Photo courtesy of David McDonald

Something that always stuck with us when we were younger was the Grateful Dead. They would have everyone around and some of the guys in the band were concerned with the company Jerry kept, like the Hell’s Angels. He would say everyone has a seat at the table, and if we deny someone a seat at the table now it’s going to create a growing problem. That’s what breeds hate; you divide, and if you divide the thing you hate, it’s coming back twice as hard.

When you look back on our parents' generation, they were in a much more rough circumstance so their outlooks are more binary and rough. This or that. Now it’s a whole new world. It’s not this or that; there’s a dimmer switch. There’s no on or off, there’s every increment in between that. We can go anywhere, it’s just waking up to the brilliance that is humanity.

We do find, as a whole, humanity is waking up to realize that we’re not categories. We’re waking up to realize that we aren’t just words. All these stories and this dumb stuff we’ve all done in the past were actually the cutting edge of consciousness in the universe. This is the cutting edge machine. We’re not pigeon holed and each individual human is a master artist, whatever that may be. It doesn't have to be drawing or music; we’re such complicated, sensitive and in-depth creatures. It’s not as if you’re good at piano you can’t be good at guitar. We have the capacity to be great at creation itself. To be great at everything.

It’s almost like we’re a baby about to be birthed into the new world; we don’t know what that new world is, so we might tend back to comfort. Unfortunately, our comfort right now as humans is war and hell and division. We were about to get into infinite creativity, and that’s just as terrifying, but there’s a whole lot less bloodshed and suffering. We don’t have to suffer as humans any longer. We feel shame and guilt about things. We’re trying to hide and deny that growth when we shove it down. It doesn’t go away, it grows bigger and eventually that little kitten now is a huge tiger.

There’s horrendous things that go on in this world, but if we were able to get the backstory of every single human and see what they went through - no matter how horrific their actions are - you would be able to understand and empathize why they’re in the position they’re in. That’s such a hard thing to do because we just want to say no and cut it off. Unfortunately that means ‘if I hate war so much I’m going to kill war’ and you could turn into war.

It’s not empathy or destruction; there’s so much more subtlety in between those poles. We almost feel like we’re just going through the trauma. If we don’t have empathy for each other, we’re in big trouble. Of course, there’s tons of things we don’t agree with, but we can’t just shoot it off and stuff it down. It’s going to create pressure. Forgiveness is big time. If someone is written off forever that means that you’re going to write yourself off forever too. You can’t hold yourself in the light and somebody else in darkness. You can’t do that and expect to be light when you’re holding somebody in darkness. That’s not how it works.

Everyone loves a redemption story. That’s the whole story of humanity, and it’s so hard to speak about this stuff without staking down a claim, but you’ve got to keep the dialogue open. It’s like tennis: you don’t just hit the ball over and it falls away. The person on the other side hits it back. You don’t necessarily want your point to win, you want to keep this interaction going so that we can understand each other. You realize if anyone spoke long enough and put down their belief system and all their defenses that you’re looking at yourself and every other human being. It’s just that they have different circumstances and different stories and different beliefs than you. That doesn’t mean it’s good, bad or otherwise; the best outcome for humanity is we all come together and share our strengths and weaknesses.

Mountain Head’s entire mission is creating what we think is missing out there musically. Our music is its own style; the way we sing, the way we play, it’s our own thing. All our songs are pointing to this present moment, being here now. The creativity shining a light on being yourself.

We did not come up with this, but we perform a symbolic ceremony that we call “Going Eagle”. We learned it through a calm nervous system, trial and error, and intense amounts of terror, fear and uncertainty. Have you ever noticed on totem poles that eagles are always at the top? We found out that the eagle supports the brain ascending up the totem pole to get to the eagle space. Now you have the full overview of everything that’s happening on the ground.

There’s too much animalism in humanity right now. When we came to Earth we started watching the animals and we started copying them. That’s not our job. We need to learn how to tame that beast in us so we can ascend up to the eagle. You can look at the overview and then you can come back to the ground and hunt, but you don’t want to do those out of order. You need to know that you can be that but you need to know how to reign it in.

In the blink of an eye, Anh Le had her world flipped upside down. It started the day she took the Law School Admission Test. A get-together to celebrate the completion of the test brought forth some unsavory news about the person she had been seeing for the last five years. Before she had time to fully deal with the breakup, her father became ill and required her to move from New York to Pennsylvania to assist her family. The only way for her to process her emotions was through songwriting.

