荔枝视频

Anytime Lindsay Ell steps onto a stage beside Shania Twain, the moment still occasionally feels surreal. Never mind that it鈥檚 part of a 12-night run with Harry Styles starting June 12th at London鈥檚 famed Wembley Stadium.   

But for Ell, performing alongside one of the artists who first inspired her to pursue music still carries flashes of memory from an entirely different chapter of her life, one rooted not in Nashville or sold-out arenas, but in 荔枝视频 living rooms and childhood mirrors. 

鈥淚鈥檒l remember learning how to sing from this song years ago,鈥� Ell says of performing songs like Twain鈥檚 classic 鈥�No one needs to know鈥� on tour. 鈥淎nd now I鈥檓 two feet away from the woman who inspired me to want to start this whole thing.鈥� 

It is the kind of full-circle moment many artists dream about. But, nearly a decade after first speaking with 荔枝视频 Alumni News about chasing country music stardom, Ell鈥檚 story now feels less about reaching the dream and more about what happened after and what鈥檚 coming next.  

Side A 

Back then, the focus was momentum: Nashville, record deals, radio singles and breakthrough opportunities. The version of Lindsay Ell introduced to U荔枝视频 audiences in 2018 was an emerging artist rapidly gaining momentum while navigating the traditional expectations of commercial music success. 

Today, after 15 years in Nashville, a place she now calls 鈥榟ome鈥�, Ell speaks much more openly about honesty, healing, identity and creative freedom than she does about fame. Her latest EP, , showcases an artist increasingly comfortable revealing more of herself through her music. 

And, perhaps more importantly, she sounds far more interested in sustainability than perfection. 

鈥淭his last record that I put out has been very personal,鈥� Ell says. 鈥淚鈥檝e really wanted to get down to the nitty-gritty of what I want to put in my music and what I want to say.鈥� 

That shift has become increasingly visible in both Ell鈥檚 music and the way she speaks about her career. Her recent work explores themes of transformation, self-worth and emotional healing with a level of vulnerability that feels intentionally unguarded. It is a notable evolution from the younger artist who once entered Nashville trying to prove she belonged. 

鈥淲hen I first moved to Nashville, I think I was a little bit more led by, 鈥極kay, this is what the industry wants me to do, so this is what I will do,鈥欌�� she says. 鈥淓ven the content of my songs was more like, 鈥榃hat would be the most commercial thing that I could release right now?鈥欌�� 

That tension between commerce and authenticity quietly shaped much of Ell鈥檚 early career. Signed into an industry still heavily driven by radio formatting and genre expectations, she often found herself navigating spaces where artistic individuality and commercial viability did not always align comfortably. 

Nowhere was that tension more visible than in country music itself.

鈥淚 knew I wasn鈥檛 going in there with a cowboy hat and cowboy boots singing about trucks and beer,鈥� Ell says with a laugh. 鈥淭hat just wasn鈥檛 part of my world.鈥� 

Remix 

Long before 鈥済enre-fluid鈥� became an industry buzzword, Ell鈥檚 musical influences stretched well beyond traditional country conventions. Raised on Shania Twain before later immersing herself in blues, rock and pop music through mentorship from another iconic Canadian performer, Randy Bachman, Ell entered Nashville with ambitions of becoming 鈥渁 female John Mayer.鈥� 

Instead, she often found herself being told she was not 鈥渃ountry enough.鈥� 

鈥淚 knew I wasn鈥檛 going in there with a cowboy hat and cowboy boots singing about trucks and beer,鈥� Ell says with a laugh. 鈥淭hat just wasn鈥檛 part of my world.鈥� 

The comment is delivered lightly, but the underlying pressure was real. For years, Ell has existed slightly outside the lane the industry seemed to want her to occupy, close enough to country to market there, but stylistically and creatively pulling from something broader. Her music has continually become more sonically expansive and emotionally direct. She describes the process as both freeing and terrifying. 

