LEITH-FREAKING-ROSS IS (RE)DEFINING COMMUNITY

Photo by Sam Schucker @schucke.r

Leith Ross loves community. The indie singer-songwriter certainly talks a big game, with at least half of the songs on I Can See The Future, their recently released sophomore album, centering on the subject, but they also embody the values they preach in their music. Whether it’s in a one-on-one conversation or on stage in front of thousands of people, Ross is steadfast in their commitment to fostering togetherness.

I first met Leith Ross at Brooklyn Steel on October 29th. It was 3 PM, a mere six hours before they took the venue’s stage for the seventh stop on their “I Can See The Future” headline tour, and I was nervous. It was my first time at the cavern of a venue that is Brooklyn Steel and while I was thrilled to be there, I felt dwarfed by the building’s size, by the enormity of the task I was undertaking, and by the fact that I was taking it alone, given that Sam Schucker (who is not only my friend and the photographer for this piece, but was also my connection to Leith) had been delayed at an appointment and wouldn’t be arriving for another hour. Not only was I interviewing Leith-freaking-Ross, whose music I have been listening to for four years and whose heartbreaking lyrics and gut-wrenching melodies consistently place them on my “songwriters I want to be when I grow up” playlists, but I was conducting this interview in front of a PR representative from Republic Records, the label they’ve been signed with since 2022. Safe to say, I was feeling out of my depth. And then I met Leith.

Leith Ross leads with kind eyes, a gentle smile, and a firm handshake. Their voice is somehow softer in tone than I expected, despite the hours I’ve accrued listening to their records and watching videos they’ve posted on social media. Within moments, I felt my heartbeat settle, calmed by their thoughtful and straightforward manner. Immediately, I could sense that they were interested in having a conversation, rather than sticking to the cold back-and-forth often found in traditional interviews. In talking to Ross, it quickly became obvious that, while their music often seems to be the soundscape of a dream, their feet are planted firmly in real life.

“I usually want to get a little bit more into the nitty-gritty or intricacies about music, songwriting, the world,” they tell me, when I share that, as both a fan and a journalist, I am far more excited by hearing them talk about the things that interest them, rather than just the questions I may come up with. 

I am more than happy to indulge and more than a little thrilled to find that the questions I did prepare are in alignment with their interests. I begin by asking Leith about their song “(I Can See) The Future,” the closing track on their September 19th album and the namesake for both the album and their current tour. The song, as Ross has discussed online and in multiple interviews, puts words to their hope for a future free from the oppressive systems of the present, a world where the “brick and the stone / of the prisons and roads” are overgrown with flowers, made irrelevant by a kinder society and the plants that flourish in the sunshine of that brighter day. I am interested in what their process was when deciding to write this particular song, given that it is born out of optimism for a future they may never see, rather than the more directly autobiographical inspiration from which much of their discography springs.

“I feel like all my songwriting is a pretty similar process… My songwriting instinct is to just write whenever I feel something strongly. So it's a little bit less of a decision, like I'm deciding to write about something rather than something else, and more like that it’s just whatever I'm feeling very strongly about at that moment. But I feel like, as far as personal development that has kind of led to my songwriting changing in the last little while, I definitely have become pretty obsessive about understanding my place in the world and also just understanding the world better and the intricacies of how it works, even when it's quite bad. I think that is probably why it's coming out of my songwriting a little bit more. I've always thought about it, and it's always been a part of my life, but I think it's something that I'm endeavoring to understand more intricately right now in this phase of my life, like mid-to-late 20s.

The only thing I have thought purposely about before is how to write about politics (for lack of a better word, although it's not really politics) without it being too straightforward [or hitting] you over the head, but in a bad way. [I have thought about] how to incorporate it in a way that feels emotional and true to what I want people to experience when they're listening to it, kind of like leaning more into giving somebody an emotional response, which can then teach them about the radical mindsets as opposed to, like, lecturing them about our political minds.”

I respond to this idea, mentioning that they seem to be choosing to call on empathy, and Leith agrees and elaborates.

“[Calling on empathy] instead of intellectualism… I think the people who are best at that have so much intellect. It's about using that [intellect] to find a more consumable and emotionally understandable way to express those feelings.”

I ask Ross whether they’ve found that, when they’re writing or releasing songs that have a more overt sociopolitical leaning, there is a difference between how they are thinking about the idea and how people are receiving it.

“I think there isn't that much of one. Obviously, it's that thing where music is subjective and people are always having reactions that I couldn't have predicted… Also, I've tried to be clear enough in my politic in general that I would be hopeful that people would be able to interpret it sort of in the way that I meant it. 

Maybe I just don't have enough data yet to know if people are receiving it in the way that I mean it. I think that – which I'm very grateful for – I think that a lot of people who listen to my music are sort of not parasocial about it. It seems like they're mostly just having private reactions, which I very rarely get insight into, which is, I think, kind of a good thing. So maybe I don't know if how it is received differs from what I meant.”