She said it wasn’t really a choice for her to write songs about that moment in her life; the songs just came to her. Whether she was sitting in the hospital with her family or sitting alone in the replica of her Wisconsin childhood bedroom, she felt one with her pen. By the time each and every emotion made its way onto a page, she knew she had a full-length album in the works.

“I ended up finding out I was being very thoroughly misled about so many things,” she said. “It just shattered this illusion of this love story that I was so attached to, that really defined me for so long.”

At the time, she convinced herself that she was fully prepared to quickly release music. Was that thought partly based on the idea that this person that wronged her would surely hear it and know the damage they caused? Yes. Is that why she ultimately waited a year before slowly releasing each song? Also yes. Those feelings pushed her to complete the music, but as she sat in those feelings, she knew she needed the time to perfect them.

During that time, the song “Gut Feeling” presented itself. She was working through her emotions, having conversations with herself and searching for a clarity that led her to the lyrics. In the middle of writing it, everything about it felt like the first single. Eventually, she was honing in on the lyrics with the intention of sharing it with her audience first. “The Plot” and “Corrine” would follow, almost creating a trilogy to tell the beginning of her story.

“It feels like a hero’s journey, where the first three songs lay out who I thought that I was a couple of years ago,” she said. “The next three feel like it represents the thick of what will happen, and then the third three is everything that I’ve decided since then and how I’ve chosen to move on from that time; the person I’m meant to be coming out of it.”

In order to perfect the songs, she wanted to tackle production on her own. Initially she felt bad as she has worked with producers in the past that she loved working with and plans to do so again, but a newfound confidence from her time spent in Pennsylvania made her want to step out of her comfort zone.

It started with driving on the highway. The second time she had ever driven on the highway, in fact. Although she received her driver’s license as a teenager, she had never really driven anywhere far or without someone in the passenger seat. After moving to New York, driving wasn’t necessary, but when she found herself in Pennsylvania and taking care of her father, she had to conquer her fear.

“The only thing that stopped me was my own mind,” she said. “It had been such a big road block personally for me, and I think my relationship with producing and my own music shifted around then too.”

She started small - driving to the mall and back - and one day she felt like she could conquer anything. That included juggling law school and creating her album at the same time.

“It’s going to be really hard,” she said. “Challenging in many ways I can’t even imagine and predict now, but I think it just felt like this was where it was pulling me towards.”

Her journey thus far had been a musical one, but pre-ÊMIA she found passions in political science, speech and debate. An integral moment that made her want to pursue something outside of music came from watching the struggles of her non-verbal, autistic brother as he and their family took on the public school system. Le was a major advocate for his education, partly due to the language barrier between district officials and Le’s mother. They thankfully had assistance from advocates who knew laws and templates guaranteed to make a difference, and seeing their dedication make an impact on Le.

In a way, law school is another form of creativity for her. One side is logical while the other is ruleless. One is structured and one is chaotic. She sees creativity in both, and believes that in the end they will balance each other out.

Le believes that having a background in the music industry did prepare her for law school. Nothing comes as a surprise to her; she knows a thing or two about self-taught, independent, last-minute curriculums that may or may not impact her future. The last year challenged her in ways she couldn’t imagine, but being on the other side of it has made her all the more ambitious. To her, becoming a lawyer while writing, recording and producing her debut full-length are two sides of the same coin.

In November of 2005, I was born into a very musical home. Actually, before I was even born, my parents, who had their degrees in music, were playing Portuguese music to me through headphones on my mom’s stomach.

A lot of my confidence in music ties back to the way I was raised. Before I even turned 10, my dad curated a special playlist for my younger sister and me to fall asleep to every night. That playlist defined a lot of my taste in music going forward. I remember we even had an iPod, like, one of the really old ones that only played music for the car because we’d rarely ever listen to the radio. It was always some obscure indie music my dad was into.

Music was always playing around the house. I don’t think I’ve ever lived without a piano taking up a crucial space in the living room, where in another house you might’ve had a TV instead. A lot of people who don’t grow up this way but want to pursue music tend to feel embarrassed to sing too loudly in their room or play the piano, knowing the whole house could hear it, but it never felt like that for me. Before I even learned to play any instruments, I listened to my parents play. My dad would always play this one melody on the piano that he composed, which, if I heard it today, I could still sing along with it.

