Leah Siegel

I heard her play last night at Orchid Lounge, and I was... I don't know the word in English. In French I could say, j'étais sidéré.

Those of you with itchy etymology triggers will note that word shares roots with sidereal,
and there is indeed something cosmic about Leah's sound. But none of
that spastic-electron cosmic, from the likes of Eno, or even Echo and
the Bunnymen, on which we've all OD'd to varying degrees.

Siegel's music is the good-witch counterpart to the Medusa's head —
just as paralyzing, but exquisitely so. And a voice that runs from
whispy to belt, from syrup to shrapnel, in a single phrase with
breathtaking ease. Her guitar work follows a simlar line, leaving you
wondering if she considers it an instrument or a weapon.

I
usually refrain from using Hollywood snapshot-analogy summaries, but in
this case the impression was so visceral I'm breaking my own rule: Leah
Siegel is in many ways the female Jeff Buckley. Transcendant and
intimate all at once.

If you go hear her (and you must) do not be suprised at the audience's hushed silence, cut only by the sobs of bouncers.

Leah Siegel is that very special thermodynamic miracle: a human star.

Catch her act soon, before she goes nova.

Check out her site or my events section for dates & locations of Leah's upcoming shows.