Leith Ross Delivers at the Fine Line
Wednesday night at the Fine Line, Leith Ross delivered a concert that felt less like a typical gig and more like an extended, honest conversation with a (very packed) room full of friends.
Emma Harner
From the moment the 22-year-old Nebraska-based Emma Harner walked on stage, guitar in hand, there was a quiet electricity in the room. She offered a modest smile and a small wave before taking her place at center stage, the mic just inches from her face. I couldn’t help but think about how strange it must feel for her, someone who first captured attention through a screen, to now be standing before a crowd of real, breathing people who knew every note of her work.
I first discovered Harner the same way many probably did: by stumbling across her videos on TikTok. Her reputation on the app grew quickly thanks to her distinctive, rhythmically intricate guitar style — the kind of sound that stops your scrolling thumb mid-motion. Up close, her playing is mesmerizing. Her hands move with the ease of someone who’s practiced until instinct takes over, fingers darting across the fretboard in intricate, interlocking patterns.
She peppers her songs with unexpected harmonics and rhythmic shifts, crafting a sound that sits somewhere between folk intimacy and math-rock precision — a small, mesmerizing corner of genre that fans have started to call “math-folk.”
Her voice soared above the guitars with clarity, sometimes soft and confessional, sometimes louder and more emboldened.
Her song “Do It” showed up at the end of her set, and the live version leaned in on a shimmering reverb tail that trapped the audience in a hushed space. Her performance was warm and intimate, and it that impression held in the live room.
Harner’s performance was warm, unpretentious, and deeply intimate. What might have seemed minimal on paper — one person, one guitar — became expansive in sound and feeling. Watching Emma Harner perform live made clear that her growing online success isn’t just algorithmic luck. It’s the product of genuine artistry: technical skill married to emotional precision, and a rare ability to make a crowded room feel small and personal.
Leith Ross
When Leith Ross stepped onto the stage, it was without pretense or spectacle — just a quiet confidence that immediately drew the room inward. Guitar in hand, they stood beneath a soft wash of light, the kind that seemed to breathe with the music.
They were joined by a small band, gentle drums, delicate keys, a guitarist, and a booming bass, but even then, Ross remained the still center of it all. The lighting mirrored the emotional landscape of the set: warm amber for the tender moments, cool blue for the introspective ones, and an occasional halo of rainbow or pastel tones that felt like a subtle nod to queer joy and representation rather than a performance of it.
Leith Ross’s voice is delicate yet powerful. There was a quiet clarity, an ability to sing the intimate lines as though they were whispered, then raised so you feel them in your chest.
As the night went on, the crowd began to find their voice, too. Throughout the set, the audience sang softly along — tentative at first, then more certain, weaving their voices with Ross’s. It wasn’t the raucous kind of sing-along you hear at big pop shows; it was reverent, almost communal. Ross smiled between verses, clearly moved.
In between songs, their banter between songs was brief but disarmingly genuine. They spoke softly about queer TV shows they’d been watching, about the gratitude of being on tour, about how certain songs came from moments of confusion or tenderness. None of it felt rehearsed. These small interludes gave the evening a heartbeat.
By the time the lights came up, there was a sense that no one wanted to leave. Their music didn’t rely on spectacle or volume; it thrived on stillness, sincerity, and shared feeling. In a world where concerts often chase bigger sounds and brighter lights, Harner and Ross offered something rarer: a reminder that intimacy can be just as powerful as intensity.
