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.

Graphic created by Lucas Seidel Design

Gather 'round the open fire for Chimneyside Chats - a monthly feature with holiday stories from our favorite artists. See what's in their stockings this year as they reminisce on holiday memories, share their favorite recipe and more! Here's what country powerhouse Jacquie Roar had to say:

Graphic created by Lucas Seidel Design

Gather 'round the open fire for Chimneyside Chats - a monthly feature with holiday stories from our favorite artists. See what's in their stockings this year as they reminisce on holiday memories, share their favorite recipe and more! Here's what indie pop artist Dani Felt had to say:

Graphic created by Lucas Seidel Design

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and thanks for the opportunity to share a lovely recipe. We, Jupe Jupe, love the holiday traditions this time of year, primarily because they involve gatherings with great company, music, beverages and food. However, like so many folks on the darker end of the fashion street, holiday gatherings can be a conundrum. Does wearing all black dampen the mood or send the message we’ve got no spirit? Of course not. And if you follow our recipe below, you’ll find that you can also not lose your sense of fashion or nail polish just because Grandpa is coming with a Danish Kringle. Our blue velvet red beans and rice will let you keep your colors in the food and off your body.

Before you get started, open a bottle of wine. Put on music. I’d suggest including Jupe Jupe’s “I Saw Three Ships” to your holiday mix, just like Black is the New AP Style did on their Chimneyside Chats playlist below. Note: The beans should soak in salted water for at least eight hours by the time you’ve had a glass of wine and started your playlist.

Graphic created by Lucas Seidel Design

There are many debates among Christmas celebrants about The Tree - how tall it should be, how early in the autumn to put it up, how to decorate it, when to take it down. But no debate is more fiery, more fundamental to the whole enterprise, than the debate of Real Tree vs. Artificial Tree.

I grew up firmly in the Real Tree tribe, so much so that I never questioned the supremacy of that position - never even saw it as a position a person held. It was just the way things were done. Our family wasn’t particularly hardcore on the spectrum of Christmas traditions, but this one held up across many years. Every November we would go to a patch of forest in the mountains outside my hometown in Colorado and harvest a beautiful fir tree (I assume legally). When that got too hectic, we’d go to a local gardening store called Spencer’s and peruse their vast lot for the perfectly imperfect tree.

The house would be filled with the smell of evergreen. We’d change the water in the little basin in the bottom of the stand. We’d sweep up the needles, which eventually would overwhelm the living room. We’d wonder (sometimes aloud) about whether the old strings of lights with their tangibly hot bulbs would ever pose a fire risk. The rites and rituals of the Real Tree tribe.

And yet here I sit, years later, the unapologetic owner of an Artificial Tree made of five discrete pieces to be carefully extracted from their XXL storage duffel and assembled the day after Thanksgiving. No needles falling, no fire hazards posed by the built-in lights, no debate about which way the perfectly symmetrical cone needs to face. No evergreen smell, unless from douglas fir candles (I wouldn’t wish a spill of fake pine scent oil on my worst enemy). No trees harmed in the making of our celebration - unless you want to spin up an environmental impact analysis and have that debate.

How did I get here? Like a frog boiled slowly, I got cooked without being fully aware. I married someone from the Artificial Tree tribe, whose wisdom and pragmatism slowly chipped away at my Real Tree dogma. We got a tiny fake tree when we weren’t going to have an official tree because of travel. Then, one day, we got a huge one at Costco, where we get everything. We just bought it. Despite myself, I must admit that it is beautiful, and as effective at conjuring the Christmas Spirit as any hand-sawed, weirdly shaped forest tree.

But my cognitive dissonance, my decades as part of the Real Tree tribe, needed just a bit more help. So, as I do in situations where I’m struggling to rationalize a decision I’ve made, I wrote a song. It’s called “o Xmas tree” - an adaptation of the classic O Tannenbaum - and it’s about our plastic tree. If the joy of this holiday hinges on whether the tree is “Real” - or for that matter, whether any particular facet of Christmas is “Real” - we’re already in trouble. So I’m going to take a deep breath of (artificial but very convincing) fir tree aroma, and just not worry about it.

The mother of all artificial trees

Graphic created by Lucas Seidel Design

My sister and I started a tradition on Christmas Day where we go to the local bird sanctuary to feed all the winter birds and animals. We started this for a multitude of reasons, mainly because we love animals, and before music I had plans to be a zoologist. Also because both of our parents are only children and we don't have many people to hang out with over the holidays.

Feeding songbirds at the Lynde Shore Conservation Area

Graphic created by Lucas Seidel Design

I have Polish roots on my mom’s side, and one of our family’s Christmas traditions involves baking a braided Polish bread known as a chałka. One year, when my mom and her sisters were in high school, my grandpa (who has now passed away and for whom I wrote a song entitled “Under the Pines”) put them in charge of taking the bread out of the oven once it had cooked. He had spent hours lovingly kneading and braiding it, and it was very important to him.

When my mom and her sisters lost track of time and realized too late that the bread had overcooked and was as hard as a rock, they were horrified! My aunt then had the brilliant and creative idea of putting a bow on it and hanging it on the front door as a decoration. When my grandpa came home, he asked his daughters, “Is that Christmas decoration what I think it is??”

Needless to say, the braided bread (which they subsequently lacquered) hung on my grandparents’ front door over the holidays for close to 50 years. A few years back, I decided to attempt to bake my own chałka in memory of my grandpa, and I was astonished to learn upon arriving at my grandma’s that year that the lacquered bread had crumbled a few minutes before my arrival; I arrived to see my cousin picking up its pieces. I have taken this as a sign that I should continue the family tradition of baking a chałka!

Braiding bread, a Polish tradition called  Chałka