Photo courtesy of Shannon Earl

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was in third grade when I wrote my first song. I don’t remember what it was about, exactly, but it had all the hallmarks of an Ava Earl piece - longing, imagination, hopeless romance. Much like running, another life-long passion, it felt freeing to create music.

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was my freshman year of high school. I played my biggest crowd to date and opened for then-up-and-coming pop star Maggie Rogers. I sang a couple of wrong lyrics and played a few wrong notes, but no one seemed to notice. I was presenting myself truthfully and, not for the first time, was met with a kind and listening audience.

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was a year later, when I first attempted actual banter. I told a true story about the inspiration for my song, and made the audience cringe and laugh and applaud when I had finished. After years of practice, that night my stage presence felt natural, like something I was made to do. Singing became like breathing; something I did constantly, not always thinking about it.

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was the first time I recorded music with a band. It was my fourth time in a studio but this felt different. It was as if the music were weaving itself around me, wrapping me tightly in a cocoon of creation - my music imbued with the beauty and talent of everyone I was working with. I truly learned what it was like to create in that moment, and I swore I had never been happier. I thought to myself, “I could do this forever.”

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was at cross country practice, when a male teammate asked me why I was self-promoting “so much.” Why would I not pour everything into something I loved, something I was proud of? The answer felt so obvious for me, that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought or if I was being obnoxious. I would suffer greater embarrassments to be heard.

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was when my sibling looked me in the eyes and told me how much they loved my new song. Usually my mom would be the first to hear it, but it was a present and I wanted to run it by somebody trustworthy without ruining the surprise. Most songs I write for myself, but giving a song away places an extra weight and I wanted it to be great. Even if I just played songs for my family, I knew I would always write music.

The moment I knew I wanted to make music was when a girl referred to me as a “campus celebrity” in college. There is nothing I would rather be known for.

I’m looking forward to more of these moments; times in my life that underscore what I knew when I wrote that first song: that I am doing exactly what I was meant to do.

I started singing at a super young age, so as far back as I can remember I wanted to be a singer for a living.

When I was around 12 or 13 years old, I rented the Woodstock ‘69 documentary from the public library and it put a spell on me that day and forever. It sort of flipped a switch; the culture of it, everything so communal and connected, fucking unparalleled music pouring out from everywhere and then most of all, how literally EVERYBODY showed up for it. It felt more like a religion and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to relax until I found that high myself.

Now I can’t remember which came first, the documentary or the guitar, but my mom gave me her off-brand acoustic for my birthday that same year. I wrote my first song on a lawn chair in the backyard on that guitar, played it for my cousin Patty (approved), carved my name in its wood and from that point on, music was kind of all I did or cared about. It was like a bad infection or something and I was devoured by it. So within a few years of that, when I was in grade 10, I quit high school and moved out of my parents’ house, headed to the nearest big city (Toronto) and started pursuing music full time.

In short order I met my first legit manager on the streets there and everything solidified fast after I signed with him. For better or worse, by the time I was around 16 or 17 years old, I knew there was no turning back and that I was all in.

I guess the thing about watching that documentary alone in my bedroom a million lifetimes ago, is that it sort of permanently messed with my DNA, like I saw God or something and I never came back from that…60s and 70s music culture would continue to have an intoxicating effect on my career choices as I imagine a lot of us would say. It was sort of the holy grail on how deep it can go collectively with music and society and shit if the conditions are just right. Nothing else does it for me like that. That unspoken thing is the reason why I started making music when I was young and it’s why I’m still here doing it for a living now instead of getting a real job.

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I was always around musicians growing up and after I picked up my first guitar in my 20s I was hooked. I loved the guitar so much it became an obsession and I wanted to learn more instruments, the piano being one of my other favorites. Music was also a way to deal with my anxiety. I attended a few open mic nights and got involved with other musicians in the scene. That connection in that community had such an impact on the way I developed as a person. I needed to share the creativity and passion I had with others. I now get to write and play music with my friends. Music will always be part of my life. - Lisa LoVell, keyboardist

I first realized that I wanted to make music when I was very young. Towards the end of the height of Michael Jackson’s Thriller album, the Jackson 5 cartoon began re-airing in syndication as a Saturday morning cartoon. I watched it and fell in love with the show, but more importantly the music. That was my introduction to music that I enjoyed for me, as opposed to the music I heard from my parents or older sister. I decided over the course of the two seasons of the show that I wanted to not only learn to play guitar (like Tito), and subsequently bass (like Jermaine), but also make music myself. - Will Blakey, bassist

It’s goofy as all hell, but I first knew I wanted to make music when I was watching reruns of The Monkees with my mom. I was 4 or 5 years old and I just thought, “Man, when you’re in a band you get to go on adventures with your friends? And there are all sorts of hijinks and sometimes you fall in love? This looks so fun!” That and my little preschooler brain being overtaken with saccharine pop hooks had me captivated. And, with a few other formalities, my original assessment of life in a band wasn’t all that far off! My grandma crocheted me a little green Mike Nesmith hat and everything (still my favorite Monkee and one of my favorite musicians in general today).

