Some days memories don’t just visit me, they flood in like they’ve been waiting just beneath the surface. A song in a grocery store. A smell in a hallway. A random object sitting in my house that suddenly transports me somewhere else entirely. Before I know it, I’m no longer standing in the present. I’m everywhere I’ve ever been. I find myself thinking about the people who are no longer here. Not just remembering them, but missing them in a way that feels physical, like somet

It started with one bill. Just one. Nothing dramatic on paper. Nothing that should have changed everything. But something about it hit differently than it should have. And it sent me into a spiral. A quiet one at first. Then heavier. Then familiar. That sinking feeling. The shutdown. The sense of everything piling up at once until I couldn’t hold it all in anymore. Before I knew it, I was back in a place I know too well. Depression. Isolation. Loud music. Silence from the wor

There are concerts, and then there are moments in time that become part of who you are. The sold-out Triumph and April Wine show at the Michigan Lottery Amphitheatre at Freedom Hill was one of those moments. The day was perfect for a road trip and a concert. The kind of Michigan day that reminds you why summer concert season is sacred. As we pulled into the parking lot, I couldn’t help but smile. Everywhere I looked were waves of gray hair. Gen X had arrived, with a light dus

I know I have been pretty absent lately when it comes to blogging, music posts, podcasts, bracelets, and honestly just life in general. The past month has been rough in ways I didn’t expect. Most of my energy has gone into helping my son through some really intense health anxiety. First it was high heart rates, then low heart rates, and suddenly we were spending days going back and forth to hospitals, doctors, tests, and trying to find reassurance anywhere we could. Watching

I keep coming back to this topic lately, probably more than once, and honestly I think it’s because of how much I love live music and how frustrating it is watching what touring has turned into in 2026. The more I read about bands canceling tours, downsizing, or struggling to even get on the road, the more it just sits with me. Not because people don’t care about music anymore, but because the system around live music has gotten so difficult that even the passion behind it is

Tonight was the night I had been waiting for since October, the sold-out Yungblud concert. And honestly? I almost didn’t go. I’ll admit it, I was a little bummed about being on the lawn. Of course I wanted closer seats. But at the same time, I kept reminding myself… I was going. That alone mattered. Especially lately. Life has been heavy. The kind of heavy that drains you without asking permission. And this morning, I almost let that win. I almost stayed home. But something s

Troutzillafest is one of those nights that doesn’t just end when the last note is played. It lingers. In your head, in your body, in the quiet after the chaos. It’s the reminder of why this thing exists in the first place, even when it’s hard, even when it’s exhausting, even when it feels like too much for just two people to carry. You have to understand, Troutzillafest isn’t run by a big team. It’s just me and Damien. That’s it. He’s usually the one physically handling setup

I’m going to keep saying this, and I mean it. I will be screaming this until my last breath, or until I get dementia and forget, lol. Coming from someone who has been around this long enough to actually see it, not just talk about it, a lot of people who say they support musicians don’t. And yeah, that might sound harsh, but it is the truth. I’ve watched the struggle up close. I’ve seen the stress, the burnout, the disappointment when things don’t move the way they should. I’

I wake up every day wondering what version of the day I’m going to get. Some days feel manageable before I even open my eyes, and others feel heavy from the moment I become aware of them. That uncertainty has become part of my routine, something I carry before my feet even hit the floor. Lately, I’ve been questioning my purpose in a very real, personal way. I don’t always recognize the person I see in the mirror anymore, and that’s hard to admit. I see time. I see changes I d

Because the moment Mick hit the stage, none of that mattered anymore.

I sit here quietly, watching Buster curled up in his favorite spot, breathing slow and steady, completely at peace. There’s something about moments like this that make time feel louder than anything else in the room. You don’t hear it ticking, but you feel it deep in your chest, in the memories that suddenly come rushing back, in the realization that the years didn’t ask for permission before passing by. Fourteen years. It feels like both a lifetime and no time at all. Time i

If your support only shows up when it is convenient, you are not a supporter, you are part of the problem killing independent music. Let’s get something straight from the start. I am not speaking from the outside looking in. I have been in independent music for almost two decades. I have worked with bands, booked shows, promoted concerts, and stood in rooms built on pure passion, not labels, not money, not industry backing. I was a DIY promoter. That means I paid for shows ou

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Some days, life hits you with everything at once. And I don’t mean a little bad luck....I mean full-on chaos that makes you question how you’re even going to breathe through it all. It started with my beagle getting sick. Then my front tooth broke, the one I can’t hide when I talk or smile. I refuse to smile because of it. I feel embarrassed. I feel ugly. I feel like people are judging me, and honestly, that thought eats at me. I’ve had people actually do that... judge me bec

Sometimes life doesn’t just throw one problem your way. Sometimes it feels like everything hits at once your family, your health, your job, until you wonder how everything you thought was stable could change so quickly. At the start of the yearmy beagle Vic got sick, in February we lost Vic. He had been sick for months and eventually lost the ability to walk. Saying goodbye was heartbreaking, but life didn’t slow down long enough for us to grieve. The week before we lost Vic,

I used to think survival meant silence. I learned early how to move fast. Cook fast. Clean fast. Fix things fast. Don’t take too long. Don’t leave a mess. Don’t give anyone a reason to get upset. I rush when I cook to this day. Not because I have to, but because somewhere deep inside me, I still hear my mother’s voice telling me to hurry up. I still feel the tension of not doing it right or fast enough. I still brace for criticism that isn’t even there anymore. I panic over l

I’m going to say something a lot of you may not like — and honestly, I don’t care. I care about a lot of independent artists, and as a fan of music first, before my love of working with bands, I need to say this. Liking a band is not the same as supporting a band. Commenting “I love you guys!” is not support. Streaming their songs? That’s not enough. Sharing a post once in a while? Not support. Support is action. Real, tangible action that keeps the dream alive. Independent a

Lately, I’ve felt alone. Not because no one is around — but because the weight I’m carrying feels invisible. Financial stress. Grief. Worry. Exhaustion. The kind of weight that doesn’t show up on the outside but sits heavy in your chest. It all started with work. November and December were slow. I used every bit of time I had just trying to survive. Already, I felt behind before everything else even began. Then my dog got sick. The worry of watching him struggle broke somethi

Yesterday, I had to say goodbye to my beagle Viclyn—Vic for short, sometimes Land Seal, sometimes SausageMcMuppy, sometimes Vicalickin. My heart is shattered. I don’t think I’ve ever felt pain this sharp. Vic wasn’t just a dog. He was my constant, my comfort, my witness through so many losses—my mom, friends, exes, the fathers of my children, other pets. He was there for all of it, quietly loving me, keeping me steady. And now he’s gone. Vic lived to be almost 14 years old, b

Vic is almost 14. He and his littermate Buster have been side by side their whole lives. Buster has his own quirks and minor issues, but overall he’s healthy. Vic’s sudden decline came out of nowhere—one day he was fine, the next, he wasn’t. He lost use of his right back leg, and we eventually learned it was IVDD, common in beagles. For weeks, I’ve barely slept. Vic couldn’t get comfortable, and if he couldn’t rest, neither could I. I laid with him, watched every tiny movemen