Middle of January: The Sound That Stayed

It was the beginning of summer, and I was standing in front of the stage at Shaky Ground Coffee House

sixteen, fists clenched, body moving like the music had taken over. The power of it didn’t just reach me—it punched through. My brother, Bobby, was mid-scream, guitar slung low, caught in that signature motion he always did on stage, half dance, half defiance. And I remember thinking, I had no idea his voice could sound like this.

That night changed something in me, somehow.

I’d seen Bobby play before—other bands, other stages—but this was different. Victim of Modern Age was different. This wasn’t just sound. It was soul. It was poetry. It was pain. It felt like everything we’d been through, set on fire in musical formation.

The venue smelled like coffee—loud but low, lingering like a background hum. I wasn’t a coffee drinker back then, but that scent is burned into the memory. Earlier that day, we’d had shrimp po’ boys at KD’s—my first ever grilled shrimp one, and to this day, the best I’ve ever had. I didn’t know it yet, but that little corner of Lake Charles was already locking itself in my bones.

I don’t remember exactly what I wore—probably something thrifted Bobby helped me pick out. Maybe that old red-yellow-blue 80s striped shirt I loved—the one that looked like it belonged to a hot dog vendor, but made me feel like someone with a story. That night, I didn’t feel the weight of life. I didn’t feel awkward. I didn’t feel out of place. I felt plugged in.

And then came the song.

Middle of January.

“Why don’t you just crawl inside of your black hole,

you know you won’t leave home tomorrow.”

“So why don’t you just drive?

Get in your car and leave this place, never to return.”

I can still hear it. I play that track all the time. For friends. For family. For Jaxon—my son—who’s been hearing his Uncle Bobby’s voice since before he was born, through headphones while I was pregnant. I tell my kids every time: This is your uncle. This is one of my favorite songs in the world. This is what it sounds like when someone does something with soul.

I don’t know how to explain that version—the original. Bobby’s vocals. That exact energy. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t performative. It was a scream into the night sky. It was the first time I saw the full depth of what music could hold. The ache, the leaving, the staying. The poetry of being young and hurting and knowing you were meant to feel it all anyway.

After the show, we drove around. Bobby, Trista, me. And when I got home, I climbed into the top bunk, stared at the ceiling, and replayed the whole night in my head. I remember thinking: My brother’s going to be something. He already is.

And somehow, that song still plays in the back of my memory—loud, alive, and undefeated.

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Searching For Stars

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Thank You, Danny Go!: A Letter From Our Living Room

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • December 12, 2025

Dear Danny Go (and Mindy Mango), We weren’t looking for you—but somehow, you found us. It was in the recommended section on Happy Kids TV. Jaxon clicked on it for his sister Maggie, and just like that, something lit up in our living room. The colors, the energy, the fun costumes, the absolute joy of it all—we were hooked. Not just the kids. Jamie and I too. It didn’t take long before Danny Go! wasn’t just something our kids watched—it became something we danced to, sang along with, laughed through. Something that made us all feel lighter. There’s something rare and magical about a show that doesn’t just entertain your kids, but actually pulls you in too. For us, Danny Go! is that magic. Whether it’s “ The Floor is Lava ” or any of the countless jams we’ve rewatched again and again, it’s more than background noise—it’s an invitation. To move, to play, to be present. We’ve turned living rooms into obstacle courses, let loose in the kitchen, and found ourselves grinning and dancing when we thought we were too tired to do anything at all. It’s a way to reset a rough day, a cranky morning, or a bedtime full of wiggles . It’s become a happy place. At first, Danny Go! was just this bright, silly, joyful thing we all loved. But then I started learning more—about you, Daniel and Mindy, about your son Isaac, about the love and resilience at the heart of it all. And suddenly, it wasn’t just fun anymore. It was inspiring. The kind of inspiring that sinks in deep because you recognize something in it. I too know what it means to be moved by your children to do something that matters. In its essence Searching for Stars was born from that same place—wanting to create light because of the light our kids bring us every day. Knowing what Danny Go! came from—knowing the beauty and bravery behind it—just makes every song, every dance, every goofy costume feel even more meaningful. It’s not just a show. It’s a gift. Thank you so very much. For the joy. For the music and movement. For the way you’ve turned your story into something so bright and full of life. Thank you for making something that brings my kids happiness, and for letting that happiness spill over to the rest of us too. You’ve given us more than a show. You’ve given us a reason to dance when we’re tired, to laugh when we need it most, and to remember that play matters—maybe even more than we think. You remind us that joy is a kind of medicine, and that silly, colorful, creative love can be a force for good in the world. From one parent trying to build something inspired by their children to another: thank you for the light you’ve made. You’ve brightened our living room—and our hearts. With love and gratitude, Lauren