach songwriting more as a confessional, a cinematic scene, or a conversation? Has that evolved over time?
How I approach songwriting depends on the song. For sure, many of my songs are deeply personal, but others are more aligned with social commentary and truth-telling. From a technical standpoint, my songwriting has definitely evolved, and I am more aware, perhaps, of the form that a given song requires to be heard. I stay open — there are so many ways to listen.

You’ve spoken about Oceans of Kansas as embracing vulnerability, loss, and unearthing what’s hidden. How do those themes connect with the journey of raising a neurodivergent child in today’s world?
First, I would say that my son is a person and a man in his own right, who is living his life as best he is able, and he is doing an admirable job. I am forever grateful to have him in my life. As so many parents, family members, and caregivers know, raising and caring for a person who is neurodivergent, largely non-speaking, with significant medical vulnerabilities often feels like swimming (or barely staying afloat) in uncharted and dangerous waters. It can be isolating and stressful emotionally, physically, and psychologically. In my experience as a mother, embracing vulnerability and loss, and being conscious of how layered a life can become, is necessary not just for surviving, but for thriving as best one can and for welcoming joy wherever, whenever, and with whomever it arrives.

Over the years, you’ve been a dancer, choreographer, actor, lawyer, and human rights researcher. How have these identities inspired your musical one? Do they show up in your songwriting, or more in your performances?
I’m sure the years of dance and theatre have shaped my musical identity, but I’m equally certain that every other aspect of my life informs my creative work. Storytelling is what we do as a species - in myriad ways - how it’s told, who it’s told to, its purpose and effect vary, but always, there is the story.

Much of your work intersects with neurodivergence and disability awareness, from organizing community events to working on local policy. What are some of the biggest misconceptions about non speaking individuals you’ve encountered, and how do you hope your voice helps challenge?
The biggest misconception about non-speaking people that I have observed is that many people seem to believe that a non-speaking person cannot express themselves in a competent way. Many speaking people never directly address a non-speaking person; instead, they speak to the person accompanying the non-speaking person. This is very discouraging to both the person who is not being spoken to and the person who is being treated as the spokesperson. A school my son attended had its own motto, which was “Assume Competence.” I find it to be a helpful way to approach most people, no matter their circumstances. By assuming someone is competent, you give them the opportunity to express themselves in their own way, and it gives you the opportunity to listen and learn.

You produced I am Montclair, a documentary used as an educational tool for first responders. What inspired that project, and what was the most impactful moment you experienced while making or sharing?
The People with Disabilities Advisory Committee for my township, which I served on for a number of years, has the mandate to develop and maintain community awareness of people with disabilities. My fellow committee members and I worked together to develop the concept for the documentary, which was to center people living with disabilities as valued and visible members of the broader Montclair community. The making of the documentary was truly a community effort — it was directed by a neighbor (Nadine Licostie), filmed at various locations in Montclair, and starred a group of individuals who were willing to share their personal stories and experiences as a way of contributing positively to the culture of our town. I found the generosity and dedication of this group of people remarkable and profoundly hopeful.

For parents or caregivers of disabled children who feel unseen or unsupported, what has sustained you, and what message would you offer them through your work or your life?
Reach out to others who may be on a similar path — find them at the doctor’s office, at your child’s school, in a parent group, in an advocacy group. They will sustain you, and you will sustain them. Be sure to share your hard-won experience and knowledge; it is a gift.

It has been a crazy past few years, and we suspect at least four more. How have you been staying positive?
I am ever hopeful, if not always optimistic. I have many role models, including my son, who teach me how to stay focused, tranquil, and strong. That is, for me, the best way to pursue happiness, both personal and communal.

What is your motto in life?
I have several. My lighthearted motto is one I overheard in a grocery store check-out line when a stoic-looking elderly woman in front of me turned to her complaining friend and said, “Save your tears, Doris, it only gets worse!” Another is a line from a poem by Rumi (as translated by my father) that I believe applies to everyone: “You, yourself, are the Garden of Eden.”

To read more about Lily and her work, visit the links below:
Substack, Spotify, YouTube, Instagram, Website

Photos by Lara Callahan.

From Silence to Sound: Lily Vakili’s Journey Back to Herself