Photo courtesy of Will Shellhorn

I always knew I loved music, but I didn’t know I couldn’t live without it until I didn’t have it. When I went to NYU to play basketball and study finance, I had it in my head that I would pursue opportunities in music on the side - as if that’s how it works. I even wrote in my basketball profile bio, “Aspires to either work on Wall Street or become a singer/songwriter.” I was naive and afraid. Naive to the fact that defying all odds takes everything you’ve got, not just what’s left over. And afraid of jumping ship without any sight of land or another ship. But here I am, going on a few years of treading water wondering if my legs or my lungs will give out first.

The moment I knew I was going to make music as a career was not when I jumped; it was when I wound myself up so hard that not jumping would have left me so unbalanced that I would’ve gone overboard anyway. It was the summer of 2019, when I worked a miserable unpaid internship in FiDi while living in Washington Heights. My commute was an hour each way. I was working from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m. Monday through Friday, then going to work out for two to three hours, and finally making it back to my apartment around 9 p.m. or so where I ate my first meal of the day. On top of everything, I had no piano, no guitar, no way of writing or playing music. The real punchline is that I’m sure there would have been a lot of great melodramatic songs that came out of that summer had I been able to write them.

Around the end of that summer, my whole perspective changed. My biggest music influence growing up, Ben Folds, came to town for an event talking with Sara Bareilles about his new memoir. It was at the Cooper Union near Washington Square, so I was back on my “old” NYU stomping grounds. I remember walking around to kill some time before the event started, listening to my favorite Ben Folds music. Then his song “Evaporated” came on my playlist. It was my first-ever concert in 2014 (which led me to write my first song a few weeks later) and I’d seen him perform four times since then, but he had never played that song. I remember it resonating with me more than usual. I remember letting myself feel emotions I’d been pretending I didn’t have. I remember pressing “replay”. Again. And again. I remember thinking, “I need him to play this tonight. I need to hear this tonight.”

At the event, Ben and Sara talked for about an hour. I hung onto every word - listening to two people who dedicated their lives to doing exactly what I wanted to do, talking about what it’s taken to actually do it. At the end, sure enough, he went over to the grand piano onstage and announced that he’d be playing a couple of songs before signing our copies of the book. He launched into a beautiful, more recent song of his, “So There”, as the audience all practically craned their necks in unison to see his hands move across the keys. When he finished, he started describing the writing process of the song he was going to play next. “I sat down at the piano and played these two notes over and over again,” he said (loosely), “And it somehow perfectly described the emotional state I was in.” I already knew what song it was and I could already feel my eyes start to tear up.

“What I’ve kept with me/And what I’ve thrown away/And where the hell I’ve ended up on this glary, random day/Were the things I really cared about/Just left along the way/For being too pent up and proud?” That’s how the song starts. I felt every word as deep as one can feel words, maybe even deeper. For a moment, it was unclear what were my own thoughts in my head and what was being sung on stage. All at once, I realized exactly what had made this summer so miserable and what I needed to do to change and get things back on track, even though I had no idea how to do it yet.

The rest of the evening was a blur besides when I met Ben which seemed to move in slow motion. I shook his hand and told him how I started writing songs because of him and how the first song I ever wrote was basically a rip-off of his song “Fred Jones, Pt. II” and how grateful I was for all his music had done for me. A flurry of words carefully crafted to let him know how he fits into my life story, while simultaneously conveying to him between the lines that I’d love to work with him someday and that I believe it will happen. You know… keeping it cool. But he was so gracious and humble; he looked at me and said something like, “That’s exactly how it’s supposed to start. If this is what you want to do then you gotta just keep going.”

I didn’t know it yet, but I was ready to jump - properly wound up, far past the point of no return. Over the next year, I discovered just how necessary the jump was. I think most of that discovery was realizing that sure, it’s scary to jump ship with no sight of land or another ship, but less so if said ship is on fire. Then you’d better put as much distance between you and the ship as possible. I think the biggest lesson I learned from that summer is that I was on a sinking ship, and I could either go down with it or I could jump into the water and pray it was warm.