This was further reaffirmed by “discovering” Dark Side of the Moon at age 12. I was in a real slump with learning guitar, and thought, “I’m never going to be rock and roll! The instrument I’m actually good at is piano and that isn’t cool at all!” Yeah, that album blew my mind wide open. Rick Wright was the game changer, and kept me from giving up on my musical journey. - Becca Cristino, guitarist

I knew I wanted to make music when I saw The Partridge Family on TV and how the drummer looked as old as I was. Never mind that it was filmed 20 years earlier or that it was TV magic and not Jeremy Gelbwaks/Brian Forster playing drums. I saw it and thought “if he can do it, so can I.” - Pete Stern, drummer

My four closest friends in college all played guitar and I didn’t sing or play any instrument yet. Out of jealousy, I bought a guitar when I was 20 and promptly learned. That’s when I knew. The world simply would become better with one more male in college playing an acoustic guitar. How could I refuse to meet my moment? - Brian Erickson, vocalist

Photo courtesy of Ted Simha-Webster

While I know magic doesn’t exist, the feeling that music can instill might be the closest thing to it.

At a young age I always associated music with positive experiences. Early mornings in the car with my dad driving to hockey practice we would blast songs to get hyped up. We’d sing along to the radio on a warm summer day at the cottage. There were so many little life experiences that were enhanced to a level only music could bring. People just generally seemed happier while music was playing and when my parents would turn on the speakers the day would instantly get better.

I began playing trumpet at a young age through my school’s music program. I instantly fell in love with creating melodies and with the idea that I could provide people with an experience. I felt that I could achieve a greater sense of personal value if I had the skills to create an experience for people that I associated with such positivity. I constantly listened to CDs of my favourite trumpet players and wished so badly that I would be able to play like them someday. My first experience at a live concert was seeing one of my favourite trumpet players, Herb Albert. It was also the first time that I had ever heard songs that I spent hours listening to being played right in front of me. I have to assume my jaw was on the floor. There was something so undeniably cool about being up on stage and having a group of musicians collaborate so well together to make something so sonically beautiful. I thought it was such an entrancing combination of talent, creativity and confidence.

I have long been a fan of rock music so naturally I aspired to play the guitar. During high school I idolised bands like Hollerado, The Sam Roberts band and the Arkells. Playing music had instantly become a huge passion of mine and I wanted to be like the people in all my favourite rock bands. I knew joining a band was something I needed to do and when I first took lessons, I heard that bass players “didn’t grow on trees” so I immediately started learning. Meeting like-minded people through the music scene and being able to hone a skill where I could express myself really solidified my love for playing. It is a feeling that has only continued to grow throughout the years.

Music is a lifelong pursuit and even though I now know how the trick is done it still feels like magic. I feel very grateful to have music as such a large part of my life.

Our music is a balance of speed and control, with moments of intense acceleration and sudden shifts in tempo that keep the listener on the edge of their seat.

It wasn’t always like that.

In the beginning it was James and Mike, playing in a country band called William Joseph James. Those two met while shoveling their driveways one winter and realized that both were musicians and like beer so they should play music together and drink beer.

With Mike on drums and James on bass, they played frequent residencies as they grew in popularity. But as any band knows, it lasts as long as it lasts, and then it doesn’t.

Members of that group knew Michael and heard his self-released solo record, which was a mix of folk and indie songwriting. Michael spent most of his musical past behind a drum set, playing in bands like The Burning Paris and The Living Sea. After a tryout for the new version of their band, they heard something different In Michael and began to play as The Additions. A new sound that was more rock centric, exploring crunchy tones and introspective songwriting.

The Additions had a strong start with a quick ending.

The story continues like they all do; the drummer switches to guitar and reveals that he’s actually a super technical guitar player in disguise. Heavier pedals are introduced, heavier riffs are written, no drummers in sight. Drummers are one of the hardest positions to fill in a band. You need commitment from them, but you need chemistry more.

The band's debut album, You Are Not What You Do, is a raw and honest portrayal of personal struggles and experiences. Released just as the pandemic lockdown began, it hit college radio and built an online audience with limited, yet favorable reviews.

Marc’s name was mentioned several times by Mike as a potential new drummer. They are friends who go on winter hikes together and hurt themselves frequently on mountain bikes. In other words, chemistry.

