Midnight Picnics in Tehran

'How does a Leilah King gig go? Quite likely, it's a bit like this. Leilah walks on stage. She is tilted to the right, her head almost resting on her shoulder. She says hello in a surprisingly small voice. She is being endearing. This is a trap. Inevitably, someone takes the bait. There is a polite heckle - nothing hostile just some guy doesn't get the role of audience member and thinks 'this is a conversation and I'm part of it'. She glares at him. It's her stage and she's just been reminded of how much she wants it. That's when the show starts. The air changes. Her tone changes. It sounds like one woman trying to describe the whole world using the sound of her voice. We're watching films she made with her eyes. The poem ends and damn it! She's funny too.. I am secretly a bit grateful to the annoying guy for firing her up but I am careful not to say this..In fact, I didn't say anything.' - Tom Sastry; `Leilah is a bit like Bukowski, her poetry says exactly what it needs to with tiny stabs, taking you out of head into a club and back in again before the kebab on the way home. The cities she creates are visual, rowdy and often but not always melancholic, taking the listener for a stamp through wordy streets and moments of insanity before shuffling right on.' - Lydia Beardmore