Don’t Maximize Your Rap Album

Years ago I was spending some time with DJ Abilities and Eyedea when they were working on making their record E&A (humble brag). One thing Abilities said during the hang was “one thing I can tell you, there will never be four bars on the record that are the exact same as the four bars right before it. Even if it’s just a little shaker or an extra clap, they’ll be something special”. At the time I half thought it was cool, and half thought was a dumb rule to enforce for a record. What if the perfect thing to have happen in the next four bars of music is exactly the fuck what happened in the four bars prior? All music is built on repetition. Black music is uniquely connected to the magic of repetition. I remember really early in my college career reading this statement about African music which I will now paraphrase: the fourth time a pattern happens is different from the fifth time that pattern happens. Repeating is as much a development as a variation is. It stuck with me. Repeating can be the wrong choice, but it’s a choice, it’s a valid choice. It’s frequently the best choice. A record that arbitrarily decides to add something unique to every four bars is unlikely to be an enjoyable listen. Now actually, that E&A record must have some moments where the beat just rides, and a lot of the record is really enjoyable. Especially this one.

But I think too much of that micro-producing impulse can absolutely derail a project, it can absolutely derail a band, hell, I think it can absolutely derail a scene/genre. And that brings me to what I’m really here to talk about: EARTHGANG.

I bought all the Earthgang stock back in 2018. On March 18, 2018 went to the Entry to see J.I.D. while also catching Vince Staples at the Mainroom (that’s one of the best two for one show hits in Minnesota history). I walked into the Entry during Earthgang’s set and I had no idea who they were (I hadn’t done the necessary homework to realize they were on one of my favorite J.I.D. songs). But anyway, the energy they exuded on stage was absolutely amazing. They were full of energy but not shoving their shit down your throat. They weren’t sacrificing their delivery to be energetic. And suddenly I found myself doing shit I hadn’t done for a band in a long time, I was looking at their website everyday. I was going down the deepest of rabbit holes with them. I was loving their music. I knew they were down with J. Cole who I also loved, but I was getting something from Earthgang in particular that I wasn’t getting from any other rap group. Their newest release in 2018 was an EP called Royalty. This is an amazing EP. This EP seems to relish in the fun of making music. This is some major projecting but I think that Earthgang knew that the big moments of stardom were coming. Soon they’d be signed to Interscope, soon they’d be out on the road opening for Billie Eilish. Soon every song would be an investment, a board meeting, something that required visuals, something where the beat changes every four bars. What I hear on Royalty is the tangible joy of creation without micromanagement. Ever since I started rooting for Earthgang, I started getting disappointed by their output. They are still an incredibly talented crew, but I don’t rock with them like I did. Nowadays on an Earthgang album everything that can be sung is harmonized, every reference is underlined, none of the ad-libs are actually ad-libbed. It all just feels so. . .efficient. I can’t rock with it. I can rock with Royalty and I fear that some of rap is losing that angle. I know my group, Heiruspecs, can easily lose that angle. When we had the most riding on our success, when this band was our livelihood, we still put a song on our record where the outro was ME singing “I am Willy Wonka from the Chocolate Factory, would you like a piece of chocolate taste from me”. (listen at 2:58). There’s something about being young and trying to make each other laugh, trying to make everyone in the studio smile. That’s a good metric, that’s a good way to make magic. You’ll make some stupid shit, but it’s that beautiful inefficiency of lightly produced music. We don’t need to explain every decision, we don’t need to belabor every drum fill. With a comedian, I want to see them take EVERY SINGLE angle of a joke, drain every bit of juice from that fruit. I want the opposite in rap; leave it vague, hint at it, let the potential float there. The undisputed kings of unmaximized rap is De La Soul. And I know that’s wild to say, because it’s well documented how hard Prince Paul and De La worked on those first handful of records. But what stands out to me is a willingness to allow things that are unexplainably dope to make the final cut even though there’s no way to explain their greatness individually, they are just collectively the chunks of a masterpiece. Listen to the song Eye Patch. Let’s do that together.

Weird things about this song:

There’s a chorus but it only happens at the beginning
They just take a nice two measure breather between Posdnous and Dave’s first two verses
Posdnous opens his second verse with a dotted half note of just saying “mmmmmm”

It’s so CRAFTY. So capricious. So inefficient, so unique. So singular. Let’s not lose that shit. For me, Earthgang has lost that, there’s nothing tossed off, there’s nothing improvisatory. It’s all too serious. But let me know play you some of my favorite Earthgang jams.

Weird Things About This Song:

This song features a handful of lyricists trying to explain what factors will go into their decisions regarding purchasing a vehicle.

The intro patiently develops and when the lyrics start, an amazing new guitar part is introduced, unexpected magic

Johnny Venus refers to his house getting robbed in this line “came home, only thing they left us was the ceilings” what a way to say that
I also love the image of selling waters for a dollar and being embarrassed about the prospect of your family finding out

Doctor Dot’s verse is perfection. His exploration about buying a car involves wanting to measure up better against compared to one of his relatives. It’s a simple feeling, it’s relatable, but he delivers it with so much specificity and craftiness.

