Alexandra—who goes by just that, Alexandra, like she’s pop royalty from a place nobody can find on a map—and I are talking the afternoon away. I ask her to tell me about St. Clairsville, Ohio, population 5,000, tucked into the eastern hills where Ohio starts thinking about becoming West Virginia. The kind of place where everybody knows your business and leaving is both a betrayal and an inevitability.
“Nobody knows where St. Clairsville is,” she says, laughing. “I mean, nobody. Even people from Ohio are like, ‘Where?’ And I’m like, it’s that little town. You drive through it and you blink and you miss it.”
But that little town produced this. A young woman who studied audio production at Ohio University, who taught herself guitar in her twin bed dreaming about being on the radio, who graduated in 2018 with a degree in Music Production & Recording Industry and immediately started applying to jobs in every major city she could think of. Not the perfect job. Not the dream job. Any job that would get her out and let her start building the life she could see in her head but couldn’t yet touch with her hands.
“I applied to jobs in every major city,” she tells me. “Like, I knew that I was going to move, even when I was younger. I was just like, I’m going to get out of here. And I applied to jobs, anything in music, at all, in any major city. And I got a job in Dallas teaching music, which was not the plan. But I was like, well, it’ll keep the lights on and I could pay my bills. And It’ll just be an adventure.”
So she moved. Just like that. Twenty-two years old, no safety net, no grand plan beyond “figure it out as you go.” She started teaching music at a performing arts school in Dallas—where she’s now the director of the musical theater program—and in the evenings, she’d write songs and play shows and do the thing she came to Dallas to do, which was become Alexandra.
Eight years later, she’s still doing both. Teaching young vocalists during the day, many of whom have no idea their teacher is out there grinding in the Dallas indie scene, recording EPs in her living room, getting nominated for Dallas Entertainment Awards, working as photo crew at Austin City Limits just to be close to the music. It’s the double life that every working musician knows: the day job that pays the bills, the night job that feeds the soul.
“I’m still doing that, which is crazy to think,” she says. “It’ll be eight years. That I’ve been there. Which is crazy.”
What’s not crazy—what’s actually the sanest thing in the world—is that she’s good at both. Her students love that she’s a performer. It adds credibility, authenticity, the sense that someone who’s actually out there doing the thing is teaching them how to do it too. And her music benefits from the discipline of teaching, the understanding that craft matters, that you don’t just feel your way through a song, you build it, brick by brick, note by note.
“My theater director from high school just texted me yesterday and we were reminiscing,” she says. “And it’s crazy to think that I’m on the other side of it now.”
Alexandra started putting out singles in 2020 or 2021—she has to think about it, the pandemic scrambled everyone’s sense of time—and by the time she’d released four or five of them, she was itching to put out something more substantial. An EP. A collection. A body of work that could exist in the world as a complete thought rather than a series of isolated moments.
“I just, I don’t know, I really wanted that to exist, like in the world,” she tells me. “Because I feel like we’re in such a singles culture. Like with music, everybody’s just pumping out singles. Nobody really listens or makes a full body of work anymore. Especially as an independent artist, it’s expensive. It’s hard. But I wanted to do it. So, it felt good to put out a collection of songs.”
This is the heart of it, right here. The tension between what the algorithms demand—constant content, the never-ending feed, the dopamine hit of the new new new—and what artists need, which is time and space to make something that coheres, that builds, that takes you on a journey from beginning to end. The EP, the album, the body of work that hangs together and means something beyond the sum of its parts.
Her early singles were about heartbreak. She was in her early twenties, dealing with “so much heartbreak,” and the songs reflected that. But by the time she got around to recording her EP, she’d healed. She was in a great relationship. She wanted to write about what comes after the pain.
“I wanted to write about the healing, like what happens after healing, and then falling in love again,” she says. “And I feel like the theme was just like life. I don’t know. It was really just what I had been experiencing.”
The EP was recorded in her living room. Her producers came to her house in Dallas, set up shop in a spare bedroom, and they summer-camped it for four days. Tracked the whole thing right there, eating meals together, living with the music 24/7, creating the kind of intimate artistic space that’s increasingly rare in an era of email attachments and Dropbox links.
“We did the whole EP in four days,” she says. “Which was crazy, but it was a lot of fun. I’ve never done anything like that before. So, it was nice to like post record and like have meals together and really do the whole thing.”
Before that, she’d recorded singles all over—Austin, Nashville, Fort Worth. Each one a different adventure, a different sonic palette, a different approach. But there’s something about recording at home, in your own space, with people you trust, that strips away the artifice and gets you closer to the truth. The EP sounds lived-in because it was. It sounds like Alexandra because it was made in the place where she actually lives her life.
Here’s where the story gets interesting in that specifically American music industry way, where the path to success is never the one you think it’s going to be.
Alexandra’s best friend Bailey works in festival public relations. They met working a side gig , and they struck up a conversation and became friends. Bailey had worked some powerhouse festivals like Austin City Limits and Lollapalooza, and she’d been in the music industry long enough to know talent when she saw it.
