The scene: Ghost Light Hamtramck. Brion Riborn and Chris Rose sit on the stage before an empty barroom to interview Mike Leslie.
This article is a condensed, reader friendly snippet from the full episode. Listen to enjoy the full interview as well as exclusive performances from Mike.
You’ve been writing a lot lately, Mr. Leslie?
Yeah, as much as I can—almost every day. It’s good. I’ve been trying to keep it up because, you know, we’re on a songwriter podcast. Gotta keep the material fresh.
You’ve done a lot—solo work, band work, painting. How do you balance it all?
That’s a great question. I try to split it up evenly—50/50 between three things. (Laughs) But honestly, they go hand in hand. I’ll be painting, then take a break and pick up the guitar, start writing. Creating a painting is a lot like writing a song. Sometimes it feels never finished. You’re pulling your hair out as you do it, and then it’s done and you can finally breathe. The full band thing, that’s a different world—totally different market from a singer-songwriter vibe. Some people only know me as a rock guitarist, others think I’m just an acoustic guy. It’s kind of funny seeing how people interpret you based on what they’ve heard first.
You’ve also been getting into tattooing—what got you into tattooing?
I’ve always wanted to do it. And, you know, if I was going to do it, I was gonna go full force in. It takes some time, money, dedication—all that stuff. Right now, I’m just practicing on fake skin and fruit. You know, tattooing an orange, a banana, whatever. The roundness kind of mimics human flesh, how it stretches.
The thing about tattooing is, even if you’re a great artist, you don’t know shit about tattooing. Being an artist helps, being creative helps, but it’s a trade—it’s mechanical. There’s no eraser. If you screw up a line, you gotta go back and fix it, and now you’re digging into someone’s skin, making it worse. You really have to get it right the first time.
You know, every tattoo I have is from one guy, Lobo, out of Neurotic Ink. But I think my first non-Lobo tattoo might have to be from you.
Yeah, I would love to.
I was a little inebriated when I saw all the fruit you’d tattooed, and I almost let you do it right then.
(Laughs) That would’ve been a bold move.
But I held off.
(Laughs) Yeah, I’d want to be ready for that. Right now, I’m still learning, and I respect the craft too much to rush it. But once I get it down, yeah, I’d love to do my first real tattoo on a friend.
You’ve mentioned a few moments in your career that felt like turning points—what was one that really stuck?
One of the biggest was joining Candlebox. I was playing in bands, writing, just doing everything I could, and I had this friend, Heather, who kept mentioning me to the Candlebox camp. I’d been a fan of theirs forever, so I didn’t think much would come of it. Then one night I played a show at The Whiskey in LA—just this cool gig I set up. I didn’t even know Kevin Martin, their lead singer, was there. A few months later, I was pretty down, wondering what was next, and out of nowhere, he invites me to sit in on an acoustic tour. I get up there, start playing, and it’s like we’ve been doing it forever. A few more shows like that, then one day, first thing he says to me is, ‘Do you want to be in Candlebox?’ And I just said, ‘Yes.’ That was it. No hesitation.
So how did you end up playing at The Whiskey that night?
Man, that night was insane. I had set up a show there—just a gig I wanted to play because, well, it’s The Whiskey. But I didn’t realize how big it was gonna be. I hired a band just for that show, and another band on the bill was Royal Bliss. Turns out, one of the guitarists also played in Candlebox. And then there was Fuel—remember those guys? But the craziest part? Surprise special guest: Robby Krieger from The Doors. I had no idea.
You just ended up on the same bill as a literal Door?
Yeah! I mean, imagine that—playing at the same venue where The Doors got big, and suddenly, Robby Krieger is there, just casually being legendary. The energy in the room was insane. I was super hyped, and on top of that, I had some label reps and publicists coming out to see me. So I was like, ‘Okay, gotta bring my A-game.’
And then what happened?
Played my heart out. Thought maybe I made a splash. But when I got home, I felt like I had blown it. Nothing happened immediately, so I went into this hard depression, like, ‘What am I doing with my life?’ Classic artist self-doubt, you know? Then, a few months later out of nowhere, Kevin Martin from Candlebox reaches out. Turns out he was at the show. He’d seen me. A few months later, I’m sitting in with him on some acoustic gigs. Next thing I know, he asks, ‘Do you wanna be in Candlebox?’ And I just say, ‘Yes.’ And that was it. No hesitation.
You’ve talked about battling self-doubt, even after big moments like that. What keeps you going?
Music, honestly. It’s therapy. I’ve never really written a cheery song—I’ve tried, but it doesn’t come out right. Writing is just about getting whatever’s inside out. Same with painting. It’s a way to process everything. If I don’t do it, I feel it. And I think that’s true for a lot of artists. You’re just drawn to it, whether anyone’s listening or not.
What advice would you give to songwriters who struggle to finish and release their work?
Don’t overthink it. Just do it. Write it down, record it, put it out there. I used to overthink everything, and it took me years to get past that. But the best songs—the best anything—happen when you stop questioning yourself and just let it out. The whole song is in your head. The whole album, the whole painting. You’re the only one who knows it exists. So it’s your job to get it out into the world.
