RAE who played the keys.

Having played piano for 25 years, how has your relationship with music evolved and what keeps you inspired to continue creating?

Honestly, i feel like it’s continuously evolving. When I started I was trained classically but i had perfect pitch. So it was really hard for me when i was younger to read music. Because I understood how to play by ear. Like very very early and so l spent a lot of time kind of feeling like I didn't know where I fit in. I come from a Jamaican British background, my dad was super into a lot of like UK rock and we listened to a lot of old school and you know some not really too much reggae and dancehall. I grew up in a really strict Christian household as well. So it was a lot of just like a melting pot of stuff. So gospel music was like at the forefront and then there was rock and old school and for me personally it was Neo Soul and R and B.

So I felt like I didn't really have or know where my footing was in music. I also felt like and I think this has always been a thing within the music community.

The separation between high art and the music that we consume in popular music. I don't like the way that it's discussed. The way that music is taught. The way that we're even taught to understand it. So l struggled with that for a very long time. It wasn't until I went to Ottawa for university when I was meeting people outside of school.

Who never took any any instrument lessons who didn't know a thing about music theory but understood music from an aspect of distances or sounds of like a sonic sphere. I'd never looked at it that way before and it had so much depth. And I think one of the things that keeps inspiring me to create is meeting people like that. Meeting people that challenge the way that I look at music, challenge the way that we create, challenge the notes and push the boundaries on what we make. It's things like that makes me so intrigued and has always inspired me to creating. Like what is the most random thing that you could do? I remember when I was younger l used to like flipping arrangements on nursery rhymes because it was just what would this sound like if we flipped it on its head and now that I think about it l've been doing like the Raylist pretty much since I was a kid because I just used to have these really good ideas and I just wanted to see what would it be like if we took these sounds and put them into different spaces. Um so l think it's just the ability to see music in so many different lights that keeps me engaged and to see how so many different people whether it's culturally, mentally, or just the way in which you understand or approach music. How everybody can do things so differently and it can still have such a great vibe and a great feeling.

What’s the most profound lesson playing the piano has taught you about life and discipline?

That it’s okay to fail and to make mistakes—mistakes are a part of the journey. Even as a teacher now, I mentor at SoundCheck Youth and do daytime programming with Sistema Toronto. One of the things I remember, even while watching my students, is how frustrated I used to get when things didn’t go my way or when I was tired of practicing or tired of doing the thing.

Sometimes, it’s just a matter of taking the time to be okay with being a novice. It’s okay to not be an expert. It’s okay to not be good at something the first time. Through your love and commitment to just wanting to get the thing—whether it's a part of the songwriting, that scale, that lick, that run—that dedication is really what will fuel you through the mistakes. And I think that's something we sometimes forget.

Even in this journey, no matter how long we’ve been doing something, we’re still going to make mistakes, and we’re still going to need to get up and try to do the best that we can. I think one of the biggest lessons, in terms of discipline and life, is leaving room for myself to make mistakes—and then also giving myself grace in those mistakes to see what new things can come from them.

Sometimes, even in music creation, the best ideas can come from the craziest mistakes. You didn’t mean to land on a chord the way you did, but you did—and now it’s like, let me write that chord down for later. Let’s say you’re learning a piece of music and you stumble on something. It doesn’t really work for that piece, but now you might have something you can use in another piece.

I think giving myself that freedom has been important. When I was younger and learning music, I would sit at the piano for two, three, even four hours at a time just trying to lock in specific chords and patterns—because I was so enamored by it. I was so dedicated to figuring out what that thing was. And it wasn’t just about trying to get it—it was actually about understanding the beauty within it. The beauty and the texture of the chord. The beauty and textures of the scale or the different degrees of the scale.

So really, being able to let mistakes guide you is key. I feel like I’m rambling, but I really think it’s such a big thing—to let mistakes lead you, to not be afraid of them. Just being able to accept mistakes and give myself grace has been what fuels me through them.

As someone who loves seeing others make music, how do you think the act of creating music connecs people on a deeper level?

Wow. It humanizes us. I think my favorite thing about going into sessions and creating music is that it can happen in two ways. Sometimes you enter those rooms with really seasoned, top-tier artists, and just being able to witness their process and how they create shows you a few things.

First, it shows that you may not be as far off as you think. Second, it reminds you that they struggle too. And third, you might even find that you share the same approach or mindset toward the music you're making. I think that’s really powerful—it helps us, as musicians, realize we’re not alone.

Creating music can feel isolating, especially when you’re trying to get your work out there, competing with other artists, and battling your own doubts. But connecting with others reminds you that your ideas aren't silly or off-base. They have value. They have legs. And just being able to see what tools other people are using, or how their musical education influences their approach, shows you new ways to level up your own process.

