Lorraine Leckie of Brooklyn on Life, Lessons & Legacy

Lorraine Leckie shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.

Lorraine, we’re thrilled to have you with us today. Before we jump into your intro and the heart of the interview, let’s start with a bit of an ice breaker: Are you walking a path—or wandering?
I’m definitely walking a path. I’ve never really been a wanderer — I’ve always known what I wanted to do.

When I was nineteen, I left high school early, skipped college, and went straight out into the world as a makeup artist. I wanted to live in Europe, be around ,fabulous people, and work in big cities — just be creative and make money.

I did that for about twenty years. But eventually, I started feeling bored, like, “Is this it?” I could’ve gone to Hollywood and made monsters, or started a makeup line and gotten rich, but I wanted something new — something that scared me a little.

People I worked with used to hear me read these little poems I wrote — usually over dinner — and they’d say, “You should be a songwriter.” So I took the leap. I started learning instruments at thirty-seven, and by forty I was all in. I’ve had the same band and studio from day one, and now I’m putting out my eighth full-length album, Goddamn Outer Space.

There was never some big master plan. I just wanted to learn, make music, and get really good at it. That’s how I’ve always worked — once I start down a path, I stay on it.

So no, I’m not wandering. I’m walking a path. It just happens to be one that keeps evolving.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
Lorraine Leckie and Her Demons is my brand. I have musicians that I work with in the US, Europe, and Canada. Even if I’m playing alone, I’m still Lorraine Leckie and Her Demons, the demons are just invisible.

Okay, so here’s a deep one: Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
I was a wood witch.
That’s honestly the best way to describe it. I was one of those kids who could disappear into the woods for hours. I’d lie on the ground, stare up at a bird in the sky, and if I focused hard enough, I could become that bird — like I was flying with it, seeing what it saw. You look up, get kind of high from staring at the sky too long, and then — VRRMP — off you go.

I was born more of a B personality — easygoing, dreamy, just going with the flow. But I was the oldest child in a very hard-working, salt-of-the-earth family. No one around me was creative or artistic, and there were a lot of expectations. You’re the first kid, the experiment. My family really believed in hard work, and I think that slowly forced me into becoming more of an A personality — driven, perfectionist, always pushing.

I wasn’t born that way, though. I learned it. I felt a lot of responsibility, like I had to be something in the world. I was very hard on myself — still am sometimes. My mom was the same kind of B personality I started as. She didn’t care about achieving anything flashy — she just wanted a good life: a book, a laugh, a party on Saturday night, family around her.

My grandmother was also a remarkable woman — she started Turansky’s Grocery and was the first woman in her town to buy land at an auction. I think that sense of independence and responsibility trickled down to me, too.

So before the world told me who to be, I was softer. I was that wood witch — loose, cosmic, free-flowing. Funny enough, that’s exactly what this new album feels like. It’s the most open and relaxed thing I’ve ever made. In a way, I think I’ve finally circled back to who I really was all along.

What have been the defining wounds of your life—and how have you healed them?
Defining wounds? Honestly, losing my mother was the hardest thing I’ve ever lived through. It cracked something open in me. I started writing—different kind of writing than I’d ever done before. I don’t usually post personal things, but I ended up sharing some of that poetry, and people responded in this really unexpected, beautiful way. It helped them, and that helped heal me. It made me realize that sometimes the most painful things become the most human things you can offer the world.

Was there ever a time I almost gave up? Absolutely—everyday. I don’t think people realize how normal that is. Having a routine is what saves me from actually doing it. And honestly… what else would I do? There’s nothing else I’d really want to do. If I’ve made eight albums and haven’t given up yet, I don’t think there’s much chance I ever will.

This whole life goes up, it goes down. It can be really hard when nothing’s happening—not necessarily in the world, but in you. But that’s the secret: even when the outside looks still, you’re growing as an artist. And no one who’s successful has ever quit. You just keep on doing. That’s the whole magic of it.

I think our readers would appreciate hearing more about your values and what you think matters in life and career, etc. So our next question is along those lines. What’s a belief or project you’re committed to, no matter how long it takes?
I’m really committed to creating and releasing work—no matter how long it takes. I want to keep putting out albums, singles, and recorded music on a regular basis. The thing I love most about music is creating it. I actually love the process of creating music and poetry even more than performing. I love my daily practice—the quiet part—where I come up with little wonders and just want to put them out into the world.

I also want to do projects that mean something. Of course, I love touring and performing, but for me, everything has to have purpose behind it.

And one project that’s close to my heart is a book of poems I’d like to publish, with illustrations by my husband. He’s done my artwork for years, and people have really responded to it. His style is kind of goth folk art—creatures, the supernatural, nature always there but twisted—a little reminiscent of Edward Gorey. I think pairing that with my poetry would be a dream project, and it’s something I’ll stay committed to until it exists.

Okay, so let’s keep going with one more question that means a lot to us: Could you give everything your best, even if no one ever praised you for it?
Absolutely. I’m my own worst critic. It’s more important that I like what I’m creating, because I’m going to be harsher on myself than anybody out there ever could be. If you can’t give it your best—no matter who’s watching or not watching—then where do you go from there? The praise comes and goes, but the work is what stays.

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Image Credits
Photos by John Huba
Poster by Billy Leroy

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