Photo courtesy of Ariel Kassulke

There was never a moment that I knew I wanted to make music because it’s something I’ve known for as long as I could know things; for as long as I remember. Maybe it was growing up with parents that love music as much as I do. Parents who always had music playing in our cars and homes, who always sang along, who sang in choirs their whole lives and signed me up for every church, school and afterschool choir that was available. A mom who bounced to ABBA and Rick Springfield and Prince, who showed me the joy of dancing along to music and of the drama and stories music could contain. A dad who loved Journey and the Righteous Brothers and 90s R&B, who preferred singing the harmonies and background vocals to his favorite songs and taught me concepts like harmony and melody/counter-melody. Parents who saw a young child dance and sing along with utter glee to “Bye Bye Bye” by N*SYNC and decided to nurture that seed of love for music.

Like I already said, there was never a moment I realized I knew but there were moments that knowledge solidified, and that it felt more and more like it was something I could do. Like reaching high school and singing in concert choirs, show choirs and musicals and starting to feel more at home with music and stage and performance than I ever had with the sports I grew up playing. Or reaching college and finding my first friends to play in cover bands with, and sing the kind of songs I loved to sing. Or graduating and drifting before making my way back to those friends and trying to write our own songs for the first time. The first time a melody or hook came to mind without much effort. The first time I learned that a hook was the easy part, and the first time I took a melody and actually put the work in to do something with it. The first time writing lyrics that felt competent, then the first time writing lyrics that felt good, followed by the first time writing lyrics that felt true and the first time that writing lyrics felt like muscle memory; like something I’d simply done my whole life. There was the first time I felt proud enough to share my music with the people in my life, and the first time I heard a song I’d finished recording and felt like it could belong next to the song of the artists I grew up loving and respecting. Lots of firsts, but never the first.

It’s not a unique feeling, but making music was something that felt like growing up, falling in love, getting old and dying - something that you just always knew was going to happen, something that was a matter of “when” not “if”. Inevitability.

Photo courtesy of Julian Bracero

It was my 25th birthday, March 22, 2020, when I felt the world stop. COVID-19 lockdowns went into effect in New York and my depression swallowed me whole. Reading felt impossible, my doctoral applications gathered dust and even the thought of turning on the television revolted me. In those early months I was restless and searching for something, anything, when I noticed my very neglected guitar sitting in the back of my closet. It was in the first moments of trying to sing and play, while being absolutely atrocious at both, that I felt more calm and certainty than I had in months and I figured, why not try to learn something new?

Before then, music had never been my art. An avid consumer of all things music, yes, but my prior creative endeavours had been quieter. I had wanted to be a painter, and even attained my Master’s in Fine Arts. In those years, music was a companion as I painted and studied but never a language I thought I could speak. I deemed myself too anxious to ever do something as bold as getting on stage. I had never even been able to sing at karaoke.

Yet, in the colder months of early lockdown, something shifted. The loneliness of the pandemic extinguished all my previous creative outlets, leaving me as a hollow echo of someone I once thought I was. Music suddenly became the only thing that made sense. I wrote my first song. I called it “Dead Air” and gained the courage to sing its raw melody over the only three chords I knew to a childhood friend, a seasoned musician and music teacher, over Zoom. He immediately started urging me to write and sing as much as possible, and that encouragement changed my life.

That summer, he brought me to local outdoor open mics. I felt immediately welcomed into a community of artists with a warmth I hadn’t expected. The art world I had come from had been cold and competitive, and here I was suddenly surrounded by people who lifted each other up. I found more and more of myself in the music I was writing.

It was through this community that I met Billy Rymer, who heard me sing and immediately wanted to work with me. To have an accomplished musician believe in me became a tangible pillar of my new reality. Billy and I became fast friends and ended up working together on a few projects before Billy introduced me to Michael, a plucky and optimistic bassist. Michael invited me to start writing and singing for a new project he and Billy were starting; a project which we later named Atomic Life.