鈥淢arketing my music now in a new landscape kind of feels like starting over again,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t feels like the beginning of something.鈥� 

That balancing act between creativity and practicality has existed throughout much of Ell鈥檚 life. Education was always important in the Ell household. Her mother, Suzanne Ell, was an archives specialist in Libraries and Cultural Resources at U荔枝视频. Her older brother, Shawn Ell, 叠颁辞尘尘鈥�09, graduated from the Haskayne School of Business, and Lindsay initially followed a similar path, believing a business background could help her navigate the music industry just as much as her creative instincts would. 

While studying at Haskayne, Ell says she developed many of the teamwork and communication skills that still shape how she approaches her career today. But balancing a full university course load alongside an increasingly demanding music career quickly became unsustainable and, in 2009, she chose to step away from her studies. 

鈥淚t was one of the hardest decisions,鈥� Ell says of deciding to pursue music full time. 

Still, she credits that experience with fundamentally shaping how she navigates the business side of the industry. 

鈥淚鈥檝e always been very hands-on with my business,鈥� Ell says. 鈥淚鈥檝e always wanted to know what my manager鈥檚 doing, what my business manager鈥檚 doing, what my agent is doing.鈥� 

What makes that reinvention particularly compelling is that it appears rooted less in rebranding than in self-trust. Again and again throughout the conversation, Ell returns not to strategy, but to authenticity. 

鈥淎t this point in my career, I鈥檓 just like, 鈥楳an, I really need to write the most honest thing that I can say,鈥欌�� she says. 鈥淎nd hope that that connects with somebody else going through a similar thing.鈥� 

That honesty extends beyond music.

Feedback  

Over the past several years, Ell has spoken publicly about mental health, body image, healing and self-worth, the conversations she believes are finally becoming more normalized both inside and outside the entertainment industry. 

鈥淚 feel like mental health is so much more at the forefront now,鈥� she says. 鈥淲e don鈥檛 need to wear these masks anymore of, 鈥楾his is who I鈥檓 trying to be,鈥� versus who we really are.鈥� 

For Ell, songwriting has increasingly become a way to process those realities in real time. 

鈥淪till to this day, I feel like I鈥檓 learning about myself and processing the things I鈥檓 going through in life through writing songs about them.鈥� 

It is perhaps the clearest indication of how much her relationship with creativity has changed. Earlier in her career, songwriting often existed within the framework of commercial expectations. Now, it feels more like reflection and release. However, that shift has not necessarily made life easier. 

If anything, Ell acknowledges that modern artists now face entirely new pressures surrounding visibility, comparison and constant access to audiences. Social media, she says, remains both 鈥渁 blessing and a curse.鈥� 

鈥淭he fact that anybody can post something and potentially have millions of people see it overnight is wild,鈥� she says. 鈥淏ut, if I sit there scrolling for hours, that鈥檚 where my happiness jumps out the window.鈥� 

Over time, Ell has learned to place stricter boundaries around her online life, recognizing that protecting her creativity sometimes means disconnecting from the noise surrounding it.

鈥淵our voice is the most unique thing that you can bring to this world,鈥� Ell says. 鈥淎nd that鈥檚 the thing that will take you the farthest.鈥�

Resonance 

Sometimes, during an interview, there鈥檚 a clear moment where a person stops answering questions and starts talking about something they genuinely love. Their energy changes instantly.  

With Ell, that shift happens whenever the conversation turns toward music making itself. At one point during the interview, she goes from talking tour dates and numbers to tilting her laptop webcam to show off her guitars, enthusiastically pointing out hand-painted designs and talking about the instruments like old friends. 

The energy is noticeably different, lighter, more animated, deeply personal. For all the conversations about industry pressure, reinvention and visibility, it is clear that the simple act of creating and playing music still sits at the centre of who she is. 

鈥淚 feel like I鈥檓 entering another era where I really want to become the best guitar player I can be,鈥� Ell says. 

That evolution extends beyond music and into how Ell now defines fulfilment.  

鈥淲hen I first moved to Nashville and signed my first record deal, life looked very flashy,鈥� she says. 鈥淏ut the things that bring me joy now are very simple.鈥� 

Walking her dog. Hiking. Making breakfast. Spending time outside. 

It is a striking answer from someone whose career includes world tours, major festival stages and performing beside one of the biggest names in modern music.  

鈥淭he things that bring me joy now are usually free,鈥� Ell says. 