Turns out it’s not too bad down here. It’s just pruned fingers, sunburns and every shade of endless blue. Like I said, it’s tiring treading water, but at least I’ve floated far away from the ship’s wreckage by now. I almost can’t even remember being on the ship at all. And I have no choice but to believe that if I tread water long enough, I’ll wash up on some shore eventually.

Growing up in a small town in Maine, I learned very quickly that I didn’t exactly fit in with most of the other kids.

While my friends were playing outside, I was discovering “Make It Big” by Wham! and “Please Please Me” by the Beatles. I spent countless hours exploring my parents’ record collection, finding old instruments in the basement (or even the dump) and writing songs in my room. My father tried to get me interested in sports, but I just couldn’t find the same passion for it. Music was my calling.

To my benefit, my parents recognized very early on that music was my thing. They encouraged me to pursue my dreams, even if it wasn’t a traditional career path. From open mic nights to American Idol auditions, they did everything to get me there and were my biggest cheerleaders. They saw the joy it brought me and knew that I had the potential to do great things with it.

As I grew older, the infatuation intensified. I started taking lessons, performing at local events and collaborating with other musicians in the area. I was always seeking to improve my skills and learn more about music theory, composition and performance.

By age 15, I was recording and releasing my own music and playing shows booked by my best friend, Jason, who just so happens to now be my manager.

Now, 20+ years into my career, I can confidently say that choosing a life of music was the best decision. I’ve had the opportunity to perform on stages across the country, collaborate with some of the most talented musicians in the industry and share my music with countless people. It has given me a sense of purpose and fulfillment that I never could have found in any other career. It all started with the unwavering support of my family and my own passion to step out and be a little weird.

Photo courtesy of Emma Lee Photography

I was home-schooled until my university years, so my family and I had the chance to travel to the United States quite a bit. Given that there are a lot more country radio stations in the United States than back home near Montreal, I was initially introduced to the country music genre that way. My mom also introduced me to singers like Shania Twain, Reba McEntire, Lady A and Carrie Underwood, and through these experiences, I fell in love with the genre for its down-to-earth lyrics and catchy melodies.

When I was 11, I was hospitalized for sepsis and a burst appendix. I spent three weeks in the hospital recovering from an invasive surgery. I was just a few weeks from turning 12 years old and I felt as though I had gotten a second chance at life. As odd as that might sound coming from a 12-year-old, experiences like the one I had just gone through really did change my view about life.

At the time, I also heard about this 13-year-old opera singer who was rapidly rising to fame for being so talented. I figured if she could do it, I probably could as well.

I began taking singing classes and tried to sing opera. I entered a variety of competitions and won first place when I was 13 years old. Winning first place meant that I got the chance to tour Quebec and parts of Ontario with a brass band and have my own set. That experience really made me enjoy performing on stage. I continued to sing opera music until I was 15 years old. Even so, I had no attachment to the genre, so I decided to switch to country music after a conversation with my singing teacher. I’m sure that my first trip to Nashville a year earlier might have had something to do with that. Once I started singing country music, I began to write it as well.

When I was 16 years old, I got the chance to return to Nashville for the second time and to perform at the Bluebird Cafe during an open mic night. It’s a moment I will forever remember because it was a step forward towards being the performer I wanted to be in the city where I wanted to do it. It was the moment I wanted to make music and share stories that I believed that listeners would relate to and that maybe someday, I would be able to share their stories as well.

Today, I live most of the year in Nashville. I’ve written and performed with amazing musicians around town and I’m wrapping up my debut EP of tracks I’ve recorded right here in town. Never would 13-year-old me singing opera have ever believed that I would be living out my country music dream in Nashville. But here I am, and this dream came true.

Photo courtesy of Jessica Paige Photography

Music was a part of my world before I was even born. It runs through me.

My grandpa was a fantastic country musician, playing in a band in the early 1970s. That music gene was passed down to my dad and my aunts, who are incredible singers and players. I remember countless evenings, curled up by the campfire while they played the nights away.

I grew up surrounded by music, and I just blossomed right into it. I was always singing and dancing as a child, and really connected with music from a young age. I started piano lessons at the age of 6, and I used to make up these whole musicals and elaborate concerts that I would make my relatives sit and watch. It was mostly me just improvising lyrics on the spot!