Because of these experiences, once I had picked up piano lessons, then eventually singing lessons, then eventually guitar lessons, it didn’t feel like there was ever a wrong or right time to practice. I didn’t need to be home alone to start belting Demi Lovato in my room. The same went for my sister, and we spent a lot of time singing and playing songs together, which we still do today.

Throughout elementary school, I switched around constantly between what I wanted to be. In the first grade, I wanted to be a basketball star…big dreams. Later on, once I had started voice lessons, I pictured myself as a singer, yet that didn’t last long. By the seventh grade, I had decided to be a photographer, and by the 11th grade, I was pretty sure I was set to become a film director.

During high school, I started taking songwriting more seriously. I was always the kind of person to see something or hear something and say, “I really want to do that myself”, so I did. I picked up the guitar, which I had maybe two months' worth of experience on, and I started teaching myself. The first song I learned on my own, though it was pretty ambitious, was “Blackbird” by The Beatles.

Then, I discovered Lizzy McAlpine and Phoebe Bridgers’ music, and that’s when my attitude completely shifted towards songwriting. I wanted to sound exactly like them. During the COVID quarantine, I had so much time to learn essentially every single song they both ever wrote on the guitar. That led me to write my own stuff, though a lot of them ended up sounding like copies of Lizzy’s music, but we all start somewhere.

Gradually, I started showing these songs to my singing teacher at the time, and every song was a more improved version of the last. I started to feel like maybe I was actually good at this. This was definitely the moment I knew I wanted to make music.

Still, I was only 15 at the time, and actually, I really had no idea what I was meant to do in my life. I studied film for two years in college before I realized that, even though it was fun to make movies all this time, I just wanted to study music.

Throughout this realization, I kept writing songs. I’d record them, but they’d never go anywhere. Finally, after my last year in college, my first single debuted on all streaming platforms. Seeing my name there, with my song title, with my picture, with my description… that was the coolest thing ever. That’s when it solidified for me. I want to make music. I want this to be my life.

All of this to say, I’ve been constantly learning about myself and what motivates me to work towards something. There are a lot of ways to get discouraged, to feel like everyone else is doing it better than you and even to sometimes doubt whether a passion of yours is really something you want to commit yourself to. It can be a lot of work, but then I go see an artist I like performing live, and I’m like, “Wow. I really want to be up there too one day”, and then I know it’s real.

Disney On Ice showcases world-class figure skating, high-flying aerial acrobatics, dazzling special effects, engaging interactive moments and enchanting music. Their latest production, Jump In!, invites the audience to celebrate the magic of memories alongside their latest gadget, the Magical MousePad.

The Magical MousePad has all sorts of apps to choose from - a blue and white snowflake, a yellow sun, a glowing stingray - all with the ability to transform the room into an iconic Disney film. Mickey, Minnie, Donald and Goofy journey into the heart of unforgettable tales of the high seas, the bustling metropolis, vibrant countries and more with the help of their enchanted tool.

The all-star cast includes over 50 Disney stars, and is the only place audiences can see Anxiety alongside Joy, Sadness, Disgust, Anger and Fear from Inside Out 2, as well as multiple new characters from Moana 2.

Even though the clock has already struck midnight and a brand-new year has been welcomed in, it’s not too late to add a touch of Disney magic to any New Years resolutions. Disney On Ice: Jump In! is all about making memories, so here are 10 magical ideas to spark joy, imagination and adventure all year long!

Graphic created by Hard Pass Creative

Black is the New AP Style is turning 10 years old, and we’re celebrating all year long! 

First things first, say hello to our anniversary artwork. Here are some fun facts about it:

After the tragic loss of Strange Boutique’s seminal guitarist Fred “Freak” Smith, bandmates Monica Richards and Steve Willett reunited to play a show in his honor. Despite more than two decades since their final performance at the original Black Cat in Washington, D.C., playing together again felt like more than a one-night special event.

The next day, the two sat down and discussed the overall joy felt the night before. Being on stage made them happy. Dennis Kane, who had been a friend and protégé of Smith’s, took extra care of the songs with his own guitar playing. The audience seemed genuinely thrilled to see these songs shared in a live environment again. The band came to the same conclusion: they were more than ready to make new music together.

