Back in 2023, when I was just beginning to explore the world of live music, I went to one of my first ever gigs: Leith Ross at London’s KOKO. It was the kind of intimate show where every person in the room feels like they’re part of something quietly monumental. I was there with a friend, and throughout the night, I watched as people wiped away tears, struck by the raw honesty of Ross’s songs. And yet, even amid the emotional moments, there was this overwhelming joy in the room — a sense of connection and communal warmth.
Two years later, I found myself speaking with Leith Ross over Zoom about their second studio album, I Can See the Future. At that moment, I hadn’t listened to the full record yet — a minor scandal, perhaps, but by the time I pressed play later that evening, I was completely captivated. The album balances growth, reflection, and transformation with the warmth and openness that has become Ross’s signature. Tracks like Alone and I Can See the Future became instant favourites.
Ross’ story begins in a household steeped in music. “My dad would sometimes play guitar, my parents sang us bedtime stories, and both my grandfathers were very musical,” they explained. Sundays were filled with tidying the house to the soundtrack of Kris Kristofferson, John Prine, Willie Nelson, India.Arie, and Etta James. These early influences left an indelible mark, cultivating a sensitivity to authenticity, and narrative richness. Ross laughs as they recall being “one of those obnoxious kids who loved to sing and perform. Everyone told me I was going to be a performer, and I just believed them.”
I Can See the Future was born from a particularly intense period in Ross’s life, with the exception of Grieving, a track written years earlier following their grandfather’s death. “Most of the songs were written within about a year,” they explained. “That year was filled with change — within myself, my relationships, my view of the world. So the record captures all of that.” Working with producer Rostam Batmanglij opened up new sonic possibilities. “He brought so much creativity and direction,” Ross said. “There are things on this record I never had access to before.” Yet, at the core, songwriting remains their “true love,” the foundation of everything they create. When asked which tracks they were most excited for people to hear, Ross paused thoughtfully. “My favourite is (I can see) the Future, but that’s already out. From the unreleased ones, probably I Will and Alone.”
The vulnerability embedded in Ross’s songwriting extends naturally to performance. When I mentioned that the 2023 KOKO show was one of my first live music experiences, Ross nodded knowingly. For them, the feeling of performing for an audience is equally overwhelming:
“It’s almost impossible to comprehend — like thinking about how deep the ocean is, your brain just can’t compute it. To realise every person in the room has a full life outside of me, and then we’re all singing something I wrote… it’s surreal. Sometimes I come offstage and just cry, not out of sadness or happiness, but because the energy has to go somewhere.”
Songwriting for Ross is a compulsion as much as a craft. “I’ve always written songs to process my life,” they explained. “It’s not so much about expressing how I feel, it’s about figuring it out. It’s discovery.” This process is often swift, with lyrics, chords, and melody arriving in a single sitting. Yet Ross approaches past work with a gentle self-awareness. “I’ve felt embarrassed by songs before,” they admitted, “but I try to respect the younger version of me who wrote them. That 18-year-old deserved to be heard.” Their favorite lyric “It helps to remember I took generations to make. And maybe I’m learning to die, but I’m living to learn” — mirrors their honest approach.
Art and responsibility are intertwined for Ross. “I think people sometimes overthink having a platform,” they said. “But to me, beyond being an artist, I have a responsibility as a human being to minimise suffering where I can. That’s true whether or not I have a platform. The fact that I do just makes it more important to be clear.” They bristle at framing human rights issues as merely “political,” emphasising instead that caring and acting are basic responsibilities we all share.
Ross’s openness extends to musical experimentation as well. While their sound is often described as indie folk, they resist being boxed in. “I’d love to follow in the footsteps of someone like Linda Ronstadt and just release whatever I want. I’d love to make an acoustic folk record. I’d also love to make a full-on pop record someday. There are so many genres I want to explore.” This fluidity mirrors their songwriting approach: every record is a snapshot of a specific time, and the songs function as journal entries capturing personal reflection, growth, and curiosity.
Their influences span beyond music into film, television, and literature, each feeding into the texture of their work. They cited About Time as a favorite movie and revealed their enduring love for Doctor Who, and we fangirled over David Tennant “I honestly can’t even watch him as a villain. My 13-year-old brain refuses. He’s too charming, too human”. Literature also plays a role: Ross recently read Isabella Hammad’s Enter Ghost and has been exploring music from friends, such as Whalesongz, a project by Olivia Barton.
Connection, both in creation and reception, is central to Ross’s work. Discussing fan reactions, they revealed the grounding power of hearing from listeners: “Sometimes the only thing that really grounds me is hearing how a song has affected someone. Even if it’s just one person, it feels worth it.” The emotional feedback loops back into their performances, creating moments of overwhelming, positive energy:
“Because as soon as I remember every person in the room has a complex individual life outside of me, and then we’re all together, singing something I wrote, it’s so surreal. I almost feel like I can’t understand it anymore. And when I’m able to be present in that feeling, I end up really overwhelmed — mostly in a positive way. A couple of times I’ve just gotten offstage and cried, not because I was sad or happy, but because I needed to expel that energy.”
I Can See the Future is heartfelt, introspective and expansive all at once — the kind of album that makes you press repeat while wanting to share it with everyone you know.
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