As I reflect upon it all now, I can’t pinpoint exactly why music found me during lockdown. Maybe it was the immediacy of playing - the way it demanded my whole self in the moment. Or maybe it was always there, something I secretly carried around below the surface of myself that was jostled loose that spring. But what began as a desperate grasp for peace has become my anchor, my voice and my home. Those first tentative notes played on a dusty guitar led me to where I am now, no longer too afraid to try, even when my voice shakes.

Photo courtesy of Melanie Radford

When post-riot grrrl trio Blood Lemon set out to create their latest EP, Petite Deaths, they wanted to make something more “epic” in nature. They took their ideas to Joshua Tree and the Rancho De La Luna studio. From there, the five-song collection took on the influence of the desert.

“We put ourselves in a studio with an almost-mythological history and we made sure it was in a different city [and] environment than our hometown,” bassist Melanie Radford said. “We also recorded with Dave Catching and Jon Russo who were people that we hadn’t worked with before but really valued their input. It was all part of an effort to get ourselves out of our comfort zones so we could really stretch ourselves more and experiment with different sounds and musical textures.”

The songs on Petite Deaths are just as provocative as their debut self-titled albeit less overtly political. From the creation of their first album, they learned how to highlight each other’s strengths within their songwriting. This time around, they wanted to use that lesson to tell a story: complete with a beginning, middle and end.

“When you have a deep understanding of the musicians you’re working with, you can expand your collaborative songwriting processes and that felt like our intention when creating this EP,” Radford said. “It’s definitely a step forward to a newer, expansive sound for us.”

The perfect example of that is their song, “Mudlark”. It was not entirely finished when they brought it to the studio and they had to play it through multiple times in order to really find the structure of the song. It was the last song being recorded, and with limited time left at the studio, decisions had to be made quickly. This was nothing like their normal songwriting process, but trusting their instincts and understanding each other’s strengths brought the song to a fulfilling close.

It is also the song that Radford was most excited to share. Atmosphere and texture were incredibly important to her when it came to the songs, and the field recordings of desert coyotes howling in the distance is the exact tone she wanted these songs to encompass.

“It’s almost as though you finally get to relax and let the sounds wash over you and sweep you away,” she said.

After recording the five songs in Joshua Tree, they took their time on deciding to release them. They debated saving them for another full-length release but soon realized that these songs could stand on their own.

“It was like the recordings were a special time capsule that we culled together in the desert for four days,” Radford said. “There was no need to go back and add anything because we wanted to keep that special time locked in our memories as they were.”

With the intention of having the songs tell a story, the track listing was crucial. “High Tide” marks an energetic beginning, climaxes at “Mountain’r Lower” and smoothly transitions to “Mudlark” for the conclusion. Each song has its own story, with its own character and conflicts, yet they all come together for a common goal.

Blood Lemon truly challenged themselves on a batch of songs that became Petite Deaths. They turned a desert influence into a series of stories in hopes that listeners find them just as epic as they intended.

“I hope they feel like they went on multiple journeys,” Radford said. “I think if the listener can sit and intentionally listen through the whole EP, they’ll feel like they climbed an epic mountain.”

Photo courtesy of Don Gleeson

The moment I knew I would start Junestone was on June 16, 2018. My phone was dead, I was alone and I’d missed the bus from Burlington back to Hamilton with not a cab in sight. It looked like I was going to have to walk back. It was my 25th birthday. But I didn’t mind. There was no way walking back would be as difficult as the gig I’d just played with my old band, Easy Lemon. My next band would not be like this one.

Easy Lemon was an interesting band. It was not my idea to start, but was loosely named after me as at that time in my life, I peeled lemons and ate them like oranges most days of the week. It was started by a drummer who I used to date. He made the band specifically to play at a new local bar offering musicians bi-weekly residencies. It is still a miracle to me that I was ever in a band booked this way. Residencies were, and still are, largely unheard of. The owner of Zyla’s, Nick Zyla, is a musician himself, however. He adores live music, really cares about supporting it and he made it happen in his space.