Kane and Willett wrote and recorded demos in D.C. before sending them to Richards in California, who in turn would send back lyrical and melodic sketches of what she wanted to add.

“It was a thrill to hear what she would add to the demo,” Willett said. “It was always the icing on the cake.”

Two years of writing, recording and working around one another’s schedules proved that this was meant to be. Willett said that it was magical and rewarding to have new music that still sounds like Strange Boutique. It was a sound that could not be replicated with their other musical endeavors, yet it was so easy to slip back into. It felt completely natural.

“If we learned anything from the experience I’d say it’s that when we feel our feet are to the fire, we can dance,” Willett said.

“I felt very happy about [Strange Boutique’s return], and I know Fred would feel happy and proud if he was here,” Richards added.

Their most proud moment during the creation process was watching the string quartet give the songs an entirely new sound. They had initially decided to add strings to “Under Surface”, a song that they felt was unusual for them and needed to step outside their comfort zone of bass/drums/guitar. Kane wrote the score, which led to the decision that it would make sense to add strings to more than one song.

“The day in the studio with the string section was such a positive experience,” Willett said. “A minute into the first take, all the anxiety and questions about whether or not it would work just disappeared. Hearing the string section do their parts for the first time was so incredible; they added so much depth and extra color. It really brought those songs to life. Suddenly, they just worked in a way they hadn’t before.”

When Richards heard the final mixes, she knew they were onto something. She always writes lyrics with an overarching theme or story, yet this time she went with how it felt to listen to the album all the way through.

“Doing a track listing takes time to feel the rhythm, the highs and lows,” she said. “Not a linear story exactly, but how it feels in the gut.”

When Willett sent Richards the first demo of what would become “Whistle, And I Will Come To You”, her first take at a vocal melody was powerful. Willett said that it seemed to express a sense of hope and defiance and desperation. Being one of the last songs written for the album, it felt like the most natural way to close it out. When he first heard the lyric, “let the lonely heart sing”, he knew they had their album title.

Let The Lonely Heart Sing is being heard in a much different time than its predecessor, The Kindest Worlds. Long gone are the days filled with less technology and more tangibility. However, the global connection has given an underground band a larger chance of being discovered.

“People feel they have discovered us on their own, and they connect to our songs,” Richards said. “It makes it all feel timeless, in a way. The current scene, standing in front of kids who have discovered us recently and are SO into it! That makes me very happy!”

Growing up in the late 90s/early 00s, we always had guitars laying around as my dad used to do some picking back in the 70s and 80s. I always felt this draw to creating music from banging pots and pans to my parents getting me a cassette recorder for my birthday one year.

Around grade 6, I stopped going to school. I felt like I was some sort of outsider on account of bullying, learning difficulties, etc. I was eventually placed in an alternative education program with several other students, where we would learn about going at your own pace or focusing on your strengths and learning styles. We had this music teacher that would come on Wednesdays and was super inspiring. They encouraged me to focus on practicing my guitar and putting my energy into this outlet. This got to a point where every day I would go in and my mornings would just be spent learning new songs or practicing my chords or scales. I think this was the beginning of this life-long journey of putting my feelings, or sometimes even subconsciously putting things that I wasn't even aware of at the time, into my music.

Creating music became a way to get myself through difficult times. No matter how hard things would get, at least I knew I could pick up my guitar and turn whatever I was going through into something potentially beautiful or something that could create joy in those around me. Through my parents divorce this was a place I could escape to. I think even still this is something that is hard to explain to non-art types but I think at the time I didn't even realize its importance. To this day I have a difficult time articulating it.

Fast forward to me starting high school. Obviously I was a little weirdo. Still am! I didn't really fit in anywhere despite trying. But, I now had a certain confidence knowing that at least I was pretty decent at the guitar. I always wanted to play in a rock and roll band but wasn’t taken seriously by any of my peers. Kinda made me a bit sad to be honest. But Thomas Duxbury does not give up! No, no… we go to the Classifieds section of Kijiji! I found a saxophone player and convinced a fellow guitar-playing weirdo at Westdale Secondary School to come meet this sax player off the internet. I’m still friends with both of them today, but due to some obvious creative differences, that “band” lasted maybe 3-4 jam sessions. I went through a few other situations like this until I found Keith Mosfet looking for a bass player. I thought to myself, ‘heck yeah I can learn bass!’ I reached out explaining that I am a proficient bass player in search of a band, and he agreed to bring me in for an audition. I bought the cheapest bass I could find, and we formed a band together.

