Leyla Ebrahimi Is Still Figuring It Out — And She's Letting Us Hear It

There’s something beautifully unfinished about Leyla Ebrahimi – not in her craft, but in the way she lets us watch her becoming. The Persian-American singer and songwriter makes music the way a person thinks: looping, shifting, returning to the same memory from five different angles just to see if it hits different this time. In the past year, her songs have moved through synth-pop static, fuzzy indie haze, and quiet acoustic confession, but the center has stayed the same: say the truth, even if it hurts to hear it.

Zoe Mills ©

Her latest single, “i don’t like being left behind,” shows that she's done soft-pedaling heartbreak. It feels like a bruise you keep pressing just to prove it’s still yours. Co-produced with Alexander 23 and longtime collaborator Shane Pielocik, it doesn’t chase closure — it just sits in the wanting, in the shock of being chosen and then unchosen – which we can all relate to. It’s not clean, and she likes it that way.

But the song is only one layer. Leyla’s universe is threaded with family dinners recorded into demos, Farsi spoken into synth lines, park benches in Brooklyn, soft sobriety, heartbreak that refuses to stay quiet, and the kind of self-discovery that has no neat timestamp. She's so refreshingly relatable.

Ahead of her debut headlining shows — November 11 at Union Pool in Brooklyn and November 18 at School Night in Hollywood — we sat down with Leyla to talk about artistic identity, the power of returning to yourself, and why sometimes the scariest thing you can do is release the song anyway.

Zoe Mills ©

You’re only a year into your career, but your sound already feels distinct. How would you describe where your artistic identity is right now?

It is ever-changing. I have found that my artistic identity changes as I myself change, and move through different chapters of my life. I definitely don’t restrict myself to a certain genre or archetype of sound; I’m just trying to make music that further connects me to myself. It’s a process of self-discovery. I have no idea what the music will sound like in a year, or even a few months from now. All I know is that if I am creating, and writing, and singing, I am the happiest I have ever been.

What originally drew you to writing and recording music? Was there a specific moment when you thought, “I can do this”?

The first demo I came out with was “if there is a light it’s burning out,” and while that track was the catalyst for all this, it wasn’t my “aha” moment at all. A few weeks after that release, I got connected with Shane, who is now my producer and great friend. We met up and got coffee and he was like, “Hey, do you want to just try and make a song?” That was the day we made “say how you feel.” I remember he bounced out the track and sent it to me. When I tell you I listened to that track for 48 hours straight, I mean it. I didn’t sleep for two nights. I would just stay up replaying the demo over and over again, thinking to myself, “Oh my God, I cannot believe we made this. I cannot believe this song is mine.”

Your first song came from looping your family dinner — how did that intimate, spontaneous process shape how you approach music today?

The art I create is wildly influenced by the people in my life, and the creative nature of the project is influenced by where my family is from — Iran. For a very long time, I was like, “Okay, how do I create something that is cool, that is a paradox, that is something no one has seen before?” It took me years to realize that the best thing I could do was be myself.

While most of my music is clearly processing heartbreak (though I do have so much more to say), it’s made even more intimate by the nature of the art surrounding the songs. My little cousin is such a massive part of the project — she is the creative force behind every record cover. I try to imbue my work with who I am and where we are from because I believe that what makes us different is what makes us powerful. I used to think, growing up in Virginia, that my heritage was a curse. It turned out to be my favorite thing about myself.

Growing up Persian-American in Reston, how has your heritage and family dynamic influenced your writing and sound?

When I first started this project, I was like, “Okay, I don’t care about streams, I don’t care about playing big venues, I don’t care about reaching millions of people — this is for me and for my family and it’s just something I want to do for myself.” But as I started putting more music out, I began receiving messages from people like me — Middle Eastern girls or other brown artists or listeners — saying, “Oh my God, I can’t believe this project exists,” or, “I love your album art,” or, “This inspired me to embrace who I am and where I’m from.” And that’s when I realized none of it was about me. It never was about me.

Sonically, I am working on integrating Farsi into the songs. My mom is helping me, and it’s been such a wonderful experience working with her and learning from her. For a long time, I wasn’t sure that there was a space for Farsi in the indie scene — but then I’m like, what does that even mean? Of course there is. That’s the next chapter I’m moving into — paying tribute to where I’m from not only through the visual art, but in sonic ways as well.

You move between synth-pop, indie fuzz, acoustic… do you see yourself as a genre-fluid artist or is it more instinctual?

I definitely see myself as a genre-fluid artist. People ask me what genre of music I make, and I literally don’t know how to answer that question. I think it’s more than one thing for sure, and with each song, I tap into different subgenres depending on what I’m writing about or how I’m feeling.