I’m surprised by the lack of parasocialism that Ross seems to have experienced, given the reach of their music and their online presence, and I express myself as such, asking if they think there’s something about their music or online presentation that steers fans away from parasocialism.

“I have no idea. I have wondered about that. I think there are things you can do to kind of dispel some of the mysticism. I think that it's tough because the industry makes you feel like you should kind of lean into mysticism around yourself and around your quote-unquote ‘brand’ because it's good for the money side. Like it makes people excited… and there have been times where I've really been like, okay, I have to be cooler. I have to be a cool guy, I have to not give too much away. But it wasn't out of a sense of self-preservation or privacy; it was out of a sense of wanting to maintain some mystery and mysticism around myself as a person. And I think when I gave up trying to do that so hard, then people started interacting with me in a more normal way. But again, I don't have enough data. I'm not really sure what exactly it is that has led to that vibe. But I think it's also partially just that I'm not that big. That helps, you know? I don't know.”

I mention how interesting I find their perceived lack of parasocialism, given that I’ve witnessed artists smaller than Leith deal with parasocial fans (see: my recent interview with Ella Jane about this very topic). What becomes obvious to me later, when I watch fans in the audience that night, is that every person singing lyrics back to Ross is completely in their own world, remembering whatever the song brings to mind for them, splitting the difference between their own understanding of the music and the short explanations Ross gives before many of the songs on the setlist. It seems that this middle ground means that they get to have more in common with the artist than if they were trying to dissect each lyric as a clue to the songwriter's personal life. In the moment, however, I remark that I’ve had my fair share of parasocial relationships. Leith nods in agreement, saying, “Oh, me too.”

This admission of their own time spent online and in fandom spaces intrigues me, and I ask them what their current pop culture obsessions are.

“I am always excited about things in pop culture. I am definitely an online gay person. I like keeping up to date so that I can be involved in all the conversations. I'm excited for Wicked Part 2, and I've been watching some older, cult-classic TV shows for the first time. I started watching Veronica Mars for the first time a few weeks ago, and I'm liking that. I like to kind of relive the 2000s sometimes for fun.”

Hearing this, I get to ask Leith a question I’ve wanted to ask an artist for quite some time: what song of theirs they think a fictional character (Veronica Mars, in this case) would like.

“Fuck. I don't think she'd like any of them. She's way too cool. She's listening to, like, grungy pop and stuff, but maybe she would like… um… I don't know.”

I can see that they are at a loss, so I modify my question, asking what song in their discography they would like to see Veronica Mars edited to.

“Okay, that's better. I like that. I feel like it has to be like a ship with her and Logan. It would have to be one of the love songs, probably Point of View” or…yeah, probably “Point of View.”

This brings me to another dream question of mine – whether they have a favorite edit to a song of theirs and, if so, what it is. Ross surprises me with the immediacy of their answer.

“Yes. It's an edit of My Mad Fat Diary to “We’ll Never Have Sex,” and it's of Finn and Rae and… have you seen that show? 

I shake my head no.

“You have to watch that show. It’s the most perfect show in the whole world. It’s this British sitcom from, I think the late 2000s, and it is the fucking best thing in the whole entire world. It's so, so good, and there's such a good love story, and it's really funny and charming, and it's perfect.”

Leith points me to their TikTok reposts to find the edit, and I can confirm that, yes, it is beautifully done, and yes, it did make me want to watch the show. You can watch the edit for yourself here. 

Leith and I continue talking about edits, about being gay and online, and from there the conversation naturally takes us to Doctor Who, which Ross calls their “ancient, most long-lasting television love affair,” saying that, when they first saw edits of the show to their music, it was “kind of peak.”

I then get to make their day (their words, not mine) by sharing the news that Doctor Who is leaving Disney+ and returning to the BBC. It’s lovely to see them so lit up, so passionate about a piece of media, the celebrator rather than the celebrated, which brings me to our mutual adoration of Whale Songz, the duo project by Olivia Barton and Annika Bennet opening for Ross’ upcoming LA show. After gushing about my love for Whale Songz (seriously, you have to listen), I ask Leith about their process for picking openers for this tour. I knew that they had posted an open call on Instagram for people to nominate artists to open for them, with the idea that Leith would then listen to the nominations, but I wasn’t sure how, exactly, Ross had managed to sort through the hundreds of comments they received and land on the openers they did. I asked them about this, curious what drew them to Emma Harner, Annika Bennet, Ety, Whale Songz, and Noa Jamir, the artists they ended up picking.

“I mean, honestly and truly, I really did use that damn comment section. Like when it happened, I listened to probably like over 200 musicians, I would say, or close to that, just scrolling through the comments. The people who I chose who I had no [prior] awareness of, were people in that common section [whose music I just loved,] and I was like, ‘this is really good.’ And then in a situation like with Whale Songz and with Emma [Harner], they were in that comment section, like it was part of the open call, but I did already love their music, and then it just worked out that they were free and available, which was awesome. It really was all through the open call. Nobody's opening who wasn't in there, and I really did listen to so much music and all my choices were based on thinking that the people [are] just so talented and wanting to listen [to them play live], to be honest, from a selfish perspective. 