While playing in Easy Lemon, I gained a lot of confidence as a musician. We barely had enough songs for two sets, but always played three. There was not always a monitor, but I would sing anyway. I learned how to stretch songs out and dealt with my stage fright as we went. We played primarily funk jams, jazz standards and original songs. The original songs with vocals went over especially well, so I began to focus on writing lyrics too. My personal life may have been a mess at this time, but it became very clear to me during these shows that I would sing and play original songs for the rest of my life. I am so thankful for my time spent in Easy Lemon and for all the gigs I played at Zyla’s, learning on the job. They were very formative and foundational shows for me.

Although we had many great times together, the lemon band inevitably became too much to bear. I think very few people can work successfully with someone who they used to date. Maybe on stage we seemed fine, but off-stage the band dynamic had become sour. We had talked about breaking up in January 2018 and even before that, but it wasn’t until that May that I officially dissolved the band. Still wanting and needing to make the small amount of money our outstanding gigs offered, we all agreed to play them. June 16 was our last one.

10 minutes into my walk back to Hamilton, another bus passed me. I immediately started running after it and amazingly the driver saw me and stopped. The moment of relief I felt is still very memorable. I eventually made it to my parents' place where my brother and sister, Ian and Elinor, were having a fire in the backyard. I was so glad to see them both. At that moment I felt like if I could survive until 25, I could do anything.

Two weeks later, I was driving back from Sauble Beach with some friends when I knew exactly who to ask. The idea for the new band was instant and overwhelming. It felt like it wasn’t my idea at all. I texted Ian, Justin and Borys right away and they all replied within the hour. We decided that we would meet in August and jam some songs together. I’d played with all three of them before, but never all at once. Borys and Justin had been playing together for many years already at this time, but I was so excited for them to meet my brother, Ian.

I’d already written three new songs: “Mind Your Business”, “BAD ENOUGH” and “WHO CARES?”. I got to work making charts and tracking demos for them right away and sent them out. Junestone’s first band meeting was later that summer on August 27. That was the moment the four of us first played songs together. Our first setlist included “Mind Your Business”, “BAD ENOUGH”, “WHO CARES?”, “So Nice”, “ANOTHER FACE”, “KITCHEN SONG” and “CUTTING KEYS”. We did not know what would happen next, but we knew that we were having a great time. We have been making songs together ever since. We are so excited that many of the first songs we played together are finally out on our first album, FIRST TRY.

Photo courtesy of Jasmine Day

Real World Studios is a renowned recording facility near Bath, England that offers a residential recording session open to musicians, writers and producers of all abilities. The three-day producer camp is offered twice a year and allows a chance to write, record, produce and mix an original song with the help of session musicians, established pop producers and writers, and top-flight engineers. This opportunity is hard to pass up, and alternative rock duo Plastic Rhino knew that it was on their to-do list for 2024.

Atara and Jack Glazer knew they wanted their trip to the U.K. to be the inspiration behind their time in the studio. When they visited Edinburgh, Scotland, it felt like two different places as the country’s capital transitioned from day into night. After sunrise, the history and beauty of Edinburgh shone. After sunset, the ghost stories came alive. The duo felt that, in a strangely sinister way, the history of death and destruction made it all the more beautiful.

The more they discovered, the more inspired they became. It was not long before “I Rise” took shape. They said that the song is about the beauty and tragedy of women’s history, particularly medieval times when women who showed power or independence were accused of and prosecuted for witchcraft.

“Society through the ages always tries to keep women down, but we always rise back up (like zombies) and take our power back,” Atara said.

At Real World Studios they worked with Howie Gill on drums, Adrian Utley of Portishead on synths and Jantine Heij of Skrillex on backing vocals. It was also the first time that they really took charge in the recording process. Jack quickly picked up the inner workings of Logic Pro, a software system designed with musicians in mind, and recorded all the instruments himself as well as edited the tracks as they came together. It was definitely the most challenging aspect but well worth the effort.

