A shy kid singing Christina Aguilera behind a bedroom door.
A bass in the school band.
A choir class where matching pitch felt impossible—and the sting of being told not to sing.
Fast-forward a few years: New York, tendonitis, and a hard pivot to voice lessons that changed everything. That’s the winding, very human path that led Alexandra Levy (you might know her as Ada Lea) to a sound that feels wholly her own—one built on stubborn curiosity, kind mentors, and the courage to start again. We caught up with Alexandra back home in Montréal, the city that raised her musically and still keeps her orbit steady. She talked about When I Paint My Masterpiece, an album that didn’t even start as an album. The idea was simple: trade perfectionism for momentum. Write a song every three days, share it with friends, move on. No endless revisions, no preciousness. Some sketches fell flat; others lit up instantly. Over time, the pile of demos turned into a record—less planned, more discovered.
Between recording sessions, she returned to school for literature, painting, and drawing—creative cross-training that sharpened her eye for detail and her sense of structure. That cross-pollination shows up everywhere: in the visual precision of her lyrics, in the cinematic pacing of her songs.
Teaching at Concordia University adds another layer. Watching her students take risks reminded her what real vulnerability sounds like. “They go to places I used to protect,” she says. That mirror helped her unlock something she didn’t know she’d lost.
We also talk touring—the logistics, the limits, the life part of the life. Levy has learned to keep the stage joyful by designing tours that feel human: shorter drives, earlier nights, and room to breathe. The goal isn’t just survival; it’s longevity. Through it all runs a quiet theme: mentorship, boundaries, and community practice as fuel. Art doesn’t survive on inspiration alone—it needs structure, kindness, and people who remind you why you started. If you’ve ever been told you can’t sing, that it’s “too late,” or that you’re doing it wrong, Alexandra’s story offers a better script. Skill is learnable. Art can be rebuilt. And a voice gets stronger every time you use it with intention.
Stream When I Paint My Masterpiece, wander the Mile End streets that echo through her melodies, and let the music remind you: the best art often begins where you almost gave up.
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