I’m mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically compelled to write music. It’s like breathing. You can only hold your breath for so long.
But writing music isn’t always fun. Most of the time, it’s frustrating. Sometimes, it’s downright painful.
Still, I have to do it. I need to get what’s inside me out. Whether it’s through a lyric, a melody, or a bass line that punches you in the chest. I can rage. I can be tender. I can be exactly who I need to be in that moment by pulling it from deep within and turning it into music.
Often, the result isn’t pretty. It can feel awkward. Unfinished. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t quite say what desperately needs to be said.
But then, sometimes, it’s magic.
Every now and then, the music speaks for you. You say exactly what you mean. What you need to say. And in that moment, it’s a release. The kind of relief that feels like you’ve found and placed the perfect puzzle piece into the missing spot in your soul. Sounds ridiculous, I know. But that’s exactly what it’s like.
And then there’s collaboration.
Creating alone is powerful. But creating with someone else? That opens up an entirely new world of possibility. Some of my favourite pieces have come to life through the shared energy of collaboration, with artists I deeply admire and care about.
There’s something incredible about what happens when multiple creative minds collide. It’s not just about the music, it’s about connection too. Collaboration has been one of the most meaningful ways I’ve gotten to know people. You can’t really make good music together without revealing something real. Something raw. You have to bear your soul, at least a little.
At the end of the day, I’m glad I’m a songwriter. I truly don’t know how else I’d process the chaos of my inner world. Without music, I’d probably explode.
If you are a songwriter, composer, or music publisher in Canada, there is one organization that plays a vital role in supporting your career. That organization is SOCAN. Led by CEO Jennifer Brown, SOCAN works every day to ensure that music creators are fairly compensated when their work is used in public. But what exactly does SOCAN do, and how does it help artists thrive in today’s fast-changing music industry?
The Mission Behind SOCAN
SOCAN stands for the Society of Composers, Authors and Music Publishers of Canada. It exists to protect the rights of music creators. It ensures they get paid when their work is performed, streamed, broadcast, or reproduced. With nearly 200,000 members across Canada, SOCAN plays an essential role in the lives of those who write and publish music.
Whether your music is being streamed on services like Spotify or Netflix, played on the radio, performed in a concert, or featured on television, SOCAN makes sure you are paid royalties for that usage. The organization acts as a bridge between creators and the businesses that use their music.
Who Does SOCAN Represent?
While there are other music rights organizations in Canada and around the world, SOCAN is unique in its focus. It represents the rights of songwriters, composers, and music publishers exclusively. SOCAN is a not-for-profit organization, which means its primary goal is to support the success and financial growth of its members rather than deliver profits to shareholders.
Even more importantly, SOCAN is governed by a board of directors made up of music creators and publishers. This ensures that the organization truly understands the needs and challenges faced by its members.
How SOCAN Gets You Paid
The process begins when SOCAN issues licenses to businesses that use music. These can include TV stations, radio broadcasters, streaming platforms, bars, restaurants, and concert venues. These licenses allow music to be played legally and generate fees for that usage.
Once the fees are collected, SOCAN analyzes usage data to determine which songs were played and when. Then, it distributes the money it collects as royalties to the appropriate music creators and publishers. This process ensures that members are fairly rewarded for the use of their creative work.
Supporting Global Royalties
SOCAN also looks beyond Canadian borders. Through agreements with international music rights organizations, SOCAN collects royalties earned by its members when their music is used in other countries. That means if your song is being streamed in France or played on the radio in Japan, SOCAN helps you collect those royalties too.
By becoming a SOCAN member, creators gain access to a global network of support that lets them focus on what they do best, making music, while SOCAN handles the business side of things.
Adapting to a Changing Music Industry
The music industry is constantly evolving, and SOCAN evolves with it. The organization offers education, career development, and resources to help its members navigate new technologies and platforms. From changes in streaming to innovations in how music is created and shared, SOCAN works to make sure its members are never left behind.
In addition, SOCAN plays a vital role in advocating for Canadian music creators at the national level. Through work with the Canadian government, the organization pushes for policies and laws that protect creators and ensure fair compensation across all forms of media.