Do you have any pre-studio rituals that help you get in the zone?

I usually start a session off with a celsius. I am not sure what that says about me, probably nothing good. But no, I really just walk in ready to go. I never stress about what we are working on or getting in the zone, it's always a very natural process with us, and we are usually working from home studios so it’s just very chilled. 

Who or what are you currently obsessed with — music, fashion, art, TV — anything inspiring you?

I love this question. I am very much inspired by the art I am consuming. Right now, I am listening to a ton of Mei Semones, another Brooklyn based artist who I just think is so wildly talented and amazing. I love the jazz to prog rock or pop sequence that happens in her music. I’ve also been listening to this guy Rian Brazil, his song “people like u” is nothing like anything I’ve ever heard before. I am also obsessed with collecting calico critters and trinkets of all sorts. 

How would you describe your personal style and how does it connect to your music?

I don’t really know. I guess my personal style changes constantly based on how I am feeling in the moment. I think that when I came out a few years ago, I had a personal crisis in terms of my style and what I wear based on how I was feeling sexuality-wise. I would say, like my music, my personal style is ever-changing, and there is no way of knowing what direction it will shift to.

If someone pressed play on your playlist right now, what song would surprise people the most?

This is such a hard question omg I don’t know… I have this French playlist called “putain” that I love very much. I love French music and grew up speaking it with my mom.

What does a typical day in New York look like for you when you’re not in the studio?

A typical day in New York for me always begins with a walk to get my coffee, and then I go sit in the park. Usually I go to a coffee shop and try and get some work done, film some stuff for BTS footage — it’s different every day. I am two years sober, so usually will try to sneak a meeting in, meet up with a friend, and spend as much time outside as possible. When I am not making music, I am constantly listening to it — to artists I love and am inspired by. There isn’t a day that goes by without at least an hour spent sitting in the park sifting through songs.

What do you want listeners to feel when they hear your music for the first time?

I want them to feel the way I felt when I listened to Kate Bush for the first time — specifically the Red Shoes album. Oh my God, I don’t even know how to talk about that album sometimes. I want people to feel connected by the universal experience that is love, that is loss, that is everything we feel and everything we repress.

Sometimes when I am writing, I think to myself, “Oh my God, can I actually publish this? Can I put the darkest parts of my mind — its most secret corners — out into the world?” And then I remember the way this album made me feel and I realize that not only can I, but I have to.

I felt similarly the first time I listened to Mk.gee — I was like holy shit, I have never heard anything like this before. “Alesis” is a song I think about every day, and my interpretation of it really resonates with my personal struggles having to do with addiction. I have no idea if that’s even what he means in the song — that was just my takeaway. And that is the best thing about music. It’s what I hope people feel when they listen to my discography — that they can take this and apply it to their own experiences and timelines and know they aren’t alone.

What’s one thing you’ve learned about yourself over the past year of making music?

This might be so dumb, but the best advice I’ve ever received is that if you’re scared, do it scared. And in the past year that has been such an overarching theme for me and my art.

Every time I release a song, I do the same thing the night leading up to the release. I walk to McCarren Park and pace around the track for three hours, replaying the music over and over. Every time, I wonder who will listen, who will resonate, and perhaps — will it help someone? Then at midnight, I lie on the picnic tables and look up at the sky and listen to the release for the first time as it’s published. And every single time, I am terrified.

It took me so long to release music, mostly because I was scared. I still am scared. But I’ve learned that the love I have for creating art overpowers the fear I have of releasing it to the world.

One of my best friends Niu Niu and I have this thing we do — before we do something that takes courage, we text each other or call each other and say, “3, 2, 1.” And it’s like — 321 jump. Just jump. Just take the plunge. Do it scared.

What can you tell us about your upcoming debut EP — any themes or sounds we should expect?

Definitely. I am really focusing on a track called “planet you forgot me” and building around that. You’ll hear recurring riffs and motifs all connecting the songs to one another. Each one is part of a larger story that I am telling — about my life and about love and about the various cycles that it takes you through.

In my work, most of the music is about the same person. And I want that to be obvious, because like I said — it’s all connected. That’s why the lyrics repeat sometimes or the themes persist. I’ve struggled at times because I know I love being a broken record — but like one of my friends talks about how Oasis is one of the best bands in the world, and so many of the songs are part of other tracks in their discography, and no matter how much repetition there is, it only makes you love and connect to the music more.

I feel very similar to Cigarettes After Sex, or even sometimes The Doors. It’s about taking an experience and sometimes prolonging it. I have found that that’s the way my art exists in my mind — it’s all connected. And we are all connected. And music is the invisible thread that ties it all together.

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Listen to "i don't like being left behind" now below.