“I found her to be so interesting,” Alexandra says. “Because she’s a little bit older than me. And she’s been in the music industry for so long. And I wanted to just pick her brain. And she’s my best friend. But I also have so much respect for her as a woman.”
When Austin City Limits rolled around in 2021, Bailey called. “She was like, we need some more people to be on the photo pit,” Alexandra recalls. “I know that you’re not in PR. But you’re a musician. And so you probably will be okay in these high-stress environments and talking to people. And I think you’d be great at it. And we can hang out while I’m there. And so I was like, okay.”
That first ACL led to more festivals. Now she works four to six festivals a year. She’s in the photo pit, managing access, watching some of the biggest artists in the world from ten feet away, getting paid to be that close to the music she loves.
“They just kept asking me back,” she says. “And it’s the best. It’s the best side gig. It’s inspiring to go to these festivals.”
This is how it works now. You don’t get discovered singing in a coffee shop by a A&R guy with a checkbook. You build multiple revenue streams. You teach. You work festivals. You release music independently. You apply for grants and awards and residencies. You do all of it at once, and you don’t complain, because this is what choosing music as a life looks like in 2026.
Dallas is not a music city. Everyone agrees on this, including the people trying to change it.
In 2021, Dallas was designated a music-friendly community by the Texas Music Office. The Dallas Music Office opened a new chapter, with programs designed to develop the scene and attract industry attention.
In the meantime, the community is small but tight-knit. Everybody knows everybody, which cuts both ways—less opportunity than Austin, but more genuine support. Less competition means more collaboration. When Alexandra talks about the Dallas scene, there’s real affection in her voice, the sense that she’s found her people.
“Everybody, I think, is really, really supportive, been really supportive of me,” she says. “It’s just nice. It’s really funny, because I mean, Austin City Limits was always country. And they didn’t comprehend all the difference. The festival has grown so much. But it’s a testament. I mean, Texas is growing in terms of music. I feel grateful to be there. But yeah, the community is great. Everybody is really talented, too.”
She’s been nominated for Dallas Entertainment Awards—pop vocalist of the year, pop act of the year for her and her band. This year she’s been nominated again for EP of the year….. Yes that EP…..Let It Burn.
When I ask Alexandra what advice she’d give to someone else from St. Clairsville or any other small town who wants to do what she’s doing, she thinks for a minute. This isn’t a question she takes lightly. She understands that her path—the chaos of it, the lack of a clear plan, the willingness to take a teaching job she didn’t want just to get to a city where things might happen—isn’t the path they tell you about in music school.
“I think my advice is, if you have an inkling to pursue something, it doesn’t have to be in the most picture perfect way to do it,” she says. “I think a lot of people, especially college graduates, are like, I will move to a big city or I’ll move if the job is right. And I know that I’m going to be doing what I want to be doing. But I didn’t do that. And I kind of was just like, as long as I can pay my bills, then I’m just going to go for the adventure of it and see what happens.”
This is it. This is the thing that separates the people who make it from the people who don’t. Not talent—there’s talent everywhere, spilling out of every coffee shop and open mic and bedroom studio in America. Not connections, though they help. Not even luck, though you need that too.
It’s courage.
The courage to take the imperfect opportunity. The courage to move without knowing how it’s going to work out. The courage to believe that you’ll figure it out as you go, that you have more resources within yourself than you think, that hard things are possible even when they’re scary.
“I think the first advice piece of advice would be to just do it,” Alexandra continues. “I think people underestimate how much courage you have as a person. And so it takes courage. But I think people can do hard things, even if it’s scary. And it doesn’t have to look picture perfect. You just kind of figure it out as you go and you be good to people. And you just keep reminding yourself of why you’re doing it. And you just do it a little bit at a time and then all of a sudden. And it worked out. Thank God.”
Thank God indeed. But it wasn’t just God or luck or cosmic alignment. It was also Alexandra, showing up every day, doing the work, teaching the classes, writing the songs, recording the EPs, working the festivals, applying for the awards, building the career brick by brick.
Alexandra is always writing. Has to be, she says, because writing is a practice, like yoga or running or any other discipline you have to maintain if you want to keep getting better at it. But it’s also healing and special to her. She enjoys the process even when nobody’s going to hear the songs, even when they’re just for her.
“I’m trying to all the time just be writing,” she tells me. “Because I think it’s a practice. But it’s also just healing and special to me. Like, I enjoy the process of writing, even if nobody hears it.”
But she’s intentional about the pace. Deliberately so. This is not the streaming era strategy of releasing a new single every six weeks to feed the algorithm. This is an artist who’s made a promise to herself: she won’t rush.
“When I began this journey, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t rush,” she says. “Growing up, I always felt like I was racing against the clock. With this, I wanted to do things honoring the timing of my life. I am very intentional about my pace. To others, it might seem like I’m not moving fast enough… but I don’t care. Not one bit. All that matters to me is making music that I really love. And am proud of. And will be proud of for the rest of my life.”