The Future of Canadian Music
SOCAN is committed to the next generation of Canadian songwriters and composers. It wants young creators to know that a music career is possible and sustainable. SOCAN takes great pride in helping its members succeed.
SOCAN stands ready to support you as your Canadian collective. With its dedication to fairness, advocacy, and growth, SOCAN is a key ally for anyone creating music in Canada.
When singer-songwriter Cara Bateman picks up her guitar, she’s tracing a journey nearly a decade in the making. Based in East Vancouver and rooted in a lifelong obsession with music, Cara’s evolution as an artist has been an exciting ride. From learning guitar with the humble goal of writing songs to fronting high-energy punk shows backed by a full band, her path is built on passion, grit, and relentless self-drive.
“I just go by my name, Cara Bateman,” she says, her voice a little hoarse but animated in a recent voice note interview. “It’s been about ten years now. I started from scratch. Learning to play guitar just so I could write songs.”
Her early material leaned into folk and outlaw country, which she describes as approachable and rooted in storytelling. “I didn’t want to start out trying to learn jazz solos,” she laughs. “I probably would’ve given up.” But Cara didn’t give up. Instead, she slowly carved a place for herself in the indie music world, one open mic and home recording at a time.
She was obsessed with singing from the time she could talk. Her mom insists she sang before she spoke. Despite this, it took Cara years to find the courage to perform. “I didn’t feel like music was a viable career option,” she admits. “It wasn’t until after university, when nothing else I studied felt right, that I decided to give music a real shot.”
Since then, Cara’s sound has been in constant evolution. What began as folk slowly gave way to jazz-influenced R&B, eventually blooming into what she now calls “R&B grunge,” with detours into rock and even punk. “My second EP was very Norah Jones. But these days, I’ve got a couple of punk songs on the latest album, and now I play with a band almost exclusively.”
Having a band behind her has opened up a new chapter. “That’s probably my favourite thing right now,” she says. “I always dreamed of playing with a band. Now we rehearse once, and they’re just so tight. And hilarious. I’m in awe of them.”
That chemistry came alive at her recent album release show at Green Auto, a DIY venue in Vancouver. “It was the most fun show I’ve ever played,” she says, still riding the high. “It was a full punk show. The first time I’ve done that. The energy from the crowd was unbelievable. I threw in a couple of ballads too, because that’s just me, but it still felt like a punk night.”
Behind the scenes, though, it hasn’t been easy. Like many independent artists, Cara wears all the hats, from performer to promoter, manager to grant writer. “Funding is really tough,” she says candidly. “I’m almost entirely self-funded. I did get a grant last year, but those are never guaranteed and take months to hear back on. Sometimes by the time you get the result, the moment you were chasing is gone.”
Burnout and missed deadlines are real. “I’ve missed festival applications and just felt overwhelmed,” she admits. “But when I get to record or play an amazing show, it’s all worth it. I’m obsessed with this.”
Cara’s latest album was both a creative and professional leap. After years of quick, one-day recording sessions in bedrooms and basements, she partnered with Andy Schichter at Park Sound Studio in North Vancouver. “It was the most professional experience I’ve ever had,” she says. “We didn’t rush. We built the songs in layers. Drums, bass, guitars, keys, harmonies, shakers. Whatever we imagined, we had the space to explore it.”
Better still, the session musicians were the same ones she performs live with, bringing cohesion and intimacy to the album’s sound. “It felt so personal and expansive at the same time.”
Cara isn’t slowing down anytime soon. “This project is all I’ve ever dreamed of,” she says. “I just want to keep going. Keep writing, keep playing, and eventually, record again when it feels right.”
In the meantime, she’s focused on the local DIY scene. “Green Auto was kind of my first venue like that, and I’m hoping to stock up a busy summer of shows,” she says.
Upcoming dates include:
May 23 at Take Your Time (648 Kingsway) — a femme-fronted lineup featuring Spectra, Slowicide, and Like Whatever
June 20 at Blue Light Studios — part of the Toddcast Podcast, with Stevie Wise opening.
She’s also eyeing repeat gigs at local favourites like Red Gate and continuing to connect with Vancouver’s music community.