The band lasted two shows, but Keith and I got to chatting and at this point my guitar chops were actually now something that could be worked with. We discussed the idea of beginning another band. We just need to find a bassist. I had recently become super close with my friend Sadie Kostash (featured on the new track, “Istanbul”), and we began a group called The Retroaction.

This was my first experience in booking shows, playing festivals, releasing music, etc. Armed with this following the breakup of this project, I recruited a number of amigos from the Mohawk College music program to start a new band. I had returned to college for Business Administration to tie this knowledge to my making things work as a musician while also getting a transferable skill.

A bit before The Retroaction split, I had started to get the itch to play bass again. So where do I go? Back to my trusty Kijiji! I posted an ad saying, “bass player looking to jam”, and literally within minutes of this ad going up I got an email from Bruce Cole from a band called The Blank Spaces who was eager to rip some tunes! I get there, and the mastery of chord progressions, melody and songwriting I was met with absolutely blew me away. I couldn’t really keep up so I saw this as an opportunity to practice some drums a bit and maybe try my hand at some more complex bass parts. Ultimately this led to me learning a whole other side of this world: the jam and hang side!

Back in school, bandless but with a good network of jam buds, I immersed myself in all the business things. Got way into accounting for a semester. Absolutely cannot tell you a single thing about it in hindsight. Around December I saw a poster that the Mohawk Student Association was looking for a Mohawk College band to open for The Dirty Nil and Sam Coffey & The Iron Lungs for an on-campus event. I think to myself, ‘I could probably talk some buds into this and wing it.’ I recruited Bruce Cole, Sadie Kostash and another member of The Blank Spaces, Zach Ridehalgh, to form a last-minute, all-star band, New Mother Nature.

We learned just enough tunes to pass an audition, and boom! New Mother Nature’s first gig! January 9, 2020, opening for The Dirty Nil and Sam Coffey & The Iron Lungs! Two legendary bands, and us scrambling to get a set together for our first gig. This gig went decently, but in the nature of this up and down zig zag progression, we were starting a project off strong when we all know what happened immediately after January of 2020…

Now here I am, back to square one. The world has ended and I have all these songs that I want to do something with. I cannot see my friends. I cannot play shows or create with them. So what do I do? Give up on it all? That code does not exist. I ordered some Rode M5s and learned nine of my songs on drums, bass, guitar and keyboard. I used this cheap, clapped-out interface and a 12-year-old Macbook, and I spent six months painstakingly learning to record and mix tunes while also working around the technological limitations I had. Sadie insisted on being in my little bubble and coming by to record some better bass tracks, and my my I am glad she did, because she laid down some fire! This became the album Back 40 Homegrown.

After Back 40 Homegrown, music had taken a bit of a pause. I feel like I had said what I needed to say at the time. This was until I saw an old four-track cassette machine in a thrift store. From here I set out on a bit of a challenge. I wanted to record a single only using a cassette machine, learning the limitations of this. This challenge led to several singles, with "Istanbul" being the latest.

I was asked what was the moment I knew I wanted to make music, but I don’t think there is a simple answer to that for me. It is hard to explain why I am drawn to this career path with little monetary gain. There is some different type of fulfillment that comes from all this that I have learned a lot of people don’t really get, thus making me a weirdo. For the rest of this story you’re going to have to stay tuned to the adventures of Thomas Duxbury and New Mother Nature.

Photo courtesy of Dana Gorab

Truth be told, I wasn’t lucky enough to get tickets to the concert itself (although I tried hard), but I bought the online stream for the day and it’s still one of the moments I’ll never forget. It happened during the birthday party of a friend-of-a-friend in Santo André (São Paulo, Brazil). He’s also a big fan, so he was more than happy to put the show on his TV and sound system so we could watch it together.

Me and a close friend - also his friend - arrived early because we wanted to catch all the opening bands. With Brazil being three hours behind the UK, the show technically started around 10:30 a.m. We only managed to get there near the end of Pantera’s set, around 3 p.m., and immediately cracked open some beers. At that point it was just the two of us watching the stream; not even the host was ready yet, but he still let us in so we wouldn’t miss anything.

