Photo Credit: Sean Mathis
On their fourth album, the roots-psych outfit trades genre boundaries for instinct, stretching dusty country, psychedelic rock, abstraction, and electronic release into a record designed to reveal itself slowly.
Leon III have a useful rule for making records:
Ask the song what it wants.
Not what genre it belongs to. Not how long it should be. Not whether the streaming economy would prefer the chorus thirty seconds earlier.
Just: what does this particular song need?
“Maybe it’s pedal steel,” Andy Stepanian says. “Or maybe it’s a lot of synth and weirdness.”
That instinct sits at the center of Candy Cigarettes, Leon III’s fourth studio album, due September 18. Produced by longtime collaborator Mark Nevers, the record pulls dusty country, sprawling psychedelia, widescreen rock, roots music, dissonance, and occasional electronic euphoria into the same orbit without demanding that any of them behave particularly well.
It is an album built around contrast, but not contrast for its own sake.
“In the end, all of our decision making and ‘philosophy’ comes down to trying to do right by each song,” Stepanian explains.
That philosophy helps explain why Leon III can move from pedal steel into synthesisers, from quietly detailed songwriting into unruly guitar passages, or—as they do on new single “Brushstrokes”—spend roughly eight minutes gradually changing shape before arriving somewhere completely different.
The band’s music has sometimes been described as “Southern Pink Floyd,” a comparison that makes sense less because Leon III are interested in recreating psychedelic-rock history than because their albums demand a particular kind of listening.
They are meant to unfold.
They are meant to be heard again.
And Leon III have little interest in apologizing for taking their time.
Eight Minutes Is Eight Minutes
“Brushstrokes” is an unusually effective introduction to that philosophy.
The track stretches across eight minutes, moving through rock, improvisational passages and increasingly expansive textures before eventually delivering a burst of electronic energy.
In an industry perpetually concerned with shrinking attention spans, an eight-minute single can almost feel confrontational.
Leon III do not appear particularly concerned.
“We are sort of old school in this regard, I guess,” Stepanian says. “We just are not willing to cave to the confines of what most people say a modern listener wants.”
His skepticism about conventional wisdom is refreshing.
“Frankly, I think it’s kind of bullshit anyway.”
There are, of course, listeners who want shorter pop songs.
Leon III simply know those people probably are not the audience they are making records for.
And the idea that listeners have categorically lost the desire for long-form music does not withstand much scrutiny when bands built around exploration continue to draw enormous audiences.
“There’s a hell of a lot of people going to see Phish and King Gizzard,” Stepanian points out.
So the rule remains simple.
“If it’s three minutes, great. If it’s eight, we’re OK with that too.”
That flexibility is what gives “Brushstrokes” its tension.
The destination would mean considerably less without the journey required to reach it.
FOURTH STUDIO ALBUM CANDY CIGARETTES DUE OUT SEPT 18
An Art Project That Accidentally Became a Band
Leon III’s resistance to conventional career logic is partly structural.
The project did not begin with a calculated plan for growth.
It barely began as a conventional band at all.
Stepanian and Mason Brent had already spent years together in Wrinkle Neck Mules, a group that gradually receded into the background as life changed around it.
Stepanian still had songs.
He and Brent still wanted to create.
“Leon III started more like an art project than something that plotted any type of success,” Stepanian says.
That beginning gave them an unusual kind of freedom.
Because both members had other commitments and could only tour so extensively, there was never much possibility of following the standard grind toward visibility.
Instead, they made things.
Then they put those things into the world.
“Over time, some people have really taken to what we do,” Stepanian says. “So, it all sort of happened out of necessity.”
That gradual trajectory has helped Leon III build the kind of audience particularly suited to their music: listeners willing to invest.
The band’s growth has largely come through word of mouth, records that reward repeated listening, and live performances that turn the songs into something more volatile.
Rather than exploding into visibility, Leon III have accumulated believers.
One person at a time.
The Band Becomes the Sound
Ironically, a project that once resisted having a permanent lineup has increasingly discovered the value of one.
Early Leon III records featured a rotating collection of musicians, including players such as William Tyler and Matt Pence.
That was intentional.
“When we started Leon III, we sort of vowed to never get locked into a static lineup,” Stepanian remembers.
But years of touring changed the equation.
Slowly, the band established a core group of musicians who began appearing consistently both live and in the studio.
The chemistry became difficult to ignore.
“We love these folks,” Stepanian says. “And now, they’ve become very much a part of the creation process for us and very much a part of the Leon III sound.”
That evolution is something he believes can be heard across the group’s four albums.
The songs change because the people interpreting them have become more deeply embedded in the process.
“In a lot of ways, that’s the sound of the personnel getting locked in and their individual input getting stronger.”
That matters particularly on a record like Candy Cigarettes, where shifts in texture and dynamics depend on musicians being comfortable enough with one another to follow ideas without overexplaining them.
The looseness is earned.