When asked to define what music means to her, Cara knows immediately. “Music is cathartic. That’s the best word for me. It’s magic, it’s healing, it’s my passion. But, more than anything, it’s cathartic. Whether I’m at a show, writing a song, or just jamming with friends, it’s how I process everything.”
Through every shift in genre, every DIY show, and every moment of self-doubt, that catharsis has kept her grounded and moving forward.
The organ combo might not be the flashiest form of jazz, but it’s easily one of the most soulful, sneaky-versatile, and flat-out fun configurations you’ll find in modern music. Born out of smoky clubs and church basements somewhere in the 1950s, this setup leans heavily on the buttery, all-encompassing tone of the Hammond B-3 organ, creating a sound that pulls from jazz, blues, gospel, funk, Latin, and R&B.
Organ combos are a powerhouse of groove and connection, with the organist handling bass lines and harmonic support simultaneously, freeing up the rest of the band to lock in tight and go deep. And when a band’s been playing together long enough to build real chemistry, the effect is magic.
An excellent example of what I’m talking about is The Nightcrawlers, who have been doing this exact thing for nearly 20 years.
On their fifth release for Cellar Live, “The Nightcrawlers – Live at Frankie’s Jazz Club”, the Vancouver-based band is in its element. They’re loose, fired up, and feeding off the energy of a full house. Recorded live at the city’s beloved Frankie’s Jazz Club, the record showcases a band that’s clearly not interested in playing it safe. Yes, they bring the heat (you can smell the metaphorical bacon sizzle), but they’re also here to bring you complex rhythms, sharp arrangements, and unexpected turns.
The core crew is drummer Jesse Cahill, organist Chris Gestrin, guitarist Dave Sikula, and tenor saxophonist Cory Weeds. They have been together for years, and it shows. Their groove is effortless. Their timing is telepathic. With the addition of alto saxophonist Nick Hempton and percussionist Jack Duncan, things get even juicier. Their music is fresh, funky, and fully alive.
And while their past albums have always delivered the vibe, this one captures something extra. You can hear the sweat, the smiles, and the spark of musicians and audience lifting each other higher. It’s the kind of album that doesn’t sit politely in the background. Your head starts bobbing. Your hips start moving. Next thing you know, you’re in full body groove mode and wondering where this band has been all your life.
This queer-fronted, brass-blasting ska-punk band from Vancouver is flipping every dusty stereotype on its head. With roots in the beloved local band The Brass Action, and members from Kownterpoint, Brasser isn’t only keeping the ska flame alive. They’re blowtorching it with trumpet valves and screaming it through a punk megaphone.
Brasser is the sonic equivalent of a glitter bomb thrown into a punk mosh pit. They’ve got saxophones. They’ve got sultry trumpets. They’ve got sweat-dripping-from-the-ceiling energy and dance floors that turn into cardio workouts.
But most importantly, Brasser is fun.
Their sound fuses the rowdy bounce of traditional ska with the edge and aggression of punk rock.
Seen them live? Then you already know. Haven’t? Fix that.
Brasser has shared the stage with legends like Fishbone and ska-sweethearts Bite Me Bambi, but they’re just as likely to be found packing out DIY venues in East Van or turning a humble brunch into a full-blown punk revival (see: Punk Brunch at LanaLou’s. Yes, that’s a real thing).
Their recent show at The Pearl in Vancouver was a brass-fueled riot in the best way, leaving first-timers converted and regulars sweaty and euphoric.
In September 2024, Brasser dropped Ruidoso. It’s a ferocious, genre-melding gem available now onBandcamp. The record is packed with everything from grungy breakdowns to blaring horn sections, proving they’re not only party-starters but songwriters as well. Each track is an anthem for the misfits, the music nerds, the ska skeptics, and the punk purists alike.
At the heart of Brasser is something much bigger than music. They bring queer joy, rage, and visibility to a genre that’s often overlooked and underloved. Their sets are safe spaces wrapped in distortion and horn solos. They’re welcoming, loud, sweaty, and unapologetically inclusive.
They’re reclaiming and reinventing ska-punk.
TLDR: Why You Should Know Brasser
Because they make ska-punk sexy again.
Because the trumpet player might melt your face off.
Because their album Ruidoso slaps.
Because DIY shows need more glitter and more chaos.