The night after their first practice with Marc on drums, they immediately knew he was a way better drummer than Mike, HA! Seriously though, he is, and Mike knows it. We sounded… Great.

Trailer Swift's sound is a blend of moody melodies and distorted riffs, soaked in various sub-genres of rock, creating a sound that is both unique and familiar. By drawing from different styles and influences, they have created a sound that is distinctly their own, while still being accessible and relatable to a wide audience. Their music commands attention and leaves a lasting impression. Their songs are a delicate balance of strength and vulnerability, with lyrics that speak to the heart and melodies that stay with you long after the music has stopped.

So, it appears they have themselves a new and committed band again. Their writing is collaborative, and they have energy and ideas to spare. All of them contribute with parts and arrangements, mixing ideas and pulling from 25+ years of musical influences. They get to be loud, hard, fast, technical and moody. They get to play what they are feeling and explore. That’s not work, that’s play.

What sets Trailer Swift apart?

There is a unique and modern approach to their songs. A raw infectious energy, driving rhythms and catchy hooks. Their lyrics are often accompanied by melodic and dynamic guitar work that ranges from gentle strumming to powerful, distortion-heavy riffs. Emotive and gruff vocals conveying a sense of vulnerability and honesty… And yes, their name.

Ok, so, hear us out. We think band names are cool, but they are all taken, and you know it. Every band out there is White Lion this, White Lion that. We can’t keep track, and no one remembers your name. Tell us the last time someone came up to you and said Hey! How’s (insert White Lion band name here) doing? Never. No one remembers your band name! They always say, what’s it called again? And then forget it all over again.

People remember the name Trailer Swift. It makes them laugh and we think that helps. When people come up to us they ask how Trailer Swift is doing and we say great!

It’s also a trucking company, and now that you know that you’re going to see those Swift trailers everywhere! You’re welcome.

In all seriousness, it’s silly and we love it. It was either that or Wack Nicolson.

If you’re not sold on us yet, please just enjoy this distracting bit of Game of Thrones fodder to help change your troubled mind.

*The music is full of unexpected twists and turns, like a labyrinthine maze that is constantly shifting and changing. The melodies are both haunting and enchanting, like the songs of the forest sprites that dance among the trees. The bassline rumbles like a giant dragon's roar, while the guitar riffs shimmer like the scales on its back. The vocals soar above the instrumentation, like a hawk soaring high above the treetops, their words carrying the weight of the universe as they explore themes of self-discovery, identity, and personal struggle. The end.

*Written by ChatGPT

Ever since my teenage years, I've been immersed in the world of music. Back then, I was driven by a relentless pursuit of success and recognition, seeking external validation to affirm my worth. I convinced myself that reaching the next milestone or earning another accolade would somehow prove my deservingness of happiness.

Ever read The Velvet Rage? Anyways, as I recently turned 30, I know deep down that I have been gradually unlearning these damaging beliefs over the past several years.

When was the moment I knew I wanted to make music?

Surprisingly, the answer came to me more recently than I had anticipated. I could easily say that I knew it from the moment I opened my mouth at the age of 8 and started to sing. However, the genuine realization struck me when I returned home to my parents' house amidst the peak of the pandemic.

During those uncertain times, I reconnected with my voice and my keyboard in a way I had never experienced before. It was during this period that I wrote a song called "Twenties", which transformed my perception of myself and my career. It was no longer a mere desire to make music; it became a need within me. Creating music allowed me to explore my pain, reflect on my upbringing, decipher the intricacies of my relationships and grow into a kinder human being.

In my parents' attic, I felt like a child again, rediscovering the pure joys of life without the weight of financial obligations and survival. It was a time of queer liberation, where I could freely embrace my emotions, channel them into artistic expressions and truly live. But as the demands of reality knocked at my door, I faced the challenge of maintaining that spirit out in the real world.

Nevertheless, today I stand with newfound clarity and an overwhelming sense of excitement. I am eager to share the musical reflections that emerged from the depths of my parents' attic, encapsulated in an album I aptly titled The Garden. As a younger version of myself, I used to proclaim, "Dad, I'm going to sell out the Garden." Although I haven't achieved all the things I once envisioned, I am here, and I am content. And unexpectedly, I've come to realize that this, in itself, is the greatest triumph - the victory I never knew was a victory.

So, let me ask you: Are you okay? Are you truly present in this moment? If not, please know that I'm thinking of you. And in any way possible, I would love to be your friend and remind you that you possess immense goodness within you. The world needs you, and so do I.

Photo courtesy of Bobby Murphy

I started playing piano at a very young age and was always praised for my musical abilities growing up. I knew I craved attention from performing, but the only art programs I had access to was community theater and a pretty sad marching band in my tiny, rural, western Kentucky town.