It humanizes us in a grounding way. It helps us feel more comfortable in the work we do.

One thing I tell people all the time is: if you're looking for a producer who’s going to walk into the studio and make you a banger right away—that’s not me. I’m the person who’s going to come to your house, sit with you on the floor, bring my keyboard, and just talk. We're going to see what comes out of the room.

When I moved back here, one thing I kept saying to myself was: I just want to be in the room. Over and over: I just want to be in the room. Because being in the room is how you forge connection. That’s how you build genuine atmospheres.

Whether people come in super confident and clear on what they want, or unsure and still figuring it out, there’s value in both. I’ve had moments where we had a full plan—but based on what came out of the session, we took it in a completely different direction.

Creating music in those moments gives us visibility into each other’s souls. And beyond that, it gives us the opportunity to stop, to sit down, and be intentional. Intentional about what we’re creating, and about what we want to say with our art.

Do you have specific piece or performance that holds significant emotional value for you? Why does it resonate so deeply?

I don’t think I have one specific performance that stands out—because honestly, everything I do right now is valuable to me. I'm not supposed to be in music.

And I don’t mean that in a negative way. It’s just that, based on my past—based on where I was coming from—this wasn’t the path I expected. I lived in Ottawa for 12 years. From around 2016 to 2022, I wasn’t doing music at all. I was in sales. I worked as a Sales Director for a playground company, I was a radio host, I worked in marketing... I was doing a million and one things that I could do. And I’m grateful for that time, because those skills now support my music career. But I was so far from who I am now that I almost don’t recognize myself.

So I don’t have just one song or one show that means the most—every performance feels meaningful.

I think the first gig I did here in Toronto was with an artist named City Fidelia. We performed a few songs off his album, and it was received really well. That kind of opened the door to more opportunities. I’m grateful for platforms like Listening Room, and I have to shout out Shadia Ahmed. She’s created such a phenomenal space for us as musicians—not just to perform, but to feel safe and embraced by our community. Through that space, I’ve made so many friends and met people who genuinely wanted to work with me.

I also have to say thank you to artists like Marley Unknown, Sunray, Phoenix, Trust Ike, The Chemists—and honestly, I’m going to stop naming names before I embarrass myself by forgetting someone! But there are so many people I’ve had the chance to work with who gave me opportunities I never imagined.

So no, there’s no one soul performance. Every time I perform, it feels special. Every show is a reminder of where I was, where I am now, and where I’m going. And I’m just really grateful to be here.

How has your musical journey influenced your personal identity and the way you see the world?

Music used to be my entire identity. Before I took a break—around 2014—all I was, was a girl who played keys.

I didn’t do sports in school. I grew up in a very strict Christian household, so I wasn’t involved in after-school activities. We were always in church. I didn’t know the current music, fashion trends, or what was happening in the world. The one thing I had that worked to my benefit was playing piano. I built my confidence around that. But even then, I was still shy, introverted, and not very direct.

When I created, I had good ideas, but I wasn’t confident in them. I was only confident in my playing ability—not in my compositions or arrangements. I wasn’t sure if they would be well received.

In 2014, I stepped away from music because I no longer felt grounded in it. While I was in Ottawa, I realized I needed to figure out who I was outside of music. That led me into sales, into leadership roles, and into completely different versions of myself—becoming a director, developing organizational skills, critical thinking, learning to speak up for myself, and navigating complex situations.

Music had always given me perspective—but more from the inside looking out. Like being in your house, watching the other kids playing outside. I knew how to do what the other musicians were doing. I understood the theory. But I wasn’t pushing myself to actually do it.

That’s something I think music education—especially classical—often misses. We learn all this theory without understanding how to use it in real life. In my case, I did know how to use it, but I wasn’t sure if it would be accepted. Pop music is more straightforward. The music I like—neo-soul, jazz—is more complex. I constantly found myself asking: Where’s the bridge between the two?

How do you take the richness of jazz and classical and bring it into pop without losing its essence? And how is that approach even seen within those different spaces?

So I had all this knowledge, but I didn’t know how to join the others outside. I felt like I was watching the game, not playing in it. Moving to Ottawa, stepping back from music, and then returning with new tools and a renewed mindset allowed me to finally step outside—to be in the street, making music with others, on my own terms.

That shift taught me that having knowledge isn't enough. That’s the biggest lesson from my journey. It’s not just about what you know. It’s about going outside. It’s about networking. It’s about creating in new spaces and allowing people to challenge your ideas and offer new perspectives.

That’s why collaboration is such a huge part of my practice now. It’s not enough to hold information or ideas for yourself. It’s about sharing them, growing through them, and building something greater—together.

If you could collaborate with any artist, past or present, who would it be and what kind of piece would you want to create?

That is a really big question. I'm going to come back to that one.

What 5 songs are you listening to right now?