If Keith Richards had been born below the Mason-Dixon Line, his name might have been Mike Cooley.

Hailing from the Green Mountains of Burlington, Vt., The DuPont Brothers have emerged as a breath of fresh air in an often stifling, suffocating music industry. 

The train came to a halt. Looking out the foggy window, a cold, snowy landscape awaited me. 

“The current temperature is 10 below zero. Make sure you all bundle up. It’s like Siberia out there,” the conductor said over the loudspeaker. 

Every Jan. 1, a clean slate arrives. It’s a chance to start over, to push into exciting pursuits where curiosity roams free. The past year is already in the history books. Everyone has returned to square one — a level playing field where the possibilities are endless.

Who in the hell is that?

Standing on the porch at Camp Hope in Bethel, I found myself in amazement of the sound echoing from the nearby pavilion. It was the inaugural Shining Rock Riverfest this past September. The voice was that of Indigo Blue Desouza.

Next week will mark my second Christmas in Western North Carolina. And, like last year, I won’t be making it back home to Upstate New York for the festivities. This has also been the case for Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve. 

Named of the “12 Comics to Watch” for 2013 by LA Weekly, Atlanta-bred comedian Dave Stone has been taking over the stage with his southern flare meets keen observations of modern society.

The strings of tradition and progress echoed from the back alley. Upon further inspection (and a lone door cracked open), the harmonic tone was radiating from the mandolin of Darren Nicholson.

Editor’s Note: After receiving a heartfelt letter in the mail recently from an inmate at a North Carolina correctional facility, Garret decided to write back. Here is his response.

Dear A***,

First off, thank you from the bottom of my heart for the letter you sent. It was filled with such kind words. I often wonder myself if anyone actually reads what I put out there, if my words find themselves in the hands of those looking for something that day, whatever that something might be. 

My ears are still ringing.

From Nov. 1-5, I went and saw nine bands. Yep, that’s nine acts in the matter of five days. It was a musical odyssey, to say the least. If there ever were evidence of my obsession for sound and performance, ideal for my mother to give me that signature puzzled look, you’d find it following me around these last several days.