A Quick Chat with Leela Misel

'Obsessed' explores the blurred line between admiration and fixation. What was the feeling or moment that first sparked the song?

In lockdown I noticed how far I'll take a fixation - teaching myself guitar, then a bandmate dared me to learn a harmonica part for a cover band, then deciding I had to learn every guitar part to every favourite song, and ending up all-in on a bass guitar at one point. I do the same thing with people: get completely absorbed in someone, want to know everything about them. That's the fixation "Obsessed" is built on.

There's a dreamy, nostalgic quality to 'Obsessed', with shimmering guitars, warm synths and that infectious groove. How did you arrive at that sound?

My reference track was 'Weed Card' by Garfunkel and Oates - I cut a demo on electric guitar with flute, chasing that same odd energy. What I wanted was a song that feels upbeat and cheerful on the surface, but once the flute solo hits, you sense something's a little unhinged underneath. Working with N8or Productions, we found that line together, and it came together pretty instinctively from there.

You've been performing live for close to three decades. What keeps you excited about getting on stage after all these years?

Mainly the crowd connection - and that's easy when you're singing covers. With my own songs, the challenge isn't finding new things to say, it's finding the confidence to say them. A lot of what I write has been sitting there unsaid for years, and I'd talked myself out of it mattering. Then I put it out and realised it does matter - not just to me, but to other people still going through the same thing.

You're one of the few rock artists who brings a flute to the stage. How did the flute become part of your sound, and what does it add to your music?

I'm classically trained and spent years in orchestras and chamber groups, including conducting - voice came later, in my 30s, flute was always there first. In my early days jamming with guitarists, before I added voice, I'd bring the flute along instead, and got some odd looks working it into AC/DC covers. By the time I joined the originals blues rock band Stonetrain, years later, I was already singing - but the flute still had a way of stealing focus. One song's "placeholder" guitar solo ended up staying as a flute solo instead, and it's been played at blues and folk festivals since. It's a genre that doesn't usually make room for flute, in the tradition of players like Jethro Tull's Ian Anderson, and it's become one of my signature sounds.

Your songs often touch on identity, family, burnout and finding stillness. Do you tend to write from personal experiences, or do ideas sometimes arrive more unexpectedly?

Mostly from personal experience, though sometimes an idea will strike from nowhere - I once got inspired by autumn leaves on a sandstone road and wrote a song called "Hold Up" from that. It's not released yet, but it's got a flute solo people love, and it's become a favourite with the live roots, folk and blues crowd. Most of the time though, it's lived experience: between caring for my father, a full-time job, and running gigs and socials for my cover band X-GENZ, stillness is rare. For years I told myself none of it was worth writing about. Putting it into a song is what proved otherwise.

You've had some great recognition for your music, including the Australian Songwriting Prize for 'Switch'. Has that changed how you see yourself as a songwriter?

Yes, completely. "Switch" is about code-switching - adjusting how I speak, act and present depending on who's around - and growing up mixed race in Australia, so putting it out was personal before it was public. Before it was recognised, I carried a lot of imposter syndrome. I still feel it sometimes, but now there's a sense that I have something to say that people are willing to engage with. "Switch" was a Melbourne Semi-Finalist and Honourable Mention in the Australian Songwriting Prize, and I've released five more singles since, most recently "Take Me To Your Water" in January 2026.