My years of piano study landed me a scholarship to attend college in Memphis, Tenn. Memphis was a big city for this small town boy. I was quickly thrown into jazz ensembles, rock bands, and even formed a small trio with my friends and started to perform around town. I don’t remember the exact moment but it was somewhere around my freshman year that I knew this is what I was meant to be doing.

The feedback that you get from a live audience is incredibly validating. I knew I had something and that started to quickly evolve. The greatest decision I made was to move to Memphis permanently. I know a lot of people who have careers in entertainment that wouldn’t necessarily agree. However, Memphis taught me to hustle while giving me daily opportunities to perform and evolve as an artist without busting my ass in New York City or Los Angeles waiting tables five nights a week. Instead, I was on stage, honing my craft.

Had I moved to Los Angeles in my early 20s, I might not have had as much success. I spent 12 years in Memphis and now in my 30s, I finally live in LA. I got to cut my teeth in one of the most legendary music cities in the world while being able to afford to live as a working artist. And I also grew the fuck up, so I have some sort of wits about me out here in the great Wild Wild West.

Photo courtesy of Lucia Lombardo

It was probably a Wednesday. Music has always been a therapeutic and cathartic experience for me, and thus far my greatest form of expression. Dancing is a close runner up, but music is my go-to because it feels constantly available.

I grew up in a midwestern Christian household outside of Cincinnati where my mother led the church band and my father was the sound engineer. Some of my favorite memories were of myself and my mother singing harmonies on our way to church. She has always been a fantastic performer, and though I moved away from the religious piece, the passion always stuck with me.

Even still, I didn't know that I wanted to pursue music until I was in college studying psychology. In high school I had a band with my brother for fun, but I never took things seriously until I joined an eight-piece funk/jam band. We would tour around and play at festivals, connecting with people while traveling and sharing experiences together. The energy was absolutely addicting, and from there I knew it'd be a life-long love affair.

After college I pursued music, as well as my career as a therapist while living in Asheville, New Orleans, Los Angeles and finally Memphis. I continued to write and record my own music, all the while gaining influences from the places I lived in. You can hear a little bit of everywhere I've been in my voice as well as lyrics - and I mean that both geographically as well as emotionally.

I've sung in just about any form you can think of: show choir, acoustic, cruise ship performer, industrial bands, country and so on. These days I've settled back into my consistent writing style which falls along the folk/alternative/retro genres. I've found an amazing music community here in Memphis whom I respect and love, and in return I've gained support and inspiration.

Photo courtesy of Mark Maryanovich

I don't remember an exact defining moment when I realized I needed and wanted to make music. The feeling just seemed to always be there. It felt natural, quite like breathing.

I'd have to say, some of my earliest memories of music being a part of my existence include the sound of old ABBA records playing to help me fall asleep. Just as music, insomnia always followed me and music was the one thing that could calm me enough and make me feel safe enough to fall asleep.

My mother understood that from a very early age. Although my parents were not at all musical, they were huge music fans and music was always playing in the house. I think because they weren't musicians themselves, they had an exceptional amount of respect and admiration for musicians, especially the ones on MTV.

As children, we tend to follow the trend or influence of our parents. In my case, seeing my parents treat the annual broadcast of the American Music Awards and the Grammys as special as a national holiday made me assume the same view of music and the seemingly superhuman characters that delivered that music into our lives.

While other kids dreamt of becoming an astronaut, a teacher or a doctor, I was listening to music of all different genres. Soul, indie, pop, rock, alongside classical music which I was learning as a young child in my piano lessons at Toronto's Royal Conservatory of Music. All I could envision and fantasize about was the day I would walk on stage and perform a song which I had written myself.

It took years, but that day finally did arrive. It was especially sweet when I was able to share the stage alongside my brother, Fernando, who is the other half of The Manic Boys And Girls Club. Having been raised in the same tight knit household, it was only natural that Fernando too would share the same passion and love for music and performing. The moment we both understood our purpose, we knew that life as we had known it would never be the same.

Music has always been a soundtrack for our lives, accompanying us through almost every major life experience, and helping us cope with even the toughest ones. It has served as not only inspiration but also as therapy.

For my brother and me, to now be in the position of producing, writing, and performing our own music in The Manic Boys And Girls Club, I hope that we can inspire and be the soundtrack to the lives of those who are going through their own experiences, whether it be heartbreak, regret, love, fear or just wanting to escape reality for a while.

I was born into a musical family, so for me, music was normal. Performing and practicing were things I was exposed to since I was a young child. I suppose I really didn’t even think it was “special” until I got a bit older. 

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.