Lexxie Mathis is a Delaware-born and raised musician and producer whose primary instrument—the electric bass—has become an extension of her voice. After spending time in New York City, where she deepened her love for ambient soundscapes and discovered her creative identity, Lexxie began carving out a path of her own. From touring with other bands to launching her own solo project, her journey has been rooted in exploration, emotion, and sonic storytelling. Now back in Delaware, she’s celebrating a powerful new release, on the edge of forever, created in collaboration with fellow Delaware native, multi-instrumentalist, and producer Samuel Nobles. We caught up with Mathis to talk about her latest release, her small-state beginnings, and how her magnetic online presence is helping redefine what it means to be an ambient artist today.

When did you first fall in love with music and know it was something to pursue full-time?

One of my earliest memories of falling in love with music was hearing KISS for the first time. I must’ve been seven or eight, but it was like the song knew me before I knew myself. It was loud and wild and free, and yet it felt deeply personal.

What surprises me most is how clearly I could speak about it, even at that age. I’ve always been naturally drawn to bass—like it lived somewhere inside me before I ever picked one up. There’s this old video of me going on and on about Gene Simmons, his makeup, his bass playing. I’m saying he’s the best bass player in the whole world with so much conviction—like I just knew. It makes me smile every time I watch it, because even then, something deep inside me had already chosen bass. It’s kind of hilarious, but also kind of sacred. That was the beginning.

Music has always been around me—I’ve always been such a huge lover and listener—but I didn’t start playing until I was 20. I’d tried guitar before, but the first time I held a bass, EVERYTHING clicked. It felt like this gravitational pull I’d known was there all along—like I finally met something I’d been missing.

I didn’t pick it up thinking, this is what I’m going to do with my life. I had no clue what I was doing—honestly, I still don’t. But that’s the magic. The not-knowing, the discovery. And somewhere along the way, I realized I’d never felt so deeply connected to anything before.

The more I play, the more I learn—not just about music, but about myself. And now that I’ve found bass, I never want to put it down. I feel like she understands me in a way nothing else ever has. Bass is melody and rhythm and heart and soul—it’s everything. I feel it in my chest, in my fingers, in my whole being.

I wake up thinking about it. I go to sleep dreaming about it. Even transcribing feels like little puzzles for my brain—satisfying and so deeply rewarding.

Writing music has healed so many parts of me. It quiets the noise in my head. It gives shape to the feelings I can’t always put into words. I never set out to make ambient music—but somehow, it found me. It became this soft, open space where I can just be. Where I can breathe, feel, and dream.

I know I have to pursue it, because there just isn’t anything else. The idea of doing anything else doesn’t feel real—I just can’t wrap my head around it. Music makes me feel safe. It makes me feel heard without having to explain myself or be understood. It holds me exactly as I am.

How did you discover ambient music and what encouraged you to follow that path musically?

I think I’ve always subconsciously loved ambient textures, even in songs that aren’t technically ambient. I remember being so drawn to the softness and emotional depth in David Gilmour’s guitar solos—his playing is just so melodic, atmospheric, and expressive. And when I first heard Portrait of Tracy by Jaco… it honestly stopped me. I didn’t even realize a bass could sound like that??? It felt like I was being serenaded—it’s this feeling I can’t even explain. (That’s honestly why I make music—it lets me translate the emotions I can’t always put into words.) It was so soft, and beautifully haunting, and dreamy, and delicate.

It’s like I didn’t even know what “ambient music” was at the time, but I started noticing this pattern—I was always drawn to certain sounds, the softer textures, the space between notes, the stuff that made me feel something without needing lyrics. But it wasn’t until I started commuting a lot—long drives between Delaware and New York for work—that I really fell in love with ambient music. My friend showed me this record called Hearth by Geotic (Will Wiesenfeld), and honestly, my world hasn’t been the same since. I was driving so much at the time, and I needed something grounding but still engaging—something that made me feel calm, but also awake and present. His music gave me that, and still does. It’s so gentle and intentional, and it made me start thinking differently about sound and about how much can be said without anything being said.

