A day with Lexi of Midnight Rye
written by michelle castro
There are people who announce themselves when they enter a room.
Lexi is not one of those people.
She arrives quietly, slips into conversations rather than hijacking them, and somehow still ends up being the person you remember when you leave. That might explain why her lyrics feel like they come from somewhere behind your ribs instead of from a stage monitor. Or maybe it's just that she listens more than she talks--and when she does talk, it tends to land.
When I asked Lexi if she wanted to do this interview, she said yes the way people say yes when they don't fully believe you'll follow through. So we did it the only way that made sense: wine on the counter, Captain America pajamas involved, an oversized couch prepared for a sleepover, and Shameless queued up like emotional background noise.
She didn't walk me to the door. She fluffed a pillow instead.
That felt about right.
Michelle: You write with your producer a lot. What does that collaboration actually look like behind the scenes?
Lexi: It’s honest. Sometimes painfully so.
We don’t write to impress each other. We write to clarify things we don’t fully understand yet. If a song survives that process—if it still feels true after we’ve poked at it and taken parts of it apart—then it’s usually worth sharing.
And I mean… he’s lived a lot of life. He served in the Marine Corps, he’s visited a ton of countries, traveled constantly, his family is amazing. There’s perspective there. He’s really into Stoicism, and I think somewhere along the way I started believing that philosophy could actually change how people communicate with each other.
It’s not about being unemotional. It’s about understanding why something hits you the way it does before you react.
Michelle: Your lyrics are intense. But you’re… not. You’re calm. Grounded. It’s hard to picture you genuinely angry.
Lexi (laughs): That’s fair.
I think the stronger the lyrics, the more important it is that they make people uncomfortable in a productive way. Not because I’m angry all the time—but because everyone is, whether they admit it or not.
If the song is doing its job, it should force you to ask:
Why does this bother me?
Is this worth fighting?
What is my reaction actually going to cost me?
I don’t want to conquer worlds. I want to make this one a little more livable. Sometimes that starts by sitting with the uncomfortable stuff instead of screaming through it.
Michelle: So if someone listens to your music and feels stirred up—
Lexi: —good. That’s the point.
I don’t want to tell people what to feel. I want them to notice what they’re already feeling and decide what to do with it. That’s where growth happens.
Michelle: Let’s talk about romance—because people are absolutely going to ask. What should someone know before approaching you?
Lexi: First: don’t catcall. I don’t respond to that. Ever.
Second: don’t buy me a drink unless you’re okay with me buying my own. I don’t owe anyone anything because they spent money.
And third—please be original. Or at least intentional. If you’re going to use a line, be funny and respectful. I’m not looking for perfection. I’m looking for someone who can communicate like an adult.
I wear lipstick sometimes. I wear combat boots sometimes. I wear things that don’t fit neatly into one category. If that confuses you, we’re probably not a match.
Michelle: You’re in school, you’re writing, you’re performing. How do you keep from burning out?
Lexi: I give myself permission to be human.
That means yoga in the park some mornings. Cooking at home with the windows open and candles lit. Walking to class with headphones on and letting the city blur a little. Sitting on my balcony with a glass of wine after a bad date and thinking, Okay… there’s probably a song in this somewhere.
Not everything has to be content. Some things just have to be lived.
Michelle: What do you hope people understand about you after reading this?
Lexi: That I’m still figuring it out.
I write heavy songs because I believe lightness matters—and you can’t appreciate one without the other. I’m calm because I choose to be, not because nothing ever touches me.
And I really believe communication can change things. Not overnight. Not dramatically. But quietly. Over time.
Quiet damage works both ways. So does quiet healing.
We shut the laptops sometime after midnight. The wine glasses were empty. The couch was officially claimed. Captain America pajamas were still undefeated.
Lexi didn’t walk me to the door.
She turned off the hallway light instead.
And somehow, that felt like the most honest ending possible.
Post-script
Later that night, as Shameless played on without our attention, Lexi glanced up and said, almost as an afterthought:
“Not all musicians are chaos. Some of us are just trying to make sense of it.”
Then she laughed, pulled the blanket higher, and hit next episode.
I believed her.