Accidents Over Blueprints
The other constant in Leon III’s evolution has been producer Mark Nevers.
Nevers has now worked with the band across all four records, part of a creative relationship stretching roughly a decade.
His résumé is unusually broad, moving across country, indie rock, gospel, soul, and beyond, including work with artists ranging from George Jones to Candi Staton, Silver Jews, and Bonnie “Prince” Billy.
That breadth informs the way Leon III records.
According to Stepanian, Nevers actively discourages over-planning.
“He doesn’t want to create that sort of project,” he says. “He wants things to come about as a result of a lot of accidents and unplanned moments.”
So the band does not enter the studio declaring that a certain song will be psychedelic or another will become country.
They begin.
Then they listen.
“We start working and cutting the song and things evolve during that process.”
It is a deceptively simple creative methodology.
Make the room comfortable enough for accidents to happen.
Keep working long enough to recognize the useful ones.
“The band tends to always find the goodness,” Stepanian says.
“Maybe that’s what we’ve learned from him.”
Abstraction With Something Real Underneath
Leon III’s music can be expansive, but the songwriting underneath it remains personal.
Stepanian describes his writing as abstract and non-linear.
Images collide.
Meanings do not necessarily reveal themselves sequentially.
Songs might initially seem “amorphous or aimless.”
But he insists there is always something concrete beneath them.
“At the basis of everything is some kind of personal emotion or experience.”
That distinction is important.
Abstraction does not mean emotional distance.
If anything, Leon III use abstraction to leave enough room for listeners to enter.
Someone might simply respond to a melody.
Someone else might spend several listens assembling the fragments into their own interpretation.
“My hope is that listeners can find this on a lot of different levels,” Stepanian says.
That openness fits the immersive quality of Leon III’s records.
The songs are not puzzles with a single correct answer.
They are environments.
The Album as Object
Leon III also remain unapologetically committed to the album itself.
Not merely a collection of songs released simultaneously.
An album.
“We grew up in an era that embraced full albums much more than today,” Stepanian says.
That background has informed a stubborn commitment to creating records with internal relationships—musically, emotionally, and visually.
“In a lot of ways, we have defiantly stayed true to trying to make full albums that link together musically and have a cohesive emotional core.”
That thinking extends to everything surrounding the music.
Artwork.
Packaging.
Merchandise.
Sequencing.
“We want it to feel like an experience.”
It helps explain why Leon III records benefit from repeated listens.
Details reveal themselves gradually because the work was conceived to contain them.
A record like Candy Cigarettes is not designed exclusively for immediate comprehension.
It trusts the listener to return.
In Conversation With Leon III
MUNDANE: Candy Cigarettes feels like an album that embraces contradiction—psychedelia and country, intimacy and scale, nostalgia and reinvention. Was there a guiding philosophy that held all of those seemingly opposite ideas together?
LEON III: In the end, all of our decision making and “philosophy” comes down to trying to do right by each song.
Songs tend to push themselves in a certain direction once the band starts working on them. So, we are always asking, what does the song want?
Maybe it’s pedal steel. Or maybe it’s a lot of synth and weirdness.
When you go through this process with the same people for a collection of songs, the finished product tends to have linkage and feel cohesive despite the fact that the individual parts might have a lot of different ingredients.
MUNDANE: “Brushstrokes” unfolds over eight minutes, constantly evolving before arriving somewhere completely unexpected. In an era of short attention spans, what excites you about creating songs that ask listeners to stay present and trust the journey?
LEON III: We are sort of old school in this regard, I guess. We just are not willing to cave to the confines of what most people say a modern listener wants.
Frankly, I think it’s kind of bullshit anyway.
Yes, some people only want shorter pop songs or whatever, but those people are not likely to be Leon III fans anyway.
And, if you look, there are some tremendously successful bands who fully embrace longer formats and exploration. There’s a hell of a lot of people going to see Phish and King Gizzard.
So, again, we just kind of work on a song and give it what it wants.
If it’s three minutes, great. If it’s eight, we’re OK with that too.
MUNDANE: You’ve spent years building Leon III through word of mouth and unforgettable live performances rather than chasing trends. How has growing organically shaped the band’s identity in ways that might not have happened through overnight success?
LEON III: Leon III started more like an art project than something that plotted any type of success.
Mason and I had spent many, many years in another band called Wrinkle Neck Mules and it had sort of faded to the background for a number of reasons.
I still had a lot of songs in me and he and I just wanted to record, to create.
Because we both have a number of other things going on, we can only tour but so much. So, we’ve been able to just slowly and steadily create things and present them to the world.
Over time, some people have really taken to what we do.
So, it all sort of happened out of necessity.
MUNDANE: The album was recorded over two years with the band’s core touring lineup, and there’s a chemistry that feels impossible to fake. How has playing together on the road changed the way you communicate in the studio?
LEON III: For a long time, we used all kinds of different musicians in the studio when we made albums.
In fact, when we started Leon III, we sort of vowed to never get locked into a static lineup.
