The Long Story of Annadote

How one crazy magical night turned into the band Annadote

October 31st 2023

At  a bar, in the Old Port, in Portland, Maine.

In the quiet town of Hollis, Maine, where fields stretch wide and life hums with the simplicity of a childhood dream, the seeds of Annadote—a pop rock band destined to heal through music—were planted long before their first notes rang out. But it was on a fateful Halloween night in Portland’s Old Port that those seeds sprouted, sparked by chance, courage, and a missing house band.

Anna Marie Dote grew up on a farm where the world felt no bigger than her backyard. Music was her family’s lifeblood. Her father, a rock enthusiast who’d played in bands before she was born, filled their home with electric riffs echoing from the basement band room. As a kid, Anna would sneak downstairs, past her bedtime, and fall asleep on the kitchen floor to the lullaby of his guitar. Her mother, a classical pianist, brought timeless melodies to life on an old upright piano that came with the farmhouse. By nine, Anna had mastered it, her small hands finding power in its keys.

Her father was a musical wizard, picking up nearly any instrument he touched—guitar, bass, drums, you name it. He passed that versatility to Anna, along with a deep love for music’s endless possibilities. Those nights of rock and days of classical chords wove the threads of Annadote’s future, even if Anna didn’t know it yet.

Fast forward to October 31, 2023 Halloween night in Portland’s Old Port. The bar was decked out with cobwebs and jack-o’-lanterns, the air thick with anticipation for the house band. Anna was there with her best friend, Jayda-Lynn Baker, to celebrate Jayda-Lynn’s birthday. Gladu Fox, a local sound engineer and musician, had come to mingle and catch the show. JT, a songwriter and guitarist, sat solo at the bar, waiting to see a friend in the band. But as the clock ticked on, the stage stayed empty—the house band was a no-show.

The bar felt half-dead, the crowd thinning, until Gladu decided to shake things up. He hopped on stage, tapped the mic, and called out, “Is this thing on?” The bartender flipped a switch and gave him a nod. Gladu scanned the room. “Anyone out there know how to play the keyboard—or anything up here?”

Jayda-Lynn, a few drinks deep and brimming with birthday spirit, shouted, “My best friend Anna does!” Anna’s heart sank. She slid down in her seat, cheeks flaming, clutching the menu like a lifeline as she tried to vanish. Gladu laughed. “Don’t be shy! There’s like ten people here, and you two are twenty percent of them!” The tiny crowd chuckled, and Jayda-Lynn—now tipsy and relentless—begged Anna to play her a birthday song, practically dragging her toward the stage.

Anna stared at her empty glass, took a breath, and muttered, “Fuck it. Let’s do this.” She shook off her nerves, climbed up to the keyboard, and sat down to a ripple of applause, her pulse racing.