Weird things about this song:
It’s just one thing, it’s the space Doctur Dot spans across two short verses. It comes off as so loose, so stream of consciousness. Clearly this is a very talented rapper but this sounds like someone who has developed the technical facility to make it sound like it’s second nature. In verse two he is cataloging a set of anonymous sexual adventures with women on the road and then just juts over to a tale of a close friend dying in a hospital. It doesn’t work on paper. But listen, it works. It can’t be edited, it can’t be double tracked, it can’t be workshopped. It just must be.

Weird Things About this Song:
What the hell is happening with the keyboard? It sounds like the keyboard is the sound of someone writing a keyboard part in real time. That’s what makes it so amazing, it sounds so curious and responsive. I don’t believe it ever really loops up, I believe it’s mostly performed live, with such a great interplay to the lyrics.
The first verse from Doctur Dot is utter joy, the bouncing of the lyrics with the reference to J.I.D. and Weezy. It’s that friendly reminder that rapping over a beat can be unimaginably fun. And to close a verse with this “hands free, don’t say shit to me about the penmanship, had the backwoods rolled before I finished this, still it’s this”
Also a great “how bout we put the bassline through a flanger before the outro cause why not”

Closing thoughts: Don’t let rap get perfect! Don’t let rap get micromanaged! Keep the slack, keep the skits, make the masterpieces, don’t utilize every opportunity, throw in some surprises, throw in something that doesn’t make sense until it does, let a groove loop for a long ass time sometimes.

Celebrating My One Year at Jazz88

It’s hard to believe that just a year ago I came into the studios of Jazz88 to start hosting the Afternoon Cruise and being the Music Director. It’s been a really rewarding year, I’ve really dug into the work. That work includes trying to be a really engaging, curious and gracious host every afternoon. I also have been trying to make connections with Minnesota musicians and celebrate the incredible work that is happening here already. I also want to make authentic connections with national artists, both well-known artists and up-and-comers. From my years as a professional musician, I know what it means for a radio station to stick their neck out and get behind a young artist. I know what it means for audience connection, ticket sales, record sales. It can lay down the foundation for a metro area to be an important part of your strategy. Also, as a listener I know what it’s like when you hear a radio station just lean into an artist, support ‘em, develop ‘em, believe in ‘em. It’s all magical and I want to be a part of that. This year I’m going to give myself the letter grade of an A. That’s certainly not because I’ve done everything perfectly, far from it. There was a day where we played Stacey Kent pretty much every hour cause I didn’t know how to program music. I’ve struggled left and right, but across the year I can hear improvements in my own DJing and in the programming of the station. There are plenty of metrics to measure success in any profession, and in radio ratings are certainly part of that equation. Ratings are fickle, and ratings are often too blunt of a measurement to give a station vital information for what is working. BUT, all that aside, WE HAD AN ABSOLUTELY BANNER MONTH AT JAZZ88. Our station is at a record high 2.9. You can read more about it here from our Program Director, Travis Ryder. You can check the public ratings here. It’s really inspiring. More people are listening. People who do listen are listening for longer. And the feedback I get from listeners, from musicians, from randos at the grocery store: it’s positive, it’s enthusiastic, it drives me to keep going. Great radio makes a difference, busting your ass to make a cool sounding afternoon can make a difference. It’s awesome. I’m really happy to be here, and I’m really happy we’re thriving. I’m going to raise a glass tonight and smile with my friends. It’s a good night. Happy Friday.

The sexy author, March 24, 2022.

The sexier author, now the Music Director of the highest rated Jazz Station in America, March 24, 2023.

Embrace the Majesty of Big Trouble’s Instrumental Stylings

Enjoy your Saturday with world class instrumental music in the heart of St. Paul. I said it, world class. I’m the bass player in Big Trouble and we sound excellent. Don’t believe me? Come out and check. It’s Free99 to find out. Let’s do this. Swing by between 6 and 8pm this Saturday.

It’s a guitar, but with a flyer on it.

How Topless Volleyball’s Failure Was the Music Scene’s Win

Hands down the best blog title I will ever write.

So listen, I was sitting with a dude named Brad Davies who is a booster for the Blues Saloon on Rice. Brad knows a lot about the history of blues and live music in general in the Twin Cities. He remembers the era of the Blues Saloon on Western with national name talent rolling through damn near every weekend. I bet Brad has a couple dog-eared copies of the Twin Cities Blues News. I bet Brad would shit a brick to know that I auditioned but didn’t get the gig to play with Renee Austin back when I was a young buck in high school.

But anywho, on set break at Blues Saloon Brad is spinning yarns about blues of yesteryear and he drops a couple unverified facts on me that blow my entire brain all the way off. First off, he points out that some portion of the Blues Saloon (aka Club Cancun) is just two train cars put together. This is actually kind of common, but I had never noticed it before at this particular venue. From there the conversation got wildly juicy.