We’re huge fans of Ozzy and Sabbath, so the anticipation was massive. More guests slowly arrived, surprised to find a live-streamed metal show in the middle of a birthday party. Hours (and beers) later, Ozzy was finally about to come on. The lights went down, the crowd on-screen started screaming and we were standing there in the living room, eyes glued to the TV. My veins were buzzing when “O Fortuna” played, that iconic prelude he’s used since the Randy Rhoads era.

Then Ozzy appeared. Knowing how fragile he’d been, how much his music meant to me… I burst into tears immediately. When Zakk Wylde hit the opening riff of “I Don’t Know”, the emotion shifted into pure joy; witnessing that moment unfolding in real time. My friend looked at me and said, “Are you crying, man?!” I nodded. He laughed and gave me an “aww”, half teasing, half touched.

The next song was “Mr. Crowley”, one of my favourites. I couldn’t help thinking back to being a kid, spending five months learning that solo - a breakthrough moment that made everything else on guitar feel easier afterward. Then came “Suicide Solution”, and we toasted the song with fresh beers, soaking in the moment.

After that, Ozzy gave a speech. At first it was hard to understand - between the crowd noise, the party around me, his thick accent and the Parkinson’s making things harder - but once I tuned in, he was talking about how difficult the past years had been. I remembered having tickets to see him in Birmingham in 2019, postponed again and again. Then he said, “You have no idea how I feel… thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Knowing his love for the stage and his fans, that line hit hard. I broke down again.

Zakk started “Mama, I’m Coming Home” and as the cameras cut to the audience, everyone was crying. I looked at my friend; he was crying too. We looked at each other and laughed through it, overwhelmed by how intense it all felt.

He closed with “Crazy Train” and we both knew that was likely his last song of the night. I wasn’t sad; I was excited thinking I’d still see Black Sabbath right after it and convinced myself he still had some years left - so perhaps another album, maybe another farewell show. “Crazy Train” turned the whole room into a celebration.

I had no idea he only had a few weeks left to live.

Still, I’m grateful. For his music, his madness, his heart. Our music - hell, the entire landscape of heavy metal music - would sound very different without him. At this moment in my life, I don’t really believe in a God, but… God bless you, Ozzy, wherever you are.

Love you more.

Photo courtesy of Shervin Lainez

The music of the holiday season ranges from classic to contemporary, bringing joy to any generation. Lindsey Stirling was not only a fan of holiday music, but was creating a joyful career of her own in the music industry when she decided to release Warmer in the Winter. It debuted at number one on Billboard’s Classical Crossover Chart, and was the catalyst for her annual holiday tour.

Since 2017, Stirling has taken her holiday songs on the road and 2025 is no different. The Snow Waltz Tour combines the most loved songs from Warmer in the Winter and her second holiday album, Snow Waltz, for a magical evening.

The audience at a recent tour stop in Waukegan, Ill. were left in awe as Stirling, her dancers and her band took turns at showcasing their talents. Aerial performances, cozy backdrops and multiple costume changes transformed the Genesee Theatre into a winter wonderland.

For fans that follow Stirling on social media, they know that her costumes throughout the night are usually handmade. The royal blue number was made from scraps. The traditional Huipil and Falda was recently upgraded after her recent tour in Mexico. The final red ensemble was carefully rhinestoned to perfection. The variety of wardrobe changes also applied to the dancers, each with corresponding attire. It was not only a cohesive story being told through fashion, but elevated the stage as a glittering prop.

It was clear that the songs chosen for the setlist, as well as the moments in between, were her unique brand of storytelling. A pirate element made a surprise appearance to the show, a nod to her upcoming Master of Tides cruise. Two of her dancers (and later, her stage manager and drummer) performed as the Haynes sisters, this time a nod to Stirling’s favorite holiday film, White Christmas. And why not have Halloween on Christmas, just like Jack and Sally intended, with skull masks and a waltz through the crowd.

Holiday traditions may include watching classic films, attending a tree lighting ceremony, going ice skating or making the perfect cup of hot cocoa. For many, their holiday tradition has involved a Lindsey Stirling live performance. The Snow Waltz Tour is every bit magical as intended, and highly recommended to enhance anyone’s holiday cheer.