Because you deserve joy, and Brasser delivers it loud.
Follow them on Instagram@brasserska, listen to Ruidoso, and go see them live.
Trust me. You want to be that person who knew about Brasser before the world caught on.
Saxophonist and multi-woodwind artist John Nicholson is building a life that blends creativity, precision, and connection. He wears many hats: composer, arranger, performer, and teacher, all while shaping Vancouver’s jazz and contemporary music communities with a deep respect for the past and a passion for pushing forward.
John’s relationship with music began early. He started piano lessons at the age of five, played trumpet in his school band during junior high, and then switched to saxophone in high school. It was during this time that a simple birthday gift sparked something much bigger.
He was given a copy of John Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme” for his fifteenth birthday, and that album became a turning point. It opened the door to other jazz records and a deeper understanding of the music. He soon joined his high school jazz band and knew he wanted to pursue music seriously.
After graduation, he entered the Jazz Studies program at Capilano University and continued to grow as a musician. He later moved to Toronto to earn a master’s degree from the University of Toronto and spent two years immersed in the city’s dynamic music scene, performing and recording with a wide range of artists.
When the pandemic brought live music to a halt, John returned to Vancouver. As the city reopened, he picked up his work again and found a new rhythm in a familiar place.
His days now reflect the reality of a working musician. Mornings begin with exercise and instrument practice. Afternoons are often spent teaching lessons and taking care of administrative work. Evenings are filled with rehearsals or performances, and some days include daytime recording sessions. Each day is shaped by upcoming gigs and projects, keeping things flexible but consistently full.
John finds his favourite part of working in Vancouver to be the people he gets to collaborate with. The local music scene has grown in recent years, and the community has become a meaningful part of his professional life.
“The community is the best part,” he says. “I get to work with so many great musicians and people.”
At the same time, he acknowledges a major challenge. Vancouver’s physical distance from the rest of the country can make travel and touring more difficult compared to the East Coast.
Despite the challenges, he continues to thrive and stay engaged with a broad range of creative work.
When asked what advice he would give to someone just starting out, John offers this: “Be open-minded and versatile while keeping hold of your own style that sets you apart.”
This approach reflects his own path. His foundation is in jazz, but his career is marked by flexibility, growth, and a clear sense of personal identity. Whether he is on stage, arranging music, recording in the studio, or teaching the next generation, John Nicholson brings care and authenticity to everything he does.
His story is a reminder that music is not just about talent or training. It is about curiosity, adaptability, and finding purpose.
Some songs reach out and hold you quietly, whispering truths you didn’t know you needed to hear. “Until” is one of those songs. A track so intimate and emotionally honest that listening feels like sitting in the same room as the artist, heart wide open, secrets on display.
There’s something undeniably familiar yet fresh in the voice at the center of “Until.” With a tone and emotional depth that recalls Sarah McLachlan, Marie Dresselhuis brings a delicate strength that instantly captures attention. But this isn’t an imitation. This voice is her own, filled with raw feeling and breathtaking control.
The initial arrangement is striking in its simplicity: just a lone piano and one remarkable voice. But within that simplicity lies a world of nuance. The recording is so intimate that every vocal inflection, every breath, is palpable. You can hear every tiny detail, from the softness of a phrase to the way the voice swells with emotion, effortlessly drawing the listener deeper.
As the song unfolds, the music begins to swell, supporting the deeply personal lyrics without ever overpowering them. When the drums finally enter, they arrive with a gentle brushing, subtle and comforting, like a hand on your shoulder. Their role is not to lead but to elegantly keep time, to cushion the emotional weight of the vocals and the piano.
What’s most impressive is how deceptively simple “Until” seems at first. A casual listen might miss the masterful interplay between production and performance. But with each repeat, layers reveal themselves. Delicate instrumental flourishes, dynamic shifts that push and pull with emotion, moments of tension and release that shape the song’s journey. It’s so seamless, so finely tuned, that the listener isn’t even aware of how much they’re being guided. The production and musicianship are full of finesse, gently steering the emotional arc without ever feeling forced.
Each time you return to “Until,” it hurts a little. There’s a sweet sorrow to it that’s impossible to shake. And yet, like the best heartbreak songs, you press play again, chasing that ache, that honesty, that beauty.
