Lyricist & Pianist
@EllieChilds
Soulful swagger. Lyricist and Pianist for The Leaky Ink League. Melancholy brain, open heart.
Chicago — night one. They knew every word.
Green room vibes. Marcus tuning up.
Somewhere between Denver and nowhere.
Rooftop after the Seattle show. Couldn't sleep.
New keys, same war.
Found this alley in Portland. Wrote half a song there.
June 14, 2026
You'd think after 40 shows it gets easier. It doesn't. My hands were shaking so bad during soundcheck I thought I'd forgotten how to play. Then the lights dropped, the crowd screamed, and I remembered — this is the only place I make sense.
June 8, 2026
Middle of Utah. Nothing for miles. We sat on the roof eating gas station chips and Minato played acoustic until the sun went down. Sometimes the broken moments are the ones you keep.
May 29, 2026
I keep writing to someone who doesn't exist yet. Maybe future me. Maybe future you. Whoever finds these words in the cracks of a venue floor or the back of a setlist — hi. I was here. I was loud.
Sleep don't come easy when the city hums your name I pressed my cheek to the sidewalk and heard a thousand tiny flames They said quiet down but my bones are made of sound I'll sing until the concrete cracks spring the flowers through the ground
I didn't choose the color it chose me like a bruise blue isn't what I feel it's what I do I blue the room quiet I blue the keys to dust I blue until my fingertips remembered how to trust
Willow Creek. Tuesday. Rain. Twelve people in a bar that smelled like old carpet. I almost didn't go on. Then this kid in the front row, couldn't have been older than 15, mouthed every single lyric. EVERY one. I played the whole set looking at her. After, she said we saved her life last summer. Twelve people. That's all it takes.
Portland has this alley covered floor-to-ceiling in street art. I snuck out at 3am with my phone recorder and just started singing to the walls. The reverb was unreal, like the graffiti was singing back. That recording became the bridge for Concrete Lullaby. Sometimes the best studio is the one nobody built.