I always wanted to be a “star” and had this huge sense of confidence. It wasn’t until I started tuning into pop and modern music culture that I realized it was my true desire to make music in a professional way.

A huge turning point happened when I was about 12 years old and Taylor Swift came onto the scene. I was enamoured. I wanted to do that so bad… to write my own songs and play them. I convinced my dad to teach me the basic chords on guitar, and I completely dedicated myself to it. I started posting cover videos on YouTube, and writing my own songs on guitar and piano. Then I joined choir, band, vocal jazz, and basically immersed myself into all music outlets.

These experiences brought me to where I am today…

I truly believe I was born to make music.

There were a few pivotal moments in my life that cemented how much I wanted to be a musician. I had been taking guitar lessons since about age 8 or 9 but I had my first taste of “success” at 11 years old, and boy was it intoxicating. I was the lead singer of my 6th grade band, The Keepers Of Peace, and somehow we were able to enter a local Battle of The Bands in Iowa City, where I was living at the time. We performed in front of a crowd of nearly 1,000 people and won second place among grown adults and professional bands. It was most likely the cuteness factor that led to our win (how do you crush the dreams of three 11-year-olds?) but it was the first time I ever felt like a “rockstar” and it made me want to chase this music dream forever.

Fast forward to my senior year of high school, where I was graduating from a public school in rural Vermont. Throughout my high school years, I’d played a lot of shows at my school auditorium and a few local events and venues, but never ventured out into the wider world. I got the opportunity to attend GRAMMY Camp, a camp run by the GRAMMY Foundation for kids interested in going into the music industry. While at GRAMMY Camp, I had the opportunity to perform at the GRAMMY Museum, meet legends like Ryan Seacrest and AJ McLean, and play at the historic El Rey Theater. Most importantly, I was around other people who all wanted a career in music, and it no longer felt like just a “fantasy”.

Finally, there was a turning point where my partner Greg and I realized we wanted to make music together. We had been dating for a year and were both singers but kept in our own lanes (I was doing the singer-songwriter thing and he was doing musical theater). On a whim we decided to host a cabaret, titled “You And Me (But Mostly Me)” at The Duplex in New York. The cabaret went over so well that we ended up doing it again in Greg’s hometown of Austin and later again for an off-Broadway series. We then happened to get a residency at the Nomo SoHo, where we had free reign to perform whatever we’d like for three hours every week. That allowed us to hone our craft and really learn how to vibe off each other. This eventually caught the eye of GRAMMY-winning producer Mr. Sonic, who signed us to his label and started producing what would turn into Fab The Duo's debut EP, Our Love Is Resistance.

Photo courtesy of Fabian Di Corcia

It marks no surprise to family, friends, teachers or even enemies that I have chosen to pursue a career in music. As a kid, an early crop of red flags emerged as pigtailed performances as Baby Spice became a weekly meal of its own, to be served as an accompaniment to the roasted rack of lamb and garlic mashed potatoes of Sunday family dinner. 

Music has always been a very important part of my life since I was a child. I am not sure whether the fact that my parents took me to a Garth Brooks concert while I was still in-utero or just a natural instinct, but from the time I was actually cognitive, there has been something about music that makes me want to move and stop paying attention to the troubles around me. Growing up, my parents were always showing me a wide variety of music from Great Big Sea, being my first concert, all the way to The Ramones and everything in between. They wanted to make sure that as I became my own person I got to experience as much of the musical spectrum as possible so I could figure out where my own taste lived.

Though I always loved music, it wasn’t until I got to high school that I had an interest in actually playing and creating music. Trevor [Bowman, bassist], and I grew up together in a little rural town called Elmira, Ontario. Being such a small town, there really wasn’t much to do to keep young people busy, especially in the entertainment space; so we were forced to get a little more creative to sustain ourselves and stay out of trouble. This is going to sound extremely fantastical, but months after I started trying to teach myself how to play the guitar, I remember Trevor boldly suggesting while we were at school that it would be super cool if we started a band. He recommended that he buy a bass guitar and learn how to play since I already had a guitar at home. That was the beginning of our long journey together. After learning a few simple cover songs, we found some other friends who played music and started the first version of Excuses Excuses (called Stained Glass Army).