“Until” is a feeling, a moment, a memory captured in melody.
Vancouver-based musician Jonny Tobin’s journey from background player to front-and-center artist hasn’t been accidental. Drawing on a rich musical upbringing, years of session work, and an instinct for blending genres, Tobin is now crafting a path that’s all his own, under his own name, on his own terms.
“I’ve been releasing music since around 2018 or 2019,” he says. “For the longest time, I was playing music for other people. Session work, producing, all that kind of stuff.”
Like many modern artists, it was social media that sparked a shift. Tobin had been posting clips of himself playing over self-produced beats, just for fun, when followers started asking: Where can I hear this? When is this coming out? The questions planted a seed.
“I realized it’s important to actually put stuff out there,” he recalls. “Not just create for Instagram.”
That realization fueled a deeper interest in sharing his own work. Though trained in jazz and a graduate of jazz school, Tobin was never content to follow the conventional route of releasing a straight-ahead piano trio album. With a foundation in Logic Pro from his teenage years and a self-taught background in beat making, he began to merge his influences.
“The music I release has elements of jazz, but also hip hop, electronic, and funk,” he explains. “It’s been really cool to create all these worlds and sounds and textures. Just myself, in my room, with my computer, keyboards, and software.”
Tobin’s passion lies in discovery. Creative breakthroughs like unlocking something new in his sound or surprising himself with a musical idea that seemed to appear out of nowhere are what keep him going.
“My favourite thing is when something clicks musically,” he says. “I’ll think, how did I do that? It just sort of emerges.”
Those moments have led to some major milestones. One highlight was opening for acclaimed saxophonist and producer Braxton Cook in 2023. After seeing that Cook was playing a show in Vancouver, Tobin took a chance and reached out to the team to ask if they needed an opener. To his surprise, they said yes.
“They were like, ‘Ticket sales are a bit slow. We’d love to have you help push the show,” Tobin says. “I’m a huge fan of his work, so it was a real honour.”
Another standout moment came earlier in his career when Tobin played keys on Black Habits by Grammy-nominated rapper D Smoke. The album was nominated for a Grammy in 2020.
However, the path hasn’t been without its frustrations. Like many artists, Tobin has faced challenges around momentum and growth.
“There are times when it feels like, even with all the work I’m putting in, I’m not quite advancing to the next stage,” he says. “I’ve got goals and a vision, but sometimes it just doesn’t feel like it’s happening fast enough.”
Still, he’s learned to embrace patience and to enjoy the stage he’s at, rather than constantly chasing the next one.
Looking ahead, Tobin has exciting releases planned. On May 22, he’ll drop a new single, a reimagined cover of a track from the classic video game Super Smash Bros. Melee for the Nintendo GameCube.
“This is the first single from a larger project of video game covers I’ll be releasing either later this year or early next,” he says. “I can’t say too much more yet, but there’s a lot of music on the way.”
Tobin will also be performing at the Vancouver International Jazz Festival on June 23 at 4 p.m. at the Bentall Centre, which is part of a new concert series debuting this year.
As for what music means to him, Tobin doesn’t hesitate.
“Music is life,” he says. “It’s basically everything I do.”
Have you ever felt that moment, late at night, when the world slows to a crawl and the mind begins to trace patterns? Patterns on the ceiling, in the silence, in the gaps between memories you can’t quite hold onto. That’s where these lyrics begin.
“tracing patterns on my ceiling / reeling from a memory that’s already gone.”
It’s a liminal space, neither awake nor asleep, where you’re haunted not by what happened, but by the absence of feeling itself.
In these lines, we meet a narrator who is something more than lost. He is adrift.. The body is present, but the self? Somewhere else. The sensation is familiar. Eyes open, but the soul flickering like a dying light bulb. They say dissociation can feel like floating outside your body, but in these verses, it feels more like sinking inside it.
“Haven’t felt real in a moment / make me wake up so I can be alright.”
It’s not a desire for peace, necessarily, but a plea for consciousness. For realness. The passage of time looms large here, not as a linear thread, but as a haunting, oppressive blur.
“Haunted by the fear of another year gone / I can’t tell the time.”