This is radical in 2026, when the entire music industry is built on urgency, on the fear of being forgotten, on the idea that if you’re not constantly releasing content you might as well not exist. But Alexandra has decided that her integrity matters more than her visibility, that she’d rather make something she’s proud of than something that trends for a week and disappears.
“So I have a bunch of songs,” she continues. “I have enough to record another EP. And I would like to almost make it like a part two of what is already out. Because I feel like there’s so much of that story that needs to be told still. Like, I’m still in that house. And I’m still feeling all of those things. And so I’d love to do something similar to what we did with the first EP.”
Here’s what the glamorous life of an independent artist actually looks like: You have a full-time job that you love and that pays your bills and gives you health insurance. You have students who depend on you to show up and be present and teach them how to breathe properly and hit the high notes and project from the diaphragm.
And then, in whatever time is left over—evenings, weekends, random Tuesday afternoons—you try to carve out space for your own art.
“I feel like there’s a lot of young artists that are going to school, and then they can record TikToks and be in their room,” Alexandra says. “Which is, if that’s their journey, then great. But like, I’m an adult. Like, I have a job. I have to, I have relationships that I have to nurture. I have things to do. So just carving out time to like do all of it is just as hard as I think writing it. Actually, writing it feels…”
She trails off, but the implication is clear: Writing is the easy part. Writing is the joy. Writing is what she’d do for free, what she does do for free most of the time. It’s all the rest of it—the logistics, the scheduling, the constant balancing act between the life that pays the bills and the life that feeds the soul—that’s the real work.
Late in our conversation, I ask Alexandra why she makes music. It’s a stupid question, the kind of thing journalists ask when they can’t think of anything else, but sometimes the stupid questions get the best answers.
“I think music is the closest thing we have to magic,” she says, and suddenly it’s not a stupid question anymore. “The way it makes people pause… and feel… and forget. Or maybe remember. It’s a vessel into what feels out of body. It soundtracks the most important memories. It creates the ability to time travel. Our way to create unforgettable moments. And it’s a common thread… a way to connect the most different types of people. I think we need that now more than ever.”
This is it. Music is magic. Music is time travel. Music is the common thread that connects us when everything else is trying to pull us apart.
“I make music because it feels like a superpower doing it,” she continues. “Being able to participate in something so special… it feels like fulfilling my life’s purpose.”
When I ask about her influences, Alexandra doesn’t name specific artists. Instead, she talks about life experiences, lessons learned with age, places seen, people met, conversations had. The real stuff.
“My biggest influences are the lessons I’m learning with age. The places I see. The people I meet and the conversations I have with them. As I get older, my conversations have changed… and as I expand my view, I think my brain twists and turns a bit differently.”
This is the mark of a real artist: understanding that the music comes from the life, not the other way around.. The songs will come if you’re paying attention.
Alexandra is paying attention.
We finish our chat and Alexandra has to go—she has students to teach, songs to write, a life to live that doesn’t stop just because a journalist wants to pick her brain about her career. As we’re packing up, I think about what she said earlier about courage, about how people underestimate how much of it they have.
Alexandra from St. Clairsville, Ohio, is building a career the hard way, which is to say the real way, which is to say the only way that actually works for most people. There’s no shortcut. There’s no hack. There’s just the work, day after day, brick by brick, song by song.
“Jump in and the net will appear,” she said at one point, quoting someone or something, the origin lost to time but the sentiment eternal.
She jumped. Eight years ago, she packed up her life and moved to a city where she didn’t know anyone, took a job she didn’t want, started building a music career from scratch. And the net appeared, slowly, piece by piece. The teaching job became a directorship. The side gig became a friendship became a festival career. The singles became an EP. The heartbreak became healing became new love became new songs.
The net appeared because she kept showing up to weave it.
Before I leave, I ask her if she has any final thoughts for people reading this who might be in St. Clairsville right now, or some equivalent small town, dreaming about getting out and doing something with their lives.
She thinks for a minute.
“I think people can do hard things, even if it’s scary,” she says finally. “And it doesn’t have to look picture perfect. You just kind of figure it out as you go and you be good to people. And you just keep reminding yourself of why you’re doing it. And you just do it a little bit at a time and then all of a sudden…”
She trails off, but we both know how the sentence ends.
All of a sudden, you look up and you’re doing it. You’re making music. You’re building a career. You’re living the life you dreamed about in that twin bed in St. Clairsville, and it doesn’t look like you thought it would—it’s harder and weirder and more logistically complicated and less glamorous—but it’s real. It’s yours. You did it.
Alexandra did it.
And if she can do it, starting from a town nobody’s heard of, with no connections and no plan beyond “figure it out as you go,” then maybe you can too.
That’s not inspirational poster jargon. That’s just math. Courage plus persistence plus time equals something. Not always success as the world defines it. Not always fame or fortune or even financial stability. But something. A body of work. A career. A life in music.
Alexandra stands up, slings her bag over her shoulder, and heads back out into Dallas. She’s got students waiting. Songs to write. An EP to plan. A career to build.
The net will appear.
It already is.