For Trev and I, when we hit the stage for the first few times, it was like a part of us woke up from a deep hibernation. We were absolutely hooked on the feeling of standing in front of a crowd, sharing our passion and getting to be whatever we wanted to be for those brief moments. It was the most energizing and relieving feeling we had ever experienced, and right away we knew we had found something special within ourselves that we needed to pursue. As we kept playing and learning, these feelings only got stronger to the point where we spent countless late nights talking in wonder about how we could find a way to turn our passion into a living, expressing that neither of us could really see ourselves being happy without it even though we had only been working at it for a few short years. That was the moment we knew we not only wanted, but needed, to make music.

After that we really started investing our time and money into music, even though many of the other members of our high school band began to move on. We ended up briefly going to school in Kingston, Ontario, where we met Jason [Nicoll, drummer] through friends at Trevor’s college after we hadn’t been active in several months. When we started hanging out with Jason it was an instant click, and as we began to practice with him, that love and need for playing was instantly reinvigorated. Though we didn’t know where it would take us at this point, we played our first official show as Excuses Excuses on the university campus with our good pals in a rock band called Kasador after practicing with Jay only a handful of times. It was surreal… Not only did Trevor and I feel like we came back to life, but I like to believe that was the moment that we helped ignite the spark of passion in Jay. Sure, we already knew that we needed the music, but that was the moment that we realized how and with whom we wanted to make music. That was the moment that we truly became Excuses Excuses.

I had played piano for many years, starting at the age of 5. My piano teacher was lovely, and I liked the music a lot. However, there was a connection missing that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Enter Travis Barker from Blink-182. I had just started junior high school at St. Andrews in North York. Blink-182's posters were everywhere, and soon their records were all I could listen to. “What's My Age Again” and “All The Small Things” were my anthems and Travis Barker my guru.

Up until that point, I had been playing French horn in the junior high school band. Not to knock on that instrument, as it's very difficult and its lush tones add a silkiness to the band's sonic aesthetic. However, I wasn't quite convinced that I was sitting on the right chair. Instead I would stare at the drum throne to my left, and with envy, look at the drummers and wonder and dream about what my life would be like if I was in their position.

So I grabbed some sparkling green drumsticks and a phonebook to practice on, and started my drumming journey with my teacher Goeff at Allegro Music. I was hooked and one year later I was the drummer of the school band, and the drummer of my own rock and roll band. I haven't looked back.


I come from a pretty musical family. My younger brother plays and my dad is a professional jazz musician. Some of my earliest memories of my dad were waving goodbye to him as he set off on tours and awaiting his return late at night, or hanging out in our at-home rehearsal room as he’d practice with his band. Growing up, even though he never forced any kind of music or music instruction on me, I always saw music as a life and career possibility. Although I’d fooled around on instruments around the house as a kid, I was always more enamoured with drawing and visual art, and at one point I considered pursuing that as a profession.

What firmly cemented me in music was when I discovered the social aspect of music-making. Making new friends who were equally as excited about jamming, listening to and writing music was unlike the introverted experience of drawing, and I loved the performance aspect of it - even though it terrified me for the longest time. For me, the social aspect of music is so built into the art itself. People often call music a language, but I always compare making music with someone like the language of dogs. You circle one another, sniff each other’s butts for a bit and then suddenly bolt in a race around the dog park. Or maybe you growl, or go belly up, just to see what the other will do. It’s that primal and visceral connection that cuts right through our prepared and polite social norms that makes music-making feel so rich, immediate and intimate.

Photo courtesy of Bob Holtsman

Music has always been a huge part of my life since I was a kid, thanks to my dad's incredible vinyl collection. You could hear Stevie Wonder, The Beatles, Elvis and James Brown blasting 24/7 in our household or during family cookouts. Over the years, as my siblings got older, it became 80s ghetto blasters wearing out tapes of Led Zeppelin, The Police and Prince. I had no idea how lucky of a child I was to be exposed to all of this amazing music and that my passion for it was growing.