“It was a real sense of accomplishment doing everything ourselves and actually succeeding,” Atara said. “It is the coolest experience we have ever had as musicians, and the most amazing recording studio to take part of and record in.”

“I Rise” is a song that is meant to take the listener on a journey. They hope that listeners can feel the hope and the ache of the song. It is the dawn of a new era for Plastic Rhino, with three new songs and an EP on its way. They are motivated, they are energized and they are ready to show 2025 all that they have been working diligently on.

Photo courtesy of Marc Koecher

Lexie Jay had been through some things when the process of Featurette’s latest album, Panic Pills, began. Traumatic life events plagued every fiber of her being, to the point where she sought professional help and was given unsatisfactory relief. Instead, she turned to the one thing she knew would heal her: music.

The album had been in production for nearly four years, being the passion project that was quietly being put together while other singles and extended plays were released. From studio time in Vancouver to self-produced final cuts, Panic Pills went through a journey of its own to get to its ultimate form.

Recording began as early as 2021 but the band knew that those tracks would evolve as the project progressed. Jay said that she searched for the song’s identities as they took on new meanings through live performances and vocal sensibilities. The developmental process was extensive but for all the right reasons.

“The more that [the three of us] played live, the more we understood the energy,” she said. “I did a lot of growing up as well, not even just vocally or artistically. I think I really figured out what I wanted it to be and what feels good when I sing live and then we put some of that energy back into the recorded material. Having to tour that material and then discovering it again for the recording was such a different process.”

“Interrogation” is an example of a song that started out completely different in Vancouver than what is heard on Panic Pills. It was a song that had been on the set list as far back as 2017 and had seen several versions before coming into focus for Jay.

“That song has been in my blood forever,” she said. “I couldn’t say it right until I was daring enough to do so, and that only happened quite recently.”

The visuals were equally important when it came to the final product. It is part of their brand to make a plethora of visual components alongside the audio, and Panic Pills was no exception. The album art was inspired by a local graffiti artist in Toronto and brought to life with her bandmates Jon Fedorsen and Marc Koecher. The image of Jay surrounded by hands went from just an idea to a realization that many of the band’s previous covers involved hands. Now, as Jay emerges from them, an entire life of masking one’s true identity is shattered.

Seeing the colors that grace the album cover, Jay felt that those were the colors that needed to match each song. Some had their keys lowered, while others were cut completely as they no longer complemented the overall tone. The more she found her voice, the more she understood the importance of which songs did or did not belong on the album.

“Fires” is one of those songs. It is about flipping the script on this victimhood that she had been playing in almost every other narrative. This time, she would be the villain.

Jay believes that real magic was written into “Fire”. Inside a studio backlit with stained glass and featuring a piano with its interior open, Fedorsen and Koecher silently held down certain keys white Jay played the chords like a harp. Jay controlled the oscillating dial of a vibraphone while Fedorsen struck the mallet on the keys. Squeaks and squeals were processed to sound like electricity. A drum kit made entirely out of trash was played. It was a chance for the music to speak louder than the lyrics and for real humanity to be felt in it.

“We took the space to find the vision, which isn’t revelatory for any artist who’s done it, but it was for me because you don’t always feel like you can take up that kind of space,” Jay said. “We were able to this time and that was really special.”

“Golden Hour” is the song - and music video - that may have meant the most to Jay. The song, written about a horrific car accident that Jay was in with her grandmother, holds incredibly powerful lyrics about valuing life in those golden hour moments and deserved an equally powerful music video.

A preplanned trip to Iceland for a songwriting camp was the perfect opportunity to play a show and shoot a music video, so that is exactly what they did. A series of small miracles led them to shoot in the most ideal of scenarios and bring forth their most ambitious video to date.