How often do we measure our lives in birthdays, New Year’s Eves, and daylight saving switches? These moments are meant to reorient us, but instead, we find ourselves stuck in a loop. The clock ticks, the year turns, but internally we remain in stasis. The fear isn’t of time passing, but of nothing changing.
And still, the lyrics carry us deeper. Into regret, into the terrain of choices already etched into the past like scars.
“My wasted choices / I’ve already made them.”
It’s a heavy line. A line that doesn’t beg for forgiveness or retribution, only recognition. Here is someone who has looked their past in the eye and found only empty silence staring back.
Then, the lyrics turn inward, toward the rituals of self-preservation that double as self-imprisonment.
“Chasing habits, I invented / conjure remedies that keep me locked inside.”
These aren’t just addictions or distractions, they’re prisons summoned from desperation. And yet, each one fortifies the walls. Comfort becomes confinement.
The most devastating line may be this.
“couldn’t wait to tell yourself that you’re broken.”
Sometimes, the identity of being broken feels safer than the uncertainty of trying to heal. There’s a dark allure to confirming your own damage. It justifies the solitude, the numbness, the endless repetition of nights that blur into one another.
Repeated, like a fading mantra, is this refrain.
“Staring, I’m half asleep, teething on a blank expression.”
The imagery is surreal and oddly infantile. “Teething” suggests something in development, an ache that promises growth. But here, it’s juxtaposed with stasis, the blank expression. Growth hurts, but in this world, the pain doesn’t lead anywhere. It just sits there.
This is the soundtrack of the still moment between breakdown and breakthrough. In a way, it speaks to a generation worn thin by uncertainty, exhaustion, and the relentless pressure to keep moving even when standing still feels like all we can do.
If you ever find yourself wandering through the eastside of downtown Vancouver with a craving for something a little wild, a little warm, and a lot rock and roll, let your feet lead you to 362 Powell Street. Right there, between industrial buildings and whispers of the past, you’ll find LanaLou’s Rock n’ Roll Eatery. This is not only a restaurant. It is a living, breathing piece of the city’s soul where music shakes the walls and the comfort food is as real as the stage lights.
LanaLou’s opened its doors in 2010 with a mission that was equal parts simple and bold. It set out to be a place where music and food live side by side. No velvet ropes. No dress codes. Just good vibes, better meals, and unforgettable nights. From day one, it was different. And it has stayed that way.
At the center of it all is Lana herself. Yes, she is real. Yes, she is very much involved. She is not one to hide behind an office door or a clipboard. Lana books the bands, welcomes the regulars, dims the lights, and sometimes probably fixes a fuse or two when the amps blow out. She is the reason the space feels like more than just a venue. She makes it feel like a second home for artists, music lovers, and curious wanderers.
The decor inside is something out of a dream you might have after watching a rock documentary and eating too much cheese. There are church pews for seating, velvet chairs that look like they were stolen from a haunted mansion, and picnic tables that have seen both first dates and last-call confessions. The walls are adorned with oddities, vintage posters, and more personality than you can process in a single visit.
And the sound. LanaLou’s is a stage for the strange and the soulful. One night, you might find a punk band screaming their truths into the mic. Another night it could be stand-up comedy, an open mic full of heartbreak ballads, or a jazz trio. If you are looking for a sterile, polished concert hall, keep walking. If you are looking for something real, you are in the right place.
The food is definitely part of the experience. We are not talking greasy fries that taste like regret. The kitchen produces dishes like quinoa bowls, hearty burgers, and vegan comfort food that sticks with you. Whether you are fueling up before a show or licking sauce off your fingers after one, you will be well fed.
LanaLou’s is about entertainment, but it’s also about connection. The venue takes part in local initiatives like the Dine Railtown campaign, working alongside other neighbourhood spots to celebrate and uplift the local food and culture scene. It hosts fundraisers, private events, drag shows, art nights, and anything else that brings people together.
Even when the amps are quiet and the floor is a little sticky from last weekend’s chaos, LanaLou’s still hums with energy. It is a refuge. A time machine. A community center dressed up like a rock club. It is the kind of place you find once, tell your friends about, and then kind of wish you had kept it secret.