By the time I got to grade 6, my oldest brother, Efren, was already touring in a cover band playing in small towns and bars in our city of Saskatoon (hometown of Joni Mitchell, by the way). By grade 8, I was their lighting tech at their high school dances. The band's school bus full of their giant clunky PA system and lights was parked in our driveway and our basement was their rehearsal space. I would often daydream about doing what my big bro did for a living, being a professional touring musician.

So in high school, I started my own band where I was the lead singer/bassist and began writing original songs. My bandmates and I would sneak into the basement and secretly rehearse using my brother's band's gear for months in order to audition for the big annual high school Variety Night. To our school, it was a pretty big deal - a ticketed talent show that was open to the public in our 250 capacity theatre. Despite there being intimidating senior bands, we passed our audition and got in!

The night of the big show, we were scheduled to close by performing last. As the lights dimmed and the anticipation built up, we stepped onto the stage and did our best rendition of "Free Fallin’" by Tom Petty. Girls started screaming and as we played our last note, the crowd cheered so loudly and gave us a real standing ovation. We felt like the freakin’ Beatles! I was on cloud nine and didn't want the night to end. That was the moment I knew I wanted to make music.

Fours years later, I got signed to Warner/Atlantic with my next band, Wide Mouth Mason, and we were opening for The Rolling Stones. I definitely made the right choice to pursue music because 25 years later, I'm making the best music I've ever made and having more fun than ever with my new band, The Steadies!

From a very young age, I knew I wanted to be a singer, but it wasn’t until I moved to New York City and started meeting other artists that I knew wholeheartedly that I could be a performer and make music for a career.

I grew up singing in church and school choir. As a pre-teen, I knew instinctively how to channel my emotions into song. Singing has always given me great joy and I would sing for hours. I applied to talent shows and I performed where I could without a car, but I never fully felt supported enough to believe that I could make it as a professional.

When it came time for college, I chose to study marketing because I saw the success that my grandpa had in business and I wanted the same for myself. I had no idea that music school was an option at the time. I had been sewing my own clothes and even sold some of my shirts around town to a few local boutiques so I thought that with a marketing degree, I could learn to run my own fashion business.

I quickly became burnt out from going to school while working and holding a leadership role in my sorority. For the first time in my life, I was ready to quit. I was having constant headaches and was secretly depressed. I started therapy and decided to take summer courses so I could graduate early and move to a larger city to ‘start my life’. Looking back I can see that college was something that was expected of me and not necessarily something I wanted to do.

After I graduated, I sold my car and moved to Italy for nearly a year. I struggled to support myself with babysitting jobs and teaching English. I landed in Brooklyn with just enough money to sublet a room for one month in Williamsburg. I continued to babysit, took on restaurant jobs and any other kind of work I could find to pay my bills so I could intern for the global fashion PR firm Karla Otto. Even with all the glamorous parties and clothing, I quickly realized that the fashion industry was not where I wanted to be and I felt very lost.

I started dating a guitar player and writing songs again. I found a local Craigslist ad for a backup singer in an R&B group out of Newark and I auditioned. I performed with them and another folk duo just for fun. I was of the mindset that I was automatically disqualified from becoming a professional musician because I had no official training for it. I jumped around from bartender job to art job to marketing job, but I finally started to feel like I had found my purpose.

Three years into my time in New York City, I decided to travel to the Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival outside of Tennessee with some girlfriends. I saw LP perform on a smaller stage and I was mesmerized by their voice. It was a music festival experience that any aspiring artist could dream of. By the end of it, I was convinced that I would not attend another music festival until I was performing at it. I continued to teach myself guitar and focused on writing my own songs. At this point, all of my roommates were making music and I was warming up to the idea of performing.

The following year I met an artist named Sky. She had made $40,000 from a sync placement of one of her songs and was not even well-known as an artist. The two of us became quick friends over music and fashion and I ended up driving cross-country with her to help her move out to Los Angeles. I flew back to New York with a changed perspective. If she could make money from music, so could I…

That October I gave my first performance for Greenpoint Open Studios and I haven’t looked back since. My focus has been music.

My dad played guitar and during Friday night get-togethers he would invite everyone to play around the kitchen table. I always found that exciting; I thought it was a cool party trick. My dad had a big songbook of handwritten covers that he’d made by listening to songs, pausing and rewinding cassette tapes until he was “close enough”. I thought they were his originals for years until I asked. The parties would go into the early hours of the morning, and my sister Rylee and I would get our sleeping bags and pass out under the kitchen table while the party kept on.