During the conversation, Ell references author Martha Beck and the idea of 鈥渇ollowing the joy,鈥� a phrase she repeatedly returns to when discussing career pivots, uncertainty and growth. 

鈥淚t sounds cheesy,鈥� she says with a laugh. 鈥淏ut it鈥檚 actually very practical.鈥� 

For Ell, following joy has become less about chasing happiness and more about recognizing alignment, that is, understanding which creative choices, environments and relationships feel grounding, rather than performative. 

It is also, perhaps, the clearest contrast between the artist who first arrived in Nashville 15 years ago and the one speaking now. 

The younger version chased validation, whereas the current version seems far more interested in truth.  

鈥淵our voice is the most unique thing that you can bring to this world,鈥� Ell says. 鈥淎nd that鈥檚 the thing that will take you the farthest.鈥�

Eight Seconds with Lindsay Ell 

Here in a rapid-fire format inspired by Hot Ones host Sean Evans, Lindsay Ell answers eight questions about CTrain performances, Stampede survival, Alberta-highway playlists and why guitars have personalities.  

I heard that back in the late 2000s, there were times people could find you playing guitar on the CTrain. Is that actually true? And what鈥檚 the hardest part about playing on public transportation? 

LOL When I was younger, I said yes to pretty much any opportunity to play a show. So that had me playing random places downtown, random street corners, busking. I played on top of the baggage carousel at the airport, which was one of those shining moments and yeah, on the CTrain too. Thankfully, it was all acoustic, so I didn鈥檛 have to plug into an amp or anything, and I was kind of roving up and down. But the hardest part was keeping your balance! 

You鈥檙e arriving back in 荔枝视频. What鈥檚 the first thing you鈥檙e doing? 

I love ice cream so much, so probably going to Village Ice Cream鈥� But honestly, the first thing is probably seeing my family, seeing friends, and then going to my favourite places. I used to work at Joeys, so I normally try to get a meal at Joeys Crowfoot for old times鈥� sake. 

Is there a 荔枝视频 venue that has always stuck with you? 

I remember playing the Jack Singer so much when I was growing up. The Jack Singer and the Jubilee both had that wow factor when you walked in. I remember being on stage and just thinking the acoustics in those rooms were so stunning and beautiful. 

Stampede is basically 10 days of chaos. What鈥檚 your survival strategy? 

Sleep and water whenever you can get them. I have to tell you my craziest Stampede was when I was still my own agent and booking all my own shows in my mid-teens. I booked 68 shows in the 10 days of Stampede. My mom actually had to take time off work just to drive me from show to show. 

What鈥檚 your Tim Hortons order and what鈥檚 playing if you鈥檙e driving down an Alberta highway? 

I used to get a double-double all the time, but I actually don鈥檛 drink much coffee anymore, so now I get peppermint tea; Tim Hortons peppermint tea is bomb. Sometimes, I鈥檒l get an Iced Capp because they鈥檙e just too good and, if I do, I order it with chocolate milk because it鈥檚 better that way. If I鈥檓 driving down an Alberta highway right now, I鈥檇 probably put on some OG Shania or Terri Clark or maybe Paul Brandt. Those were the OGs back in the day. 

What鈥檚 harder right now: writing a great song or getting people to discover it? 

Writing a great song is difficult, but I鈥檇 definitely say getting people to discover it seems harder these days because there鈥檚 just so much music. 

Do you still get as excited about guitars as you did when you were a teenager? 

I do. I feel like I鈥檝e gone through different chapters with guitar. When I was a teenager, you literally couldn鈥檛 peel a guitar off my body. I played all day long. Then, in my 20s, I was so busy travelling and writing songs and playing shows that I was always playing guitar, but not really practising guitar, if that makes sense. Now I feel like I鈥檓 entering another era where I really want to become the best guitar player I can be. So, I鈥檓 practising every day again and workshopping every day. It kind of feels like I鈥檓 back to how I was in my teens. 

You showed me the guitars behind you during the interview 鈥� do instruments kind of have personalities or souls? 

I think they do. I think a lot of things have their own soul. Every guitar I own kind of feels different. Some feel like they need a male name, some feel like they need a female name. I don鈥檛 know 鈥� I just think instruments channel different parts of you and bring out different messages.