One minute she’s talking about invisible velvet ropes that dictate who belongs where, the next, she’s channeling that frustration into a song that halted us in our tracks. Meet Leah Cleaver. Our new friend delicately finds a way to turn something serious into something to celebrate with her new track Country Club. Leah takes aim at the subtle, and not so subtle ways the exclusion is felt in British society by turning a collective, and quite frankly, shitty experience, into something that brings pure joy to the dance floor.
It’s her balance of bite and warmth that make her world so easy to fall into. She’s quick to laugh, even quicker to make you feel welcome, and we felt that energy with her fab new EP BABY DON’T MOVE. Drawing from people closest to her, the record marks another chapter in Leah’s evolving sound, showcasing an artist becoming increasingly comfortable in her own creative skin. Blending forward-thinking electronic production with her signature soulful vocals, the release moves effortlessly between contrasting sounds and emotions, offering a glimpse into the breadth of her artistry and where she’s headed next.
We caught up with Leah recently, and what started out as a conversation about her craft, quickly went beyond the music. We learnt about her great tastes in film, her passionate love for asparagus and what a particular conservatory in Luton means to her. Fall in love with her like we have by reading all the feels below:
First things first, how does it feel to have the EP out in the world?
It’s been so good! I’m realising that the week after releasing an EP feels like you’ve done a slight marathon. You’ve spent all year working on something, and then suddenly it doesn’t belong to you anymore. The press and interviews are really fun, but you have to let it do its thing. It’s bittersweet, like releasing your child into the world and hoping people like it.
Where did your love for music begin?
I lost my mum when I was five and moved in with my auntie. I’m half Jamaican and half Irish, and we eventually moved from Luton to Devon. My auntie loved the Rat Pack, Elvis Presley, Nina Simone, Otis Redding and Bing Crosby. At my grandparents’ house it was Irish rebel music. My family weren’t big talkers, but they were big music listeners. Every Friday I’d go to HMV and be allowed one CD. I’d spend the week learning the lyrics, then go downstairs and perform the songs.
And then how did that turn into performing and writing?
I was getting into trouble at school, so they found the money to send me to an artist development programme run by Joss Stone’s mum, Wendy. It was in a jazz club in Devon. On Saturday afternoons there would be eight kids, a music teacher and the house band. We learned music history, wrote songs and played with musicians. Eventually Wendy told me I could keep coming for free. It was such an education. Later, someone suggested studying music in London. I moved when I was 18 and never went back.
Back to BABY DON’T MOVE, the EP moves between sounds without asking permission. Was that intentional?
I’d been in a band for a long time making quite specific future neo-soul music, and I loved it, but I was itching to experiment. Growing up with such eclectic music, it never made sense to me to make a whole body of work that sounds the same. I love a collective feeling and telling a story, but it would feel unnatural to decide that everything has to be a dance track.
Country Club is an absolute dance-floor moment, but there’s something sharper underneath it. How did this song come to be?
I wrote it with Gabe Gifford. It was a really hot day and he wanted to write a dance track. Early on I thought of a country club, and I loved the cheekiness of it. I started thinking about spaces that make you feel excluded. In the UK, racism can be very institutional: nobody explicitly says you can’t come, but the space isn’t made accessible to you. I’ve had experiences like that, even arriving at corporate gigs in a ball gown and being mistaken for someone who works there. The country club became a metaphor for community and space. We make our own country clubs every day.
Then the video almost became an extension of the song’s point, didn’t it?
We approached eight or nine country clubs about filming. We offered to shoot outside, after hours, nearby, all sorts of options, and the answer kept being no. I don’t want to assume why. But it reinforced the idea that we could make our own. Black and queer communities have created so many incredible things. So we took it into the street and made it look regal and delicious.
If Baby Don’t Move were a film, what would we be watching?
I think it’s giving A24. Indie, maybe psychological thriller. Something with the atmosphere of POC horror, but not centred on suffering. It’s in the details. I’m a very details-driven person.
Rapid fire with Leah
We need to know: what’s your most underrated talent?
Makeup! I can really beat a face and not just my own. I’ve been practising on other people lately.
If your friends had to describe you as a fruit or vegetable, what would you be?
Asparagus. I eat it with everything. It’s crunchy, delicious and very upmarket. Well at least it feels upmarket, even though it isn’t actually that expensive. It’s got a working-class bougie energy.
Give us the Leah Clever East London food tour. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, where are we going?
Breakfast at my local, Shepherdess Cafe. It’s a proper old-school cafe with great portions and a lovely family running it. Lunch at Manteca, the pasta and rosemary focaccia are so good. Dinner? I’m not trying to be niche, Dishoom. I know it’ll be consistently great.
Would you rather sell out Wembley and lose your voice for two years, or play to the same 50 people every month but never grow your audience?
Give me the 50 people. One thousand percent. I’m not losing my voice for two years. Fifty people can make a movement, you can make a cult out of five!
If BABY DON’t MOVE had a smell, what would it be?
Tom Ford Soleil Blanc. My cousin had a tiny bottle in New York and I became obsessed. I used to spray it every time I passed through an airport. I finally got it for my thirtieth birthday. It’s vanilla and buttery and it settles into your skin. Listen to the EP and go smell it at the airport.
In the sitcom of your friendship group, what role are you playing?
One of the main characters, but definitely the comic relief. Main and funny. Maybe a bit like Schmidt from New Girl, he’s so funny.
You love cinema. What makes a film work for you?
A big plot, an amazing story and all those little details you only notice later. I love The Colour Purple, Sinners and Inglorious Bastards. I love a thriller, but I’m not here for endless horror sequels without a good plot. If I weren’t making music, I’d study film.
Finally, where in the world do you feel most relaxed?
My auntie Maggie’s conservatory in Luton. She has all these plants, a big mirror, and we sit there having a great gossip. I feel so close to my mum in that house. It has so many memories. It’s my little slice of heaven in Luton.
Leah has begun to wield her craft in a way that is beautifully authentic and raw. You’re going to want to keep an eye on this one, we see exciting things ahead in future!
Check out her EP below or head to our Honey Hour playlist to hear more tracks like these ones.
By Samuel Seedsman.