My dad had tried to teach me some chords on the guitar but I didn’t have the patience so we’d always butt heads. It wasn’t until Grade 6 that I started to play. There was a lunch hour lesson on Fridays that I joined only due to the fact that a handful of my friends took part and I wanted to hang out. I found myself progressing and it became addictive. I’d come home and show my dad. He was pleased but I remember him saying, “If you’re going to play, you have to learn how to sing”.

This terrified my shy self. I didn’t like performing in front of anyone, but I decided to try it out regardless. To my surprise, I could do it! I could sing in key. That made learning more fun, being able to perform a whole song with melodies and lyrics, even if I had to do it from another room with the door closed so no one could see me.

My cousin and I formed a cover band when I was about 13. We just mainly played in the basement. Sometime in 2005, my dad bought my cousin and I tickets to Green Day’s “American Idiot” tour. This was my first concert and I was floored. I loved every part of it; seeing them on stage, playing their own songs to a stadium of fans. All that energy stuck with me. That was the moment I knew I wanted to make music.

About a month later I started writing my own original songs and started playing local shows. I haven’t stopped since. I was even lucky enough to sing with Green Day years later in Montreal, randomly on my birthday!

Motivated by my favorite bands Rush, Van Halen and Led Zeppelin, I took up the drums at age 13. I started taking lessons and was immediately hooked on playing music, jamming with my friends after school and drumming along to my favorite songs. My drum teacher introduced me to the rudiments and jazz, and I developed musically and became a decent - but by no means great - drummer.

I played throughout college but never really went full-on until I graduated and decided I wanted to get more serious and put together a band. Around that time, I was living in San Francisco with one of my best friends and jamming buddies from growing up in Atlanta, and he had an acoustic guitar. I taught myself a few chords and immediately songs started coming out of me even though I could barely play the instrument. I would say that was the moment that I knew I wanted to make music on a serious level.

I had joined a local band on drums and was beginning to get more serious with them, playing bars around the Bay Area and Northern California as well as doing a few tours of Colorado. I spent most of my time during those years playing guitar five to six hours a day and constantly writing songs. The guitar and songwriting came to me much more naturally than the drums, and once I had gotten rhythm guitar up and running, I bought some scale books and started working on lead guitar trying to find the sounds of my heroes: Mark Knopfler, Jerry Garcia and David Gilmour.

After five years of constant practice, I was ready to switch to playing guitar and singing my songs in the bands I was in instead of playing drums, so I left the band I was in and started Seconds On End, where I learned to play live and in studio as well as produce and engineer records.

Photo courtesy of Andrew Thomases

My father was always very into classic rock when I was younger. He constantly had the radio on or albums on the turntable (yes, vinyl back then in the 70s). He got me hooked on The Beatles at a young age, but it was when he took me to see Beatlemania on Broadway when I realized I wanted to be like Paul McCartney.

After that show – maybe even on the drive home – I asked my dad if I could have his old bass guitar. He gave it to me, but I didn’t even have an amplifier. I figured out a way to plug it into our home stereo and I remember almost blowing out the speakers. I tried my hardest to teach myself, but, alas, I had no idea what I was doing.

Coincidentally, that summer I was headed off to summer camp for eight weeks. I took the bass guitar with me, but I didn’t have any specific plans to take lessons or even play. One of my friends, however, was excited to try out for the camp’s rock band as a lead singer. He came back all excited that he got the gig, but he said that the camp had a shortage of bass players. He had mentioned me to the head of the rock shop, but said I didn’t know how to play.

For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated with the electric guitar. I remember my Grade 1 teacher telling me "no more making guitars" in art class. I'd use a ruler for the neck and whatever I could for the body and the head. After being told no more guitars, I literally made another guitar and tried to pass it off as an ax. I remember this as if it were yesterday. I can't remember what I ate for lunch, but I remember things like this. My parents caught onto my interest in music, but insisted I do a year of piano before trying guitar. After the year of piano was over, I no longer cared to play an instrument. I hated it. But only temporarily. I think I was only 5 or 6 years old, so it was hard to concentrate.

