“The crowd was amazing,” vocalist Gwyn Strang said, still glowing from the show. “There was this exchange of energy that made it feel more like a ritual than a concert. When people let me connect with them, it’s truly magic.”

That connection is something Frayle actively seeks out. They thrive in intimate venues, where the barrier between performer and listener disappears. “Big shows are nice,” she admitted, “but the smaller ones — when you can really see people’s faces, when they can read yours — that’s where it becomes special.”

The conversation naturally turned to the band’s upcoming album, ‘Heretics and Lullabies’. Even the title feels like a mission statement: a balance of rebellion and comfort, a walk between shadow and light. “I’ve been called a heretic ever since I was a kid,” Gwyn said with a laugh. “For me, it’s not about religion — it’s about being different, being yourself even when people don’t understand you. My lyrics always explore heartbreak and the psyche, but the lullabies are meant to soothe. If I can put words to what someone’s feeling and sing them softly, maybe they’ll feel a little better.”

Frayle’s music often gets labeled as dark, but there’s a gentle optimism buried in it — an insistence that darkness isn’t something to fear, but something to move through. “You have to walk through your darkness to get to the light,” Gwyn reflected. “That’s how you heal. I’ve been depressed, I’ve been happy — all of it. Writing is my way of working through those feelings, and I hope it helps others do the same.”

The band’s new record also marks a creative evolution. For the first time, Frayle worked with a producer, Aaron Chaparian, who helped bring their vision to life without compromising its rawness. Guitarist Sean Bilovecky remembered the moment he heard the first mix. “It was our cover of Summertime,” he said. “I literally cried. It was us — exactly how we wanted to sound. We told him we wanted something that felt like it was made 30 years ago, less laptop, more soul — and he just got it.”

That collaborative trust, Sean explained, changed everything. “We’ve always made our records ourselves, so handing over the keys was scary. But when someone really understands your sound, you know immediately. You can just say, ‘Here — you drive.’”

As the interview wound down, the atmosphere softened. When asked if they had any final words for fans, Gwyn leaned forward, her tone quiet but sincere. “If you’re in a dark place,” she said, “don’t stay there. Do whatever you can to get out. I promise you, tomorrow is a whole new day.”

It was the perfect ending — both a message of hope and a reflection of what Frayle stands for. Their music doesn’t shy away from pain or shadow; instead, it embraces them as necessary parts of healing. In the end, ‘Heretics and Lullabies’ isn’t just an album title — it’s an invitation to face the darkness, knowing that somewhere within it, light is waiting to return.

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