Between the Notes: Finding Balance in the Noise

What does it mean to stay okay in a world built on chaos and creativity? It’s a question I keep circling back to, especially after conversations like the one I had with vocalist Mardy Leith — a man whose voice can shake a stage, but whose honesty about the quieter parts of life might be what truly resonates. 

Mardy talked about routine — not as a cage, but as an anchor. For him, structure isn’t about control; it’s about keeping his head above water. “I’m ADHD, maybe a bit OCD,” he said with a laugh. “If things aren’t in their place, it’s chaos.” There was something grounding in the way he said it. Between his bands, teaching, and creative projects, his days are stacked higher than most of us could handle. Yet beneath all that intensity is a simple truth: stability can be an act of self-care. 

He’s built a small sanctuary in the backyard — his studio. “When I’m in there, I’m in music mode,” he told me. “When I walk out, I leave it behind.” That separation, he said, is how he protects his mental space. It’s how he stays human in an industry that asks artists to give everything — their time, their emotions, even their privacy. 

And that struck me deeply, because it’s something so many of us forget. We talk about hustle, output, visibility — but not the weight that comes with being always on. Especially for musicians, where the line between the personal and the professional is paper-thin.

Every lyric, every post, every performance carries a piece of who you are. 

When I asked how he manages the pressure, Mardy didn’t talk about productivity or branding. He talked about walking. About running. About movement. “Exercising is so goddamn important,” he said. “Not for the body — for your brain. For your sanity.” It wasn’t performative wellness talk. It was a musician quietly acknowledging the messy, necessary work of keeping himself whole. 

There’s also a generosity in how he approaches others — a lesson for anyone navigating the creative world. “When I was younger, no one wanted to help,” he told me. “Now, if someone’s where I was, I lose nothing by sharing contacts or advice.” That line stayed with me. Because mental health isn’t just about self-maintenance — it’s about community. It’s about lifting others instead of competing, listening instead of judging. 

We all need someone who says, “Hey, I’ve been there.” And maybe that’s the magic in what Mardy does — behind all the blast beats and harmonies, there’s empathy. The kind that builds better scenes, better friendships, and better humans. 

He also admitted he’s private online — not because he doesn’t care, but because he’s seen what happens when people twist words into weapons. “It’s not that deep,” he said. “Some things don’t need to live on the internet.” In an age where everything feels like content, that kind of restraint feels almost radical. Maybe it’s another form of self-care — guarding your peace instead of proving your worth. 

As our chat wound down, I asked how he stays grounded when everything feels like too much. He smiled, paused, and said simply: 

“Keep showing up. Be the person who stays hungry, stays humble, and helps others. The rest will follow.” 

It’s a line I’ve thought about a lot since then. Because no matter where you sit in the creative world — whether you’re on stage, behind a camera, or just trying to make it through the week — that’s the balance we’re all chasing. 

To keep showing up.

To stay kind.

To stay human. 

That’s what’s Between the Notes. 

By Uncle Tatt Host of “Between the Notes” — honest conversations with artists about music, creativity, and the mind behind the melody.