I feel like openers in general… We’ve lost sight of what it is. It's a bit of a lost art. I understand why, you know, I've had a sold-out tour where I didn't have to worry, and then I've had tours like this one where it's a bit harder to sell tickets. And I understand that sometimes it's like, ‘Okay. You need to have somebody that can sell some tickets so you don't lose too much money being on the road, et cetera, et cetera. But I think that just in general, like that's awesome if that happens, but I'm sort of of the belief that when people choose openers, it should genuinely be a personal recommendation. Like, ‘I think this person's music is so fucking good and I want you to know it,’ because it's like giving a friend a music recommendation. Like [saying] ‘This is a great song, this is a great artist.’ … I am co-signing [that] I think this person's really good, and I want you to hear that they're really good, whatever size they are… I love going to a show and hearing an amazing opener and thinking, ‘wow, the artist who I came here to see really likes this music and now I get to hear it.’”

Not only do I agree with Leith that the music industry is losing sight of the meaning and art of openers, but I’m also touched by their personal commitment to listening to all of the artists they were recommended, and making sure they were providing their community of fans with music that they truly loved. I am once again struck by Ross’ commitment to participating in and valuing that community, a commitment that also makes itself clear in how they think about touring in the U.S. at the current political moment. When asked about their experience as a queer artist, Leith once again turned the focus away from their personal experience and toward the experience of their fans.

“Honestly, my real opinion is that my queerness, my queerness in particular, does not feel threatened by what's happening. I mean that in multiple ways, the first being that queerness to me is something very inherent to who I am and to how I move through the world, and I don't even necessarily need people to know that I'm gay or trans. I try to just use it as a framework to be questioning the things that I should question and trying to do things differently… So it's not really something that anyone can invalidate in me, which is always a good feeling and makes me feel a little bit more prepared to be on the road and [to be] perceived… But [the second thing is] my particular positioning in the world. I just think it's just not under threat in the way that many other people are. And so I feel like mostly what it can facilitate and what matters to me is that I try to use that framework that I have from being queer to turn the shows into community spaces as best as I possibly can, you know, introducing people to each other and to local organizations who are doing really good work. Just trying to strengthen the bonds of people who already have something in common so that, as things continue to go south, they have a network to lean on. 

I just generally don't think about it necessarily anymore than I do when I'm just home and being myself, because I'm trying to always bring that same energy and authenticity and… queer framework to everything that I do.”

The idea of introducing people at their shows to local organizations isn’t just an idea Leith has; it’s something they’re actually doing at every stop on their tour. The first time they step on stage that night, it isn’t to begin their set, but rather to introduce Project Stay, a New York-based organization that provides accessible sexual health care services for young people. Not only does Project Stay have a setup at the merch table, but one of their employees gets up onstage and talks about the work that they do. Ross wasn’t kidding - they are actively helping the young queer people in their audience build a network of support.

As the night goes on, once Leith takes the stage with their band and begins their set, the ever-presentness of community in their life only becomes more obvious. They talk to the audience, their short speeches likely rehearsed, yes, but also casual and inescapably human. At one point, overwhelmed by the audience's support, their eyes fill with tears. It is clear that the community found and built in the room that night does not just surround Leith, but rather includes them, a mutual exchange of love and support and laughter and music.

And there is laughter. In the audience, yes, and on stage, certainly, but also in the small green room before the show as I finish up my interview with Leith Ross. For my closing question, I ask them whether they have a personal soapbox, something that they think people need to be talking or thinking about more, whether it be deadly serious or mere frivolity. They respond with the kind of thoughtful, astute, and humorous insight that I have come to expect over the thirty minutes we have spent together. 

“One thing I was thinking about today is that there is validity to the theory that straight men who have small dogs or cats are more trustworthy than those who have stereotypically masculine dogs… Men are just so evil to each other about anything, and so a straight man with a Chihuahua [that is wearing] a sweater has unpacked at least a little bit of his toxic masculinity, because other men will make fun of him for having his tiny chihuahua and a sweater. And cats too, because both are associated with femininity… That's my theory… We saw just today (I mean, I would be shocked if he wasn't straight) a very straight-seeming man in a very stereotypically masculine outfit with a masculine walk and his hair and whatever, and he had a tiny, tiny little terrier with a pink collar, and I was like, ‘Wow. Yep, that's so beautiful. I like to see it.’”

Whether they’re sharing their thoughts on straight men with small dogs or a carefully constructed song about the simple beauty of eating dinner with friends, it’s clear that Leith Ross is astoundingly astute, incredibly intelligent, and consistently committed to community. It’s these attributes that make their music so heartfelt, their live shows so vibrant, and the chance to interview them such a delight. Leith Ross doesn’t just build community; they are community, and all of us, from casual listeners to lifelong fans, are better for it.