How I Got Here-My Short Story

My Short Story

I come from a family of musicians, each with their own style and influence. My grandmother on my mom’s side played accordion and piano. My father and brother were pianists. My mother is a singer and woodwind player. Music was never just background noise in our home—it was the foundation. I grew up watching my parents play jazz, soul, blues, and country, sometimes in bands, sometimes just the two of them, gigging in nightclubs and venues.

Though, life had its own plans. My parents divorced when I was young, and a few years later, my father passed away. My mom, now raising my brother and me alone, kept chasing her musical dreams while juggling a full-time career as an auctioneer. She played in multiple bands over the years—each one different, each one shaping my own taste in music.

Despite being surrounded by it, I never fully embraced music as a kid. I was more drawn to art—drawing, painting, telling stories through canvas. Maybe it was rebellion, or maybe I just wanted to carve my own path, but I avoided instruments, aside from a short-lived attempt at the flute in sixth grade. I’d occasionally sing with my mom, sometimes at the rodeo cook-off in good ol’ Houston, Texas, but I never took it seriously. I had a habit of picking up hobbies and dropping them just as fast.

By 16, I was restless. Bored with the routine, I craved experiences that felt bigger than my day-to-day life. That’s when I found mentorship and became a disc jockey. I also taught myself how to fire dance—eventually performing professionally. That’s when I realized something: I loved performing. Being on stage, creating an atmosphere, connecting with people—it was electric. Through deejaying and event organizing, I found myself in a world full of creatives, attending or throwing underground events, from regional Burning Man gatherings to rice silo factory and cave raves to beach clean-ups. I built connections across Texas, immersed in the culture and community of it all.

The Turning Point

Fast forward to 21. My mother had remarried when I was 17, and she and my stepfather had been playing music together since I was 13. I admired them, even as their relationship had its own ups and downs. My stepfather was intimidating, and his rule was clear: “Child units aren’t allowed on stage.” The thought of singing in front of them terrified me. Funny enough, it felt scarier than deejaying for a packed crowd and missing my cue for the next song because I was too distracted by the fear of messing up. (This is probably just a me problem?)

One night, though, I finally worked up the courage to sing in front of my mom. She listened and, after a pause, said, “You’ve got what it takes.” That moment changed everything. She and her husband gifted me an old PA system and told me, “Get to work, kid.”

So I did.

With the help of my friend and mentor Cisco, I started picking up instruments—ukulele, flute, guitar. I dove into the world of sound engineering, running open mics and hosting multiple nights a week at different venues, all while performing in a duo. In our part of town, just south of Houston, songwriter events were rare, so I started organizing my own. Eventually, I even hosted songwriter competitions—though looking back, the idea of competing over art feels a little off to me now. Still, they drew big crowds and gave artists a fun platform to perform at.

That’s when I finally started writing my own music. For years, I hid behin

d cover songs, afraid to put my own voice into the world. But once I broke through that fear, I fell in love with the process.

A New Chapter

Then COVID hit. Everything changed. Open mics were impossible, but music didn’t stop. I played show after show outdoors, adapting however I could. Somewhere in that chaos, I co-wrote an EP and, with nothing left to lose, took a leap—I packed up and moved to Nashville.

Starting over wasn’t easy. I had left behind a community I had built, people I trusted, friends I loved. There was heartbreak, there were health struggles, but deep down, I knew I couldn’t walk away from what I loved most.

Building community, creating a space for artists to grow and find themselves—that has always been my truth. That’s why Creative Pulse was born. I want it to be more than just an event. I want it to be a home for dreamers like me. A place where people can find their people. I wish something like this had existed when I first moved to Nashville—I spent years trying to find my way, and I know I wasn’t alone in that.

The people I love most, the ones who inspire me every day—I met them at events like these. Community isn’t just important—it’s essential to growing as an artist.

So, if you’re reading this, I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into my journey. This is the PG version—the highlights, the easy parts. Maybe one day, I’ll write the real story. The raw, unfiltered version. Because if sharing my full story—the struggles, the missteps, the lessons learned the hard way—could help someone else find their path with fewer roadblocks, then it’ll be worth telling.

Love you guys,

Keep creating.

Angie Jayne

2/03/2025

Angie Jayne-Circa 2019