I had no intention of making “ambient” music—I didn’t even think about genre—but I was already listening to so much of it, and it sort of just came out. I was just following my emotions. I wasn’t overthinking it; it’s just what my ears and body naturally gravitated toward. And I started to heal while making it—not just from listening to it, but through creating it. It became this dream space, something that helps me sleep at night, especially with the insomnia I’ve struggled with. It calms my mind. It quiets everything. In a lot of ways, it saves my life every time I sit down to make it. You can’t control music, and that’s the beauty of it—it’s like you can, but it’s so magical. Let it pour out of you, surrender to it, and let it move through you.

What is a live ambient set like for readers who have never experienced one?

It’s pure heaven on Earth. It feels otherworldly—like stepping into a dream. It’s reflective, deeply emotional, and so healing. It’s like the world slows down and time doesn’t exist. You’re floating through this warm, suspended place where nothing is rushed and all your biggest worries start to feel small. You feel small… and somehow that feels comforting, because it reminds you how big and beautiful the world really is.

But it’s not for everyone, and that’s okay. You have to be open to slowing down, to feeling things you maybe didn’t know were sitting inside of you. Because it’s not background noise—it asks you to be present. But if you let it in, it can be one of the most quietly healing experiences.

What was the inspiration behind your latest release “the edge of forever”?

It was inspired by change, deep yearning and longing, and finding warmth in the dark—the uncertainty when you can feel that everything is about to change. It’s about the quiet, aching feeling of being in the thick of something painful, but knowing deep down that transformation is on the other side. Surviving the night and clinging to the hope that things will be lighter the next day. It’s about the deep disorientation of being caught between two worlds, when the line blurs between reality and dreamland.

But it also represents the moment of breaking through, like an emotional crescendo, when I finally recognized the weight of everything I’ve been through—and finally saw the light after being submerged in the emotional depths for so long. The liminal space between the old and the new, standing on the verge of something unknown and transformative… the edge of forever.

What was your hardest challenge in putting together the album and how did you overcome it?

Well, I imagined it would be a full record. I have a lot of songs, many of which I really wanted to include, but they just weren’t this. They weren’t part of this story, and that’s okay. I had to learn to let go of the pressure I was putting on myself (still learning, honestly).

Some songs just weren’t ready. Some ideas needed more time to marinate. And I’ve realized it’s okay to save things for another time — to give them the space they need to become what they’re meant to be.

How was working with Samuel Nobles as a producer and collaborator?

It was beautiful and surreal. I’d been such an admirer of his solo work for a while, he’s an absolutely wicked bass player and has the most delicate touch on piano. It's so warm and inviting, it’s so him. It’s wild to think that this time last year I was listening to his music, and now, a year later, we have a record together. It’s really special. Every day we recorded, it snowed, which made everything feel kind of magical, like we were inside this quiet little dream, in our own little world bringing ideas to life.

He’s such a sweet, kind, and patient human. Working with him has genuinely been one of my favorite experiences. We really see eye to eye. We have another session coming up next week, I can’t wait to keep creating with him. I’m just so happy to call him a good friend.

You’re a wiz at social media, mainly Instagram and Tiktok. Both platforms are a great way to get your music heard and find great opportunities. What advice would you give musicians who struggle with the platforms?

Look, if I can say anything, it’s this: post that darn thing you’re so worried about posting!

If you’re nervous to share it, it’s probably because it means a lot to you — and that’s exactly why you should and definitely have to share it. That’s the real stuff. And realness stands out on platforms that can feel so filtered and curated.

Be you.

Have fun with it.

Genuinely like what you’re creating.

Get weird with it. It doesn't all have to be so serious.

And also… please, create more than you consume <3

If you could give younger Lexxie some advice on music and life what would you tell her?

Be consistent. Be patient. Be kind to yourself.

Some of your biggest breakthroughs happen in those quiet, unseen moments…those moments where you’re not proving yourself or sharing, you're simply just doing. Sometimes things feel slower than we want, sometimes things feel stagnant, but when it feels like nothing is happening, the real shift is beginning. .

Feel! it! real! whatever you want–speak it, live like it's on its way, and pour everything you have into it. let it consume you in the most beautiful way possible. We live in a world of infinite possibilities. the dream, well, it’s already yours, your belief is what brings it to life.

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