Photo courtesy of Liz Rosa Photography

There are few things scarier in life than a blank canvas. The little voice in my head has me frozen with fears of, “What do I do first?”, “What if I mess it up?”, or the worst one: “What if I do it, and it’s bad?”. You have to start in this exact vulnerable and humbling situation every time you create. However, it’s not often that you need to do it multiple times for a single project. Yet, that’s exactly what happened when we created “I’m Still Here”. This is the story of how the failure of Plan A led to an all-acapella track; an unlikely but happy accident.

I remember the day we wrote “I’m Still Here”. It was rainy and gloomy, very typical for Vancouver. We plunked out chords and scribbled down lyrics on a notepad in a tiny studio off Broadway till we felt like we had it right. We filled our blank canvas number one by carving out what the song might sound like. The original vision for this song was a huge, glorious instrumental, something to lift up the emotional and cathartic lyrics in the style of my favourite 90s power belters, and that’s what we went for.

After recording all the parts for it, Marcus (my co-writer and co-producer) texted me several weeks later to give me the news: Canvas One had to be thrown out due to issues with the recordings that weren't fixable.

So there I was, staring at an empty Logic Project, trying to figure out how to rescue a song I deeply cared about.

Blank canvas two. Do we change the idea altogether? Do we record again? These questions buzzed in my mind as the heavy cloak of anxiety blanketed me. The cost of more studio time would set us back, and we were too deep into our full-length album project, Full Bloom, to make song list changes. I knew exactly what I wanted this song to feel like - a wave, a breath surrounded by the intangible sound of being alone with your thoughts. Then I thought, “I could just create it all with vocals here in my bedroom, then just swap in instruments later!” and made my first splash onto Canvas Two with the track called the “ghost note” - an eerie and consistent high-pitched tone that spans the length of the track.

“Okay - doesn’t suck, let’s add something else!” Then came a trio of vocals that swelled in harmony; then came three more to add to that, and then three more. The base was slowly building.

17+ vocal tracks later, I added some reverb to make it pretty and sent it to Marcus. “Like this, but with instruments?” I asked. After talking it over, we both agreed to leave Canvas Two as is, and shape it to build the entire song. We felt like if we added anything new, it might ruin the balance. The choir girl in me was screaming with excitement.

“I’m Still Here” was released built entirely by the voice, and even though it was a sharp turn in direction, it felt like it was what was supposed to happen. A very happy accident - despite everything falling through on us, through resilience to persevere, we are still here.

When I was 12 years old, I met an actor from LA who had starred in multiple films and series that I grew up watching. His name was Roark Critchlow.

I didn't know at that moment that he would soon be a critical part of my musical journey, encouraging me at every step. Now I’m 19 years old, Roark is still by my side as a long-time mentor, co-writer and friend. We still have weekly meetings that turn into inspiring writing sessions.

Let's go back to the beginning…

This all started when I used to be a competitive equestrian rider. I was fortunate enough to have my own pony named Rocko and I competed in show jumping and dressage. I had many, many riding coaches throughout my horsey years, but my last coach was a retired Olympian show jumper. I was at her property multiple times per week getting lessons, and because of this, my family got to know her quite well.

My brother was looking for some summer work and she needed an extra hand around the barn fixing fences, cleaning up, etc. so he started working at the barn. About a month later, my riding coach had another guy helping her pick grapes in her vineyard. My brother crossed paths with him and got to know him a bit. His name was Roark.

Music has been the thing that picks me up - or rather gets down on the floor with me - when I fall down. It is the same reason we are all so drawn to its vibrational force. Over the years, different projects have helped me explore my identity.

My latest single, “Healing Tears”, is an expression of my journey in sexual healing and discovery. It’s about cry-cumming. The first time I had an orgasm it made me cry; it was a scary, overwhelming wave. I didn’t know what was happening to me and I received flashes of images and memories. A sense of imprisonment from the past. The second time inspired this song, when I was with a person who had the understanding and compassion to hold space for my grief and joy. In the more recent past, it is a fountain which readily pours when it feels called to.

There is a certain otherworldly quality to my production and I think that can reflect, in this context, the great unknown within sexuality. Practices like kink can hold containers for exploration. Both verbal and nonverbal consent discourses are vital in defining what is on or off the table and what we like. Nevertheless, there is a huge well of discovery laying in the sexual realm. Sexual desire and pleasure need not be a fixed thing but can be a shifting, evolving terrain.

I’ve often felt the pressure to label, define, quantify and qualify my sexuality in order to prove my queerness - part of the strange reality of being bi/pan in the kind of world we live in. After years of processing both my sexual trauma as well as my internalized heterosexism, I feel at ease knowing that my sexuality is not static but rather shifting and evolving.