The moment I knew I wanted to be on stage for real wasn't until some years later. Again, I remember this as if it were yesterday. We were watching a music awards show on TV as a family and a band came on. The singer was beating his guitar like it owed him money, and every word he sang into the mic was accompanied with a shower of spit. I watched and listened in awe. I had never heard anything like it. I looked at my older sister and said, "Who is this?" She said, "Some band called Green Day." That was the moment I knew. I was in grade 6.

Before discovering Green Day, I was listening to the stuff passed down from my older sister, and what my parents were into. My parents used to blare Fleetwood Mac, Dire Straits and Michael Jackson. ALL FANTASTIC. My sister was blaring Guns N' Roses, The Doors, Metallica and Portishead. ALL FANTASTIC. The thing these all had in common to me, though, was that their musicianship was at a level that felt unachievable. There was no way I could even dream of being able to play the guitar riffs I was hearing from Metallica, Guns N' Roses and Dire Straits. But Green Day changed all of that. It was my introduction to punk rock, and I was sold.

On my 14th birthday, my mom bought me my first guitar. It was an acoustic, with action so high you could barely play a note, but it was a start. I banged away on that thing for the summer and then I decided I wanted an electric guitar. The only thing I had of any value was the dirt bike I had cut lawns for three summers to buy. I sold it and used the money to buy a Yamaha electric guitar with a 10 watt amp. I also bought a Nirvana Nevermind TAB book. This book taught me the most important thing you need to know when starting out: the power chord. It all snowballed from there. This was at the beginning of grade 8. I spent months in my room pretending to be Billie Joe Armstrong, and by the end of that school year, I had a band that played in the talent show. We played "Going To Pasalacqua" by Green Day. From what I remember, it didn't suck. Although I'm not 100% sure. Ha.

After I sold my dirt bike for a guitar, my best friend Luke (having no one left to ride with) sold his dirt bike too, and bought a drum kit. He and I have been playing music together ever since. You'll be able to hear him playing on some of my yet-to-be-released material. We started out as a punk band, and as we became more comfortable with our instruments, the music evolved. We started listening to some heavier stuff like Minor Threat and eventually Slayer. As we inched through high school, we started sounding more and more like a hardcore band. As well as writing original material, we were covering Minor Threat, Strife and One King Down. We had a pretty cool little scene happening in our high school with us and a few other bands renting out halls and putting on shows. Besides our hardcore band, there was a funk band, a punk band and a straight rock band that sounded like Tool and Smashing Pumpkins. In between each band, there would be a different DJ spinning records. It wasn’t until years later that I realized what a unique experience we’d created.

By the time high school was done, Luke’s brother, Josh, had joined the band and he started singing the majority of the leads while I focused on lead guitar and singing harmonies. He was Layne and I was Jerry. We were going to be the next Alice In Chains. We spent over a decade writing and recording music together. We toured Canada, recorded a demo in Los Angeles and shared the stage with some of our heroes. While this was happening, I was building a career as a cover artist playing bars, restaurants and whatnot. This seemed like the best way for me to pay the rent while pursuing our goals. Our band eventually called it a day, but we all still hang out together regularly.

This brings us to today. Ta da!

Thanks for reading,
Grant

“Alright,” he chuckled. “Let’s go to work.”

Those were the words uttered out of my dad’s mouth after he and his brothers finished a 15-minute-long laughing session about a very specific three seconds in time. Those three seconds happened to be about a man’s reaction when he heard the news that he is the father on The Jerry Springer Show.

I was about 5 or 6 years old at the time, and didn’t quite understand what was going on. All I knew is that it was funny; really fucking funny.

“Fucking” was a word I learned from them; and they would always have a big smile on their face and tears from laughter in their eyes when they said it, so I assumed it must be a good word. I mean, anyone that exudes that much happiness must be using a good word, right?

Anyway, they listened to my father, collected themselves and made their way out of the little room towards a door that said “STAGE ENTRANCE”.

