Lia Kali’s flight through fear

“I connected my fear of flying with the panic I felt when things started going well for me,” she says, explaining the conceptual backbone of her latest record Kaelis. “It was about learning how to place success in my life without it consuming me.” It's the kind of admission that feels slightly off-limits, like listening in on a thought still being worked through.

That sense of exposure is not new to Kali’s career, but it has evolved. Raised on the outskirts of Barcelona, her first moments of visibility came through breakout performances on Spanish talent shows Operación Triunfo and La Voz, environments built to spotlight voices before context. For many artists, that format becomes the story.

For Kali, it was a temporary stage. What preceded this was slower and more deliberate: street performances, jam sessions in once legendary local spots like Marula Café and Jazz Sí, long nights playing soul, jazz and blues, and eventually her debut album Contra Todo Pronóstico – a record born out of urgency rather than strategy.

“It’s an album I love and hate," she tells me. "It was very hard to make because I was carrying a lot of stress and anxiety. I love it because it came out and it cost me a lot. I hate it because I felt there was pressure, like you have to release something now. I was working as a waitress in two places at the same time. The only thing that made life worthwhile was making music.”

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There was no expectation of reach or recognition: “I wanted to give my dad a physical record and say, ‘Here it is,’ and give one to my grandmother too. I didn’t care what happened after.”

What happened after changed everything for Kail. Her brand of soulful trap struck a chord with a scene of urban music that's proving to be one of the most provocative proving grounds in the world. Nurturing artists like fellow Barcelona local Nathy Peluso as well as el madrileño himself, C. Tangana, and global sensation Bad Gyal, Spain’s urban music scene is breeding some of the most genre-bending artists in the world right now. Lia Kali is no exception to this and her musical progression over her short career is a testament to her innate ability to adapt, innovate, and keep moving.

With growing audiences and a second album comes touring, visibility, and the unromantic realities of success. Sophomore record Kaelis was written while playing close to eighty shows, built under pressure and time constraints, and shaped by a life suddenly in motion. It's an album that documents that shift without celebrating it, asking how an artist can grow without surrendering the conditions that made the work possible in the first place.

By the time Kali began working on her second album, the circumstances around her music had shifted completely. What once lived in spare hours and borrowed energy had become a full-time reality. “With the second album, that other part comes in,” she says. “Like, shit, people liked it, now this is my job. This has become my work, thank God it feeds me and my family.”

The record was written and recorded in fragments, stitched together between flights, hotels, and stages. There was no retreat from the noise of it. “I had no life,” she explains. “Monday to Friday I was in the studio, and on weekends I was touring around the world and around Spain.”

Kali does not frame success as a triumphal arc but speaks openly about its psychological cost. “It brought an external pressure that I hadn’t had before,” she says. “Stress and anxiety were part of it.”

Visibility changes how she moves through the world, too: “When people start to recognise you, you feel more awkward going to the street,” she admits. “Videos appear that you don’t control. You can’t relax the same way anymore.”

The street offered something different. It was less polished, less controlled, and more honest. “My jam sessions ended up being more on the street," she explains. "Anyone who passes by and wants to make music is welcome to join.”

That camaraderie left a lasting imprint: “The street taught me openness,” she says. "My friends are my family.”

The moment that really made her sound unignorable was "La Cruz" a track that marked a clear departure from expectation. “It’s a very dark, techno track, with very electronic roots. That’s where there was a big change," she tells me.

The shift came from curiosity rather than strategy. Working with new people mattered less for the outcome than for what it unlocked internally. “By experimenting with more people I discovered that it motivates you to get into things and places you don’t know,” she says. “It’s like you become a bit of a child again. I realised that I really enjoy searching for my sound in new places and exploring new genres.”

For Kali, experimentation is a way of staying honest. She is careful to separate instinct from calculation. “I don’t go into the studio thinking, ‘Now I’m going to add this style,’” she says. “It comes from what I feel. There’s a part of respect for music and respect for my way of understanding and living it.”

That philosophy carries through to how her music exists beyond the studio. Despite being associated with contemporary urban sounds, Kali has remained committed to playing with a live band. It is not the simplest route, nor the cheapest but the one that reflects where she comes from. “I always came from soul, blues, jazz,” she says. “I always played with a band, earning fifty euros per gig, playing shows where nobody wanted to listen.”

Her live show is electric and completely reimagines her hits with a more soulful and jam-focused approach that’s rooted in her musical history. The next chance to catch her will be at January's Eurosonic Noorderslag showcase where she’ll be part of a group of artists highlighting the next generation of Catalan talent, along with LLUM, Sofía Gabbana and CLARAGUILAR.

As her audience has grown, so has her insistence on drawing lines – not just between honesty and performance, but between what belongs to the work and what belongs to her. “Generally, I don’t talk much about my life publicly,” she says. “My private life is my refuge. I protect my intimacy.”

This does not mean her songs are emotionally guarded: “I talk about [people I love] in my songs,” she admits. “But nobody knows. Music comes first.”

Kaelis is chaptered by personal voice notes that she sends to her mother. She talks about how much her family means to her, that she met a guy she thinks she likes, and how all this success can feel heavier than people might think. Each of these notes are titled by coordinates in the album’s tracklist; each one pointing out important locations in her life such as Plaza Castilla where she first began jamming in the street.

Barcelona remains central to her identity, even as her relationship with the city has changed. “I think cities have been sold off,” she says. “Local people are being suffocated with local salaries and completely abusive rents. They’re pushing native Barcelonans out. It’s becoming a tourist park.”

Still, she does not frame this awareness as bitterness; it's part of the same mindset that guides her music. Before our conversation ends she proudly shows me the view from her place in the countryside. She and her partner left the city in search of something more grounding in the north of Catalonia — a physical refuge.

In the end, Kali does not describe success as something to be conquered but to live alongside. “I don’t care, I’m going to do what I want,” she says. “I’m free to mess up and keep searching for my sound.”