“Golden Hour” is another example of a song that took on a new life when being performed live and needed that magic in the recorded version. Towards the end of the live song, the words “please let me stay” are repeated at the forefront of the music. Without wanting to take apart all the work that was already done on the recorded track, they layered it into the mix and almost buried it among the melodies. It brings yet another piece of humanity into their music.

What these songs have in common is that Jay needed to free herself and realized no one was going to do it for her.

“The monsters that made me [are] all over this record,” she said. “I was writing these people out of my body; I was trying to heal. The more that the darkness went from the inside of me purging onto the outside… Now I am covered in tattoos, my hair is really dark and dyed blue and I have this dark eye makeup. When I went into the studio to do this I had brown hair and no tattoos. The more I let it out the more colorful I get, the more free I am. These are my panic pills. These are the drugs I prescribe myself so I can save myself from the fucking disaster that was happening inside.”

Featurette, and specifically Lexie Jay, have used the songs from Panic Pills as their motivation to make it out on the other side of what was once their own apocalypse. Now they’re starting their own fires.

“If I ever had any doubts, I’ve written them out of existence. I literally wrote a new me into my story. It’s not that I grew up so much during that time and now I’m ready to say these things; it’s not that the transformation happened because of these songs. I was ready to brush some of that stuff off and just be honest about where I was at at whatever cost. I’m ready to be brave.”

I never really had an exact moment of wanting to make music that I can think of because of how young I was. I assume the obsession started before my working memory - most of the first things I can recall are singing/dancing/sitting in front of the stereo. Back then it wasn’t really about learning a particular instrument, I was so content with singing and drumming with my hands that I didn’t feel the need to slow down the process. My voice was way better back then too. The other thing I remember is not understanding all the things I loved were actually thought of as one thing. I thought the Peruvian flute band my parents played in was a completely different thing than Stevie Wonder or Miles Davis, and that drumming or singing to myself was a completely different thing from listening to Peter and The Wolf. I just remember not understanding that all these things fell into one category. Anyway, I’ve always liked music hahaha that’s what I’m trying to say. - Eric Steininger-Frost, songwriter

It’s hard to pinpoint the moment I knew I wanted to create music because I’ve had this winding jack-of-all-trades journey. I started playing guitar in 3rd grade because I wanted to look cool. My plan didn’t work, but along the way I started really liking music and got some lessons. Then I started playing cello and picking up other instruments along the way, but I never really committed to one. In high school, while I was playing guitar and singing in bands, I started learning Ableton on the side. That was where things really started to make sense to me and when I really started creating. I also started playing upright and electric bass, which is where I found my home as a performer. Since then I’ve played a lot of different roles, but I’ve realized that my relationship to music isn’t really defined by an instrument. That’s why making music on the computer and all the possibilities that come with it is so special to me. - Chris Worden, producer

We met as teenagers on opposite sides of our small town big band, with Eric on trumpet and Chris on upright bass. The band started as a fun way for us to escape the confines of our instruments, but it turned into a years-long project searching for ways to combine all of our influences. We had years of doing long-distance collaboration with non-stop, obsessive sessions. Both of us always felt that there was something really special about this project, and about a year ago we decided to really commit to it. We both moved to New York City and started working every day, releasing our monthly singles and building up to a new record.

Disney On Ice is bringing the party to hometowns across the country with its latest show, and the guest list is jam-packed with audience favorite Disney characters. Disney On Ice presents Let’s Dance stars Mickey, Minnie, Donald and Goofy as DJs, remixing classic Disney tunes with an all-new ice show. Stories new and old take the ice including Wish, Moana, Frozen II, The Lion King and The Little Mermaid.

The production is a nonstop party that encourages the audience to sing, laugh, dance and become a part of the magic. With cutting-edge figure skating, high-flying acrobatics, unexpected stunts, thrilling special effects and eye-catching costumes, the performers are certainly the highlight of the night.