I watched the show from backstage with my mom, who for some reason pursed her lips more and more every time they said the new word I learned. I could tell they were having fun; not the kind of fun they were having backstage with Jerry Springer, but a different kind of fun. I saw that it meant something to them. Unfortunately, like all good things, the show eventually came to an end. I was hooked. The next thing I knew, I was begging to go to any and every show. I loved seeing live music. I didn’t care what it was; The Utah Symphony, concerts in the park, a man playing the cello on the sidewalk… it didn’t matter, it was pure bliss!

What was even more blissful was my first violin lesson when I was 4 years old. It felt like my birthday and Christmas morning put into one. While little league baseball and art classes were fun, nothing compared to getting a chance to actually learn a musical instrument. I fell in love with the violin during the symphony’s performance of The Nutcracker. It was part of something called The Lollipop Series which was a concert that The Utah Symphony put on once a month for kids to introduce them to classical music. There was even an instrument “petting zoo” where kids got to play the instruments. I could’ve spent hours, probably even days there if I had the chance. I quickly learned that there was something even better than listening to music; creating it! If I wasn’t practicing the violin I was making up melodies on a toy keyboard or making my own recordings. My recording process at that age was pretty simple. The first step was to find my mother’s portable CD player (a boombox of sorts). The second step was to break out the Sesame Street-themed cassette player/recorder. Once you started playing the CD and pushed record on the Sesame Street rig, it was go time. I sang for hours. But I wanted to harmonize, and this was an issue since I couldn’t harmonize with myself when recording a cassette. What I could do though was grab a toy voice processor that came with a Halloween costume. It was cheap and made of plastic, but to me it was a godsend. It had the option of either amplifying my own voice, making it deeper, or “alien” which multiplied my voice into three very interesting sounding voices. The alien option was my favorite.

As I grew up, I expanded my palate by taking voice lessons, production classes, trumpet lessons and eventually studied music in college. It was pretty much my only passion. I didn’t care much for sports or math. Science wasn’t my best subject, and history was boring. But music… music was everything to me!

In a recent discussion with my mother, she told me she used to put headphones on her belly when she was pregnant with me and play my father’s music. Perhaps this is where it started. Perhaps I fell in love with music before I was even born. While I do understand now what my dad meant when he said “work” all those years ago, the passion still burns deep, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I knew I wanted to make music since I was around nine years old. I remember a good friend of my parents being a musician. He played the piano almost effortlessly. We went to one of his concerts and after seeing him play I knew I wanted to be just like him.

In 2000 I was eight years old. My dad was about to take me to one of my baseball games (for which I was probably more keyed up than any little kid should be) in his Ford F-150 and he put in a silver colored CD with four letters on the front: K-I-S-S. I know this band brings up certain feelings for a lot of listeners, but keep in mind - I don't care. I remember him saying that I was about to hear his favorite band from when he was my age, so naturally my ears perked up.

What happened next literally changed the course of my life. It took me from a little kid obsessed with baseball to a little kid obsessed with baseball and music. The opening guitar notes of "Detroit Rock City" invaded my ear drums. The seven hits to the snare just before the rest of the band exploded in blissful unison pulled me to the edge of my seat. The opening vocal line from Paul Stanley was the nail in the coffin in which my life before rock and roll was buried.

I literally felt like I was being sucked into the radio. My stomach was buzzing, my eyes were glued to the front console as if the band members were going to jump out of the speakers and into the truck cab. I completely forgot about playing baseball that night. After that night, I listened to that CD (which happened to be KISS' greatest hits) over and over again. I listened intently to the guitar solos, the drum fills and the delicious vocal hooks. It was the first time I remember being able to pick out each individual instrument.

It was also the first time I recall knowing what was happening within a song, and where it might go next. I felt as if I had jumped headfirst into a white water river where I couldn't drown; the further I dove in, the more I wanted it. Then I got a look at the band members themselves. They were like superheroes. They were larger than life. They were literally huge (three out of four band members were over six feet tall) and they wore lifted shoes. They lived what they sang about. They were angry, they were free and they were freaking good at what they did. They made it look easy.

I decided that I had to be part of whatever they were doing. I had to learn how to make those noises. I had to learn how to do what they did. I didn't have any interest in wearing the makeup, but I wanted the swagger. I wanted the skill. That was the moment I knew I had to make music.