There’s a certain kind of honesty that doesn’t knock politely; it just shows up, boots muddy, heart on its sleeve, daring you to look away. Laura Leigh’s music lives right there. In the space between folk confessionals and outlaw country storytelling, between campfire songs sung until sunrise and carefully crafted studio takes made with people she trusts. Her songs don’t try to be perfect. They try to be true. And that’s what makes them hit so hard.
Based in New Paltz, but deeply rooted in Albany and the greater Capital Region, Laura Leigh is very much an upstate New York artist, not just geographically, but spiritually. She cut her teeth playing festivals, late nights, and campfires, building a community one song at a time. Blackthorne Resort gets a well-earned shout-out as one of those formative places where stories were swapped, guitars were passed around, and songs were born in real time. That sense of place (of people crossing paths, leaving impressions, and sometimes leaving scars) runs through her entire body of work.
Her upcoming album is, at its core, a collection of people. Some real, some imagined, most stitched together from lived experience. Laura Leigh describes it best through a quote from Utah Phillips, ‘Songs are internal, but they come from external forces.’ These songs are shaped by the characters she’s met, the relationships she’s survived, and the realities she’s witnessed along the way. In that sense, the album becomes a portrait of upstate New York itself—messy, beautiful, weathered, and deeply human.
That storytelling instinct comes through clearly in her recent single “Loretta” and the soon-to-be-released “Johnny” (out February 20). Laura Leigh gravitates toward named characters because they create just enough distance to tell the truth without being trapped by autobiography. Loretta feels real because she is not one person, but many. A mirror held up to the listener that’s uncomfortable, endearing, and devastating in equal measure.
“Johnny,” on the other hand, leans into a classic country break-up duet energy drawn from a few too many ex-boyfriends, and filtered through Laura Leigh’s sharp wit and self-awareness. (She jokes that she’s got baseball cards of all of them, available at the merch table.) It’s funny, yes, but it’s also deeply informed by experience, turning personal history into something communal and cathartic.
What ties the album together thematically is a willingness to be brutally honest, not just about Laura Leigh’s own life, but about experiences many people live through quietly. “Loretta” in particular doesn’t pull punches. It speaks directly to depression, addiction, and the experience of being a woman, with the explicit intention of making some listeners uncomfortable. That discomfort is the point. As Laura Leigh puts it, it’s the job of the artist to make the oppressor uncomfortable.
She’s not here to please everyone. She’s here to say something.
Despite the rawness of the material, the record was made with warmth, care, and collaboration. Laura Leigh leans heavily on her community, trusting her people to help her shape songs until every verse feels right. She co-wrote “Johnny” with Adam Brockway, and “Cowboy Trade” with poet Stu Stevens, a longtime creative partner with whom she shares an ongoing exchange of voice memos, lyric drafts, and ideas. Stevens’ upcoming poetry book will even coincide with Laura Leigh’s artwork, underscoring how intertwined their creative worlds have become.
Her band is just as integral. Lead guitarist Dave Lawlor (both a musical collaborator and longtime friend) helped craft much of the album’s musical backbone. Producers Marty Horn and Vic Deyglio brought the project to life with what Laura Leigh describes as “warm, cozy recording session vibes,” full of energy, humor, and genuine care. The result is a record that feels lived-in and loved, even when it’s cutting close to the bone.
Sonically, this album marks a clear evolution from her earlier releases. Life has left its marks, and you can hear it. The songs are grittier, the band tighter, the performances more assured. Years of vocal work with coach Clare Maloney have given Laura Leigh more control and confidence, and it shows. This is the sound of an artist who’s worked relentlessly, grown tougher, and allowed herself to change.
Releasing music independently has taught her hard lessons: how to grow thicker skin, how to keep moving when people try to stop you, and how often the world wants to tell young artists what they should do. Laura Leigh has learned ‘sometimes the hard way’ that the real power lives in listening to your own heart. That’s the compass she follows.
When listeners reach the end of this album, Laura Leigh hopes it feels like home. Even the sad parts. She wants it to be comforting, nostalgic, and gently healing; something that eases broken hearts rather than hiding from them.
As for what comes next, she sees this record as a chapter she’s proud to close. She’s already looking ahead, inspired to write more folk, outlaw country, and protest songs, and eager to take her music beyond New York to new places and new audiences. With the world in its current state, she believes more than ever in the importance of continuing to make art that speaks honestly.
Laura Leigh isn’t chasing trends or polish. She’s chasing truth. And in doing so, she’s carving out a space where stories matter, voices are heard, and songs still mean something.
Tune in for her EP coming April 10th with a release at Lemon Squeeze located in New Paltz, NY. Following that, a release party will be held at Lark Hall in Albany on May 15th.
Get tickets here.
Read More on Laura Leigh here.
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