But our thinking has sort of changed on that.
Over the years, we have steadily dialed in a consistent lineup of people that play with us live and in the studio. We love these folks.
And now, they’ve become very much a part of the creation process for us and very much a part of the Leon III sound.
If you listen to our four albums in sequence, I think you would hear that sound evolving.
In a lot of ways, that’s the sound of the personnel getting locked in and their individual input getting stronger.
MUNDANE: Your music has been described as “Southern Pink Floyd,” but your songwriting feels grounded in deeply personal stories rather than abstraction. What role does storytelling play in keeping even your most expansive songs emotionally anchored?
LEON III: I tend to write in an abstract and non-linear style.
So, at first glance, the songs might seem a bit amorphous or aimless.
But at the basis of everything is some kind of personal emotion or experience.
My hope is that listeners can find this on a lot of different levels.
Maybe they just like the melody and don’t need to go much past that. Or maybe they can connect with the song in whatever way they so choose.
MUNDANE: Candy Cigarettes moves effortlessly between dusty Americana, sprawling psychedelia, and moments of almost euphoric electronic release. Were those genre shifts planned from the beginning, or did they emerge naturally as the songs developed?
LEON III: Mark Nevers, who has produced all four of our albums, tends to not let the band plan too much.
He doesn’t want to create that sort of project. He wants things to come about as a result of a lot of accidents and unplanned moments.
So, we never really sit down and say, “This one is going to be a psychedelic one,” or anything like that.
We start working and cutting the song and things evolve during that process.
MUNDANE: Mark Nevers has worked with artists known for creating timeless, immersive records. What did he encourage you to discover about Leon III that perhaps you hadn’t fully recognized yourselves?
LEON III: We have worked with Mark for a long time now. Ten years really.
He has made thousands of records with people ranging from George Jones to Candi Staton. Country. Indie rock. Gospel. Whatever.
In all that experience, I think he learned how to get the best and coolest performances out of a band by just creating a relaxed environment and then letting them work until they find something.
The band tends to always find the goodness.
Maybe that’s what we’ve learned from him.
MUNDANE: Your music often rewards repeat listens, revealing new details each time. Do you consciously build your albums to unfold slowly, or is that simply a reflection of how you experience music yourselves?
LEON III: We grew up in an era that embraced full albums much more than today.
In a lot of ways, we have defiantly stayed true to trying to make full albums that link together musically and have a cohesive emotional core.
This goes beyond just the music. The packaging, artwork, merch. Everything.
We want it to feel like an experience.
MUNDANE: Throughout your career, Leon III has avoided the clichés often associated with both Americana and psychedelia while still embracing elements of both. How do you know when you’re honoring a tradition versus simply repeating it?
LEON III: I’m not sure really.
Maybe we are doing some of both.
In the end, these songs we created could not have emerged from anyone but us.
So, I think that alone makes it feel right and not like some kind of retread or nostalgia act.
MUNDANE: If Candy Cigarettes were experienced not as an album but as a road trip, where would you hope listeners find themselves by the final mile—and what part of themselves do you hope they’ve rediscovered along the way?
LEON III: I think they’d find themselves in a Moroccan bazaar listening to a country band try to play The Doors.
And despite the fact that it might not make much sense, I think they’d feel pretty good about it.
Like they’d had a few challenging moments along the road but they had some fun and made some friends on the journey.
A Country Band Trying to Play The Doors in a Moroccan Bazaar
There may be no better description of Leon III than the one they offer themselves.
A Moroccan bazaar.
A country band.
The Doors.
None of those pieces should necessarily resolve into one another.
Yet somehow the imagined scene makes immediate sense.
That is effectively the logic of Candy Cigarettes.
The album does not achieve cohesion by making every song obey the same aesthetic rules.
It finds cohesion through personality.
Pedal steel can sit beside synthesizers because Leon III put it there.
Country can mutate into psychedelia.
An eight-minute rock song can eventually arrive at electronic dance music without asking permission.
The band’s answer to the anxiety of influence is similarly uncomplicated.
Perhaps they are honoring tradition.
Perhaps they are repeating some of it.
What matters is that the final songs could not have come from anybody else.
That is a more convincing form of originality than pretending music can somehow escape history entirely.
After four albums, Leon III sound increasingly comfortable with that idea.
Their evolution has not involved eliminating contradiction.
It has involved trusting themselves enough to follow contradiction wherever it leads.
The stable touring lineup has made the chemistry stronger.
A decade with Nevers has made uncertainty productive.
An audience built slowly through live shows and word of mouth has given the band little reason to chase whatever conventional wisdom says listeners supposedly want next.
And so an eight-minute song can simply be eight minutes.
An album can still be an album.
A strange accident can remain on the record if it makes the song better.
By the time Candy Cigarettes reaches its destination, the listener may not be exactly where they expected to end up.
That is the point.
Leon III are not particularly interested in providing the shortest route.
They would rather make the detour worth taking.
