When Shamir decided that Ten—his shimmering, genre-agnostic tenth record—was his final solo album, he also knew that his reserved, seven-year-old rabbit named Leche would be prominently featured on the cover.
Over the course of our 45-minute interview, I discovered it is beloved Leche who rules Shamir’s Philadelphia studio with quiet authority. “He’s a very classic, introverted rabbit, and he’s also extremely photogenic!” Shamir laughs. “This last album is about my friends and the people who helped me through my entire career” and “Leche has been such a huge rock for me” Shamir confesses. “I could not have imagined what the last couple of years would’ve looked like without him. That’s how he got promoted from roommate to being a cover star.”
A second chance bond
Leche’s backstory doesn’t exactly scream “album-cover material.” He cycled through two well-meaning homes in the first years of his life, both times tagged with the familiar label “too aggressive.” This is a sadly common refrain when caretakers haven’t yet learned to speak rabbit. When Shamir stepped in, things gradually began to change. “The first month or two after I brought him home to Philly with me, he was very aggressive to the point where he was growling if anyone reached into his pen,” says Shamir. “I even have a scar on my hand,” he confesses, holding it up like proof of love.
Yet, within a few months of patient floor time, unhurried grooming sessions, and a free-roam lifestyle, the once-defensive bunny came into his own. “It was wonderful to see him change into a completely different rabbit and trust me,” Shamir says, with a voice full of compassion and love. “Not too long ago, I brought him to the park, and there were some kids who asked ‘may we touch him?’ He was so sweet with the kids. I was just like, ‘Wow, we’ve come so far,’” says Shamir, ever the proud bunny parent.
This turnaround resonates with every house rabbit guardian who’s watched fear morph into devotion. Aggression, we both agree, is simply fear in disguise, waiting for someone steady enough to understand the body language of a prey animal.
Morning lettuce diplomacy
Leche’s new life is full of tiny routines that would charm any bunny parent: at dawn, he visits Shamir’s bedside, demanding greens, “He’ll come up and say, I want my lettuce, my cucumber.” He’ll also offer discerning opinions about guests; “He’s very specific about the people he likes—just like a normal person,” Shamir grins.
Food rules? Bunny-healthy, thank you. Grapes in moderation, celery, cucumber, and romaine lettuce get gold-star status, while bell pepper is apparently an insult. Leche doesn’t like bananas, either. Fiber-rich bunny biscuits qualify as haute cuisine, but pellets are out; “I just give him fresh fruits, vegetables, and hay,” says Shamir.
Lessons in cable management and compassion
Habit number one learned from a house rabbit: minimal cords. “When I first got him, I went through three computer charging cords in no time. It was so frustrating. After the third one, I kid you not, I just picked him up and then cried in his face.” Shamir admits. Tears worked; Leche never chewed another cable. This technique isn’t recommended as a first-line defense, but in Leche’s case, it’s done the trick. “He’s disgustingly intelligent,” Shamir adds, half in awe, half in relief. “It’s actually insane. Even though he’s completely silent, he’s just so good at communicating.” If you are familiar with rabbitspeake, it’s impressive how much rabbits communicate.
Touring and the Bunny Illuminati
I asked if a farewell album would trigger a farewell tour. “Not exactly. More at my leisure, I should say.” Shamir imagines “popping up” on stage with collaborators rather than grinding out months-long runs, partly because the bunny sitter scene in Philadelphia is “like the Illuminati—very underground.” Two trusted sitters live far enough away that Uber Pet rides are a must for the extended trek from Philly to New Jersey or North Philly, where the few qualified bunny sitters live. Leche also has some experience with flying. “At this point, he’s a pro. He’s so chill.”
On Ten
The new album, Ten, is a love letter to friends. Shamir chose 10 genre-crossing songs written by friends and put his own spin on them. Friend and collaborator August Nandé features throughout the new album, according to Shamir. “He’s one of those musicians who could pick up anything and automatically play it. So he’s played a lot over the record. The record pretty much is both of us. We’re both multi-instrumentalists, so it was really nice. If I say, ‘Oh, I don’t want to play piano on this one,’ then he’ll play piano on this one. You know what I mean? It was just very whatever-it-felt for the track, which was really nice.”
Why Ten marks the finale
Home stability fed directly into Shamir’s creative clarity. After a decade of left turns—dance floor disco, confessional indie rock, noise pop experiments—he realized that he’d said what he needed to say. “Everything there is to know about me is in those 10 albums,” he explains. “If I continued, I’d just be repeating myself.”
Shamir believes that two threads unify the entire catalog: an unmistakable countertenor and a refusal to compromise. “Regardless of what music I’m singing atop of, everyone knows, Oh, that’s Shamir, just from the voice,” he says. Authenticity, not genre, is the through line.
Authenticity also protects his mental health. Fans often marvel at his output—10 albums, his memoir But I’m a Painter, a mental health fashion capsule, and production work for emerging acts—Shamir credits strict boundaries. “People ask, ‘How are you so prolific?’ I always tell them it’s because of set boundaries,” he says, praising the friends who respect those guardrails.
The joy of lifting others up
Stepping back from solo releases frees Shamir to champion others, such as frequent collaborator August Nandé. “We dropped his first single last fall in September. The second single should be out this summer. I love helping other artists reach their goals,” he says, sounding every bit the proud producer. He’s also been working with Ladifa, whose debut EP is set to arrive this summer. “I produce and write all of her music with her. She has three singles out now, but her first EP comes out this summer – I’m so excited about that.” For fans who wonder how to support his next chapter, the answer is simple: stream the music that he helps bring into the world.
Leche as mirror and muse
Spend an afternoon in Shamir’s studio, and you’ll notice Leche’s calm sets the emotional tone. Leche judges vibes instantly, rolling out the red carpet for visitors like musician Madison Rose—“He literally hopped into her suitcase”—yet keeping polite distance from others. In Shamir’s words: “Like a human, Leche knows how to perform socially.”
Their shared introversion is a comfort. “We’re still just very similar,” Shamir says. “He has moments when he wants to cuddle, but overall, that’s not his default.” The rabbit’s presence reminds him daily that gentleness can coexist with fierce self-advocacy—a lesson worth carrying beyond music and into public life, mental health advocacy, and friendships.
Bunny PSA for would-be rabbit parents
By now, you’ve fallen for Leche, and maybe you’re picturing a rabbit curled at your feet while you write your own magnum opus. Shamir offers this tender plea: “Do your research. Make sure you have enough space … I don’t understand why rabbits are seen as caged animals. We don’t cage cats, so why are you caging rabbits?” Listen to their silent language, he urges, and give them room to roam.
We here at Rabbit.org Foundation couldn’t agree more with Shamir’s wise advice. Rabbits are indoor, social, highly intelligent companions who thrive on freedom, fresh hay, and patient observation.
Primed to Revisit
I ended by fast-forwarding Shamir 10 years into the future: it’s 2035. A teenager finds Ten, then scrolls back to 2015’s Ratchet, tracing the arc of his courage and crystalline falsetto. What does he hope they see? Shamir hopes they’ll hear “a level of growth and confidence … an artist who was able to tell their story.” Meanwhile, in a sunlit Philly studio, I imagine Leche stretching beside a stack of cables he no longer chews, indifferent to Shamir’s legacy, yet central to it all.
Leche began life as a “problem rabbit” and ended up a cover star, a therapist, and a living argument for empathy. His journey mirrors his guardian’s: misread at first glance, but radiant once you listen closely. Their bond reminds us that patience, respect, and a handful of cucumber slices can rewrite any story.