The professional skaters of Let’s Dance have international backgrounds, originating from France, Norway, Ukraine, Finland, Japan, Brazil, England, Slovakia, Puerto Rico, Hungary, Netherlands, South Africa and Canada, as well as the United States. The unique skills of a Disney on Ice professional skater have been bringing beloved characters to life since 1981. They spend more than 550 hours preparing for a new tour and travel an average of 13,860 miles for just one tour. Skaters also need to prepare for multiple roles in a single show by changing costumes in under 30 seconds and applying makeup in less than three minutes, as well as being prepared to wear costumes weighing up to 50 pounds.

Many of the performers grew up with aspirations of professional ice skating and started at an early age. For Felipe Kubo, his childhood consisted of attending Disney On Ice performances every year when they came to his hometown of São Paulo, Brazil. It was his childhood dream to one day skate with Disney On Ice, and he has been living that dream since 2022.

“I enjoy being able to share the emotions and magic that I had when growing up watching Disney On Ice shows,” he said.

The first time Disney On Ice visited Kobe, Hyogo, Japan was a special day for Masaki Kondo. Not only was it the first time the production was visiting her hometown, but she was also performing in it. It is one of her best memories since joining in 2018, and she was so happy to have her friends and family be a part of the audience of such a memorable show.

Jessica Hatfield has been performing for Disney On Ice since 2015 and truly enjoys watching families create core memories at the shows. She has also been able to witness the joy that audience members feel after the show, which makes it all the more rewarding.

“I want to bring a little Disney magic to the families all over the country, especially locations that are far from any Disney theme park,” she said. “Our performances are the closest that many children and families will get to Walt Disney World or Disneyland.”

The magic of Disney can be seen and felt beyond a Disney On Ice performance. The time and energy that goes into a tour is apparent as professional skaters glide across the ice effortlessly. Disney On Ice presents Let’s Dance gives the music of adored Disney films a chance to sparkle as bright as their neon costumes.

Photo courtesy of Naz Massaro

When Elana Carroll set out to create her long-awaited third album, Pillow Talk, she knew she wanted to tackle heavy topics while keeping the tradition of a Party Nails album that represents empowerment and love.

An intoxicating mix of retro synthwave, futuristic electro-pop and lush indie rock engross the listener in 10 tracks. Described as a honey-colored party mood, Pillow Talk bends genre while expanding on the Party Nails sound that listeners are familiar with.

“I wanted it to feel really intense and visceral but also very accessible,” Carroll said. “I didn’t want it to be only a chill listen or [a] completely dark and brooding vibe. I knew my songwriting and voice would be a thread, so I just tried to allow what I was inspired to make to exist. I didn’t realize it as I was making it but the album is a lot about reconnecting with your childhood self, toxic relationships and boundaries, and identifying when you are in your own way or need to make a change.”

Her first album, Past Lives and Paychecks, and her second album, You Don’t Have To Go Home But You Can’t Stay Here, played an instrumental role in her latest album as the first two taught her a valuable lesson on songwriting.

“Let the songs guide you,” she said. “Honor what the songs are asking for.”

She didn’t specify a song on Pillow Talk but said that every one has its moment of great challenge and great reward. During the process, it is equal parts excitement over hearing the finished product and worry over the thought that a finished product may never happen. When it finally comes to fruition - usually quicker than expected - there is that longing to start at the beginning and watch the magic happen all over again.

DISCO is a music platform that allows artists to upload and manage their work throughout the recording process that Carroll found crucial when creating the final track list for Pillow Talk. It helps artists, as well as other creatives in the music industry, to revolutionize their music workflow.

“It’s super easy to change around the track listing as I’m trying to figure it out,” Carroll said. “I put them in an order I feel okay about, and then listen from the top until something feels out of place. Then I make an adjustment. Then I listen from the top again. I do this until I find the correct order.”

Pillow Talk is an album that is meant to throw the idea of genre out the window and replace it with feeling. Feeling less alone could be the main takeaway, but feeling anything at all will do. Party Nails has spent nearly a decade turning feelings to music and giving listeners a space to connect: with each other, with one’s self and with her.