Photo courtesy of Katherine Wizeman

Happy Pride Month!

As we celebrate this important time, it's crucial to acknowledge the challenges faced by the LGBTQ+ community. Recent conservative backlash, the "war on woke" spearheaded by figures like Ron DeSantis, and a resurgence of conservative, Christian values have put our safety and well-being at risk. 

Photo courtesy of Jeremy Sobocan

Growing up in rural British Columbia, Canada with five acres of a mountain acting as a backyard, a religious family background and not much in the way of local stages or music industry… It’s not the typical origin story for a gay pop artist, but for me, it was my reality - and proof that sometimes going against the grain is the best way to be your most authentic self, regardless of how scary the first steps can be.

My childhood in the Okanagan was amazing. It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world, with ski hills in the winter and beaches, camping, hiking and biking around in the summer. It’s truly an awe-inspiring place.

During my adolescence, I had a more limited perspective on popular music. There was a lot of faith-based music played around my home, and we didn’t subscribe to MTV or MuchMusic, so my musical knowledge was honestly a little bit lacking. It wasn’t until the huge boom in reality television singing competitions that my eyes were really opened to the music industry, and introduced me to so many songs from decades and genres I had completely missed out on until then. This was a huge inspiration to me and all these new musical influences really made me tap into my creative side, make music and perform original songs.

My newfound love for various genres and eras of music led to me enrolling in some vocal lessons, guitar lessons and joining different talent competitions and musical theatre programs at school. These contests and theatre programs really helped me find my place and my identity. Before this, I never really felt like I belonged, and this new confidence and perspective really gave me the drive and confidence in myself to realize that I wanted to do music in a big way. I also realized that the Okanagan probably wasn’t the place to conquer the music industry from.

As a gay man in a small town, I ended up finding the lack of representation for gay people, and the music industry as a whole to be a bit stifling, so I made the move to Vancouver where I connected with so many different artists and writers and creatives.

Vancouver is where I have truly felt heard. I’ve spent years writing music, recording songs and releasing singles, and this is a space where I feel like I can be myself and create my art. I want my music to represent my journey, and maybe help out other members of the LGBTQ community who may not feel like they’ve found their place yet, or who are struggling with embracing all aspects of who they are. As a testament to my journey and what I hope will be an inspiration to my community, I’ve been preparing my debut album, Louder Than Words, which will arrive later this year. I intentionally chose “Can You Hear Me”, a total pop-anthem dedicated to being yourself, living in the moment and having zero regrets, as the first single. During Pride Month and beyond, I really hope this song resonates with the community, and gives everyone the courage to truly be themselves and not think twice about it.

Ever since I can remember, I have been drawn to the spotlight. Little did I know that my childhood passion would one day transform into a career that would bring joy and happiness to countless people. Hi, I'm Kristi Waters, and this is the story of how I became an accomplished drag queen, leaving behind my teaching career to pursue my dreams.

For years, I worked as a 5th grade teacher in Corpus Christi, molding young minds during the weekdays and performing on the weekends. It was on those weekends that I would transform into Kristi Waters, the fierce and fabulous drag queen that stole hearts with every performance. The energy and love I received from the audience was electrifying, and I knew deep down that I wanted to pursue performing full-time.

Leaving my teaching career behind was not an easy decision, but sometimes we must take risks to truly follow our dreams. With unwavering support from my loved ones, I took the leap and began managing Paramour, the #1 rooftop bar in San Antonio. It was here that I had the opportunity to not only showcase my talents as a performer but also create a space where people from all walks of life could come together and enjoy themselves.

One of the highlights of my week is hosting the popular drag brunches at Paramour. It's a time when friends and strangers alike gather to enjoy a delicious meal while being entertained by some of the best drag performers in town. The energy in the room is infectious, and seeing the joy on people's faces as they laugh, dance and sing along is truly rewarding.

In the age of social media, I've found a unique way to connect with my fans and friends through Facebook Live. Getting ready before a show has become a time for me to not only transform my appearance but also chat with those who support me. It's a way to build a sense of community and let people see behind the scenes of drag.

The feeling of taking people away from their everyday lives, even if just for an hour, and bringing a smile to their faces is indescribable. Through my performances, I aim to spread love, acceptance and create a safe space where everyone can be their authentic selves.

My journey as Kristi Waters, San Antonio's best drag queen, has been a wild ride filled with ups and downs, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. The opportunity to touch lives, bring joy, and create a sense of belonging is something I cherish deeply. Whether it's through my performances, the drag brunches or the virtual connections I've made, I'm grateful every day for the chance to live my truth and share it with others.