SEAN: Alright Brad, traincars turned into bars, you’ve got my attention. What’s next?
BRAD: Well Sean - this place, and many other bars expanded in the early 1980s in order to make room for an indoor volleyball court.
SEAN: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT BRAD?
BRAD: Back in the day St. Paul used to be chock full of strip clubs, do you remember any of that?
SEAN: Yeah, the Payne Reliever, the Lamplighter, I remember these names from high school.
BRAD: In the late 70s it was even more and somehow a bunch of bar owners convinced the city to give the blessing to greenlight topless volleyball as a way to drum up more business for the bars.
SEAN: Shut your mouth Brad this is absolutely insane, are you messing with me?
BRAD: Hand to God, topless volleyball.
SEAN:
BRAD: So anyway, the city changes their mind very close to the launch date. Like these bars had poured concrete, built walls, built viewing areas. (Brad motions up towards what I now realize is a volleyball sized dance floor and shows the viewing areas on the higher floors). They flail for awhile, they get the green light for wet t-shirt volleyball but it’s not drawing crowds. At least not the way they thought topless volleyball was gonna.
SEAN: Did they try foxy boxing?
BRAD:
BRAD: Foxy what?
SEAN: Nothing. Go on.
BRAD: So anyway, a couple spots, The Blues Saloon and Saint Paul Music Cafe most notably, make a pivot, they decide on bringing in music, they got to do something with the space.
SEAN: Are you messing with me?
BRAD: Hand to God, had to do something with the space.
SEAN: So you’re telling me that two primary music venues in St. Paul exist because of the downfall of topless volleyball.
BRAD: That is what I’m saying.

This is unbelievable. I can’t tell you this is 100% true, if you know anything about this, please email, I am so unbelievably curious to find out about this topless chapter in my city’s history.

What Are Your Values?

You think you had a bad day? I clogged my therapist’s toilet at 8:33am, our appointment was at 8:30. This was a water flooding all over the bathroom situation. This was a “it’s leaking in the basement” situation. Did they have a mop? No. Did we use a roll of paper towel? Yes. Did we use most of another role of paper towel? Yes. Do I like my therapist? Yes. But that was some stressful shit for all of us. Also, let the record show, as per usual, the culprit was the toilet paper, the main event went down just fine. Do I think it’s reasonable to have a therapist and her client tear through two rolls of bounty and move Ikea furniture to dry land together only to have her ask. . .”so how are you doing?”. No, I don’t. I feel like she should’ve asked “are you gonna get another therapist on the side to deal with this whole situation”.

Okay, I got my jokes off. Frankly, it wasn’t all that stressful, I can laugh about it. My work in therapy and with my nutritionist right now is trying to remove shame from page one of my values and techniques for understanding the world. I don’t know why shame has been so big to me. I know it has to do with my childhood. I know it has to do with shame that my parents put on themselves and escorted right down into my brain. I thought shame was what kept me from being an utter bag of shit. Like I thought that three months ago, or even two months ago. I thought it was shame that had me practice before a show, I thought it would be shame that would help the musicians in my sphere play better. I have doled out shame to every girlfriend, every bandmate and most every friend in my life. And I’ve given myself more shame than anyone else. I thought fame was the only thing that would do the trick, it was the voice of reason against my indulgent, lazy, hedonistic punk ass self. There is really no connection between these feelings and my reality. But, reality is not the only measure. These feelings aren’t the only option I have to go through life. Some years ago I realized I wouldn’t wish shame on anyone else, and with MAJOR exceptions I stopped putting that shame shit onto other people. But I kept it for myself, I kept it inside cause I thought it was the only thing keeping me on the straight and narrow.

Now I’m in the process of accepting that I might just be alright. Accepting that I might mostly do the right things, eat the right things, say the right things to friends, treat my kids good, be a good bandmate, be a good husband, be good at exercise. That I might not need to wagging finger of self-shame to scare me away from the allure of being a gaping asshole. With my nutritionist a lot of this involves working on intuitive eating. Intuitive eating involves trusting you and your body to seek out what is best for it. This was challenging for me to believe in, I’m a person who believes in rules. But I don’t believe that 35 years of being told I was eating the wrong thing by professionals, by society and sometimes by my family have been good for me. My mom didn’t herself to eat right, and she definitely didn’t trust me to do so. And I lived up to that. But maybe I never got to listen. I never opened that channel of communication about what my body needed before it got polluted with the thoughts of others.

Today we worked on writing down the values that mattered to me. I wrote down 17. I had to slowly cross them off until I was left with four. It was stressful, but it was illuminating. What is really at my core? What do I value? My therapist thinks that ranking, naming and referencing my values will help me. And I agree. It’s exciting and stressful to do this work. It’s also hard to do this work. Doing external homework is one thing: learn this chart, complete this form. It’s different when the work is looking inward, but it’s pretty amazing. I try to share a little bit about my therapy journey on this blog so that folks who are therapy curious might find their way to some therapy. If that’s you, awesome. If that’s not you, I hope you enjoy hearing about my journey.

Playing a Blues Gig on Friday OMFG

The first music I really played was blues. My brother was into blues. He was in a blues band. Ergo, I played the blues. BUT I LOVED IT. I loved the rhythm of it, the combination of observable forms with improvisation on top of it. I loved the sassiness, the braggadocio, the vulnerability. Blues is a wildly dynamic music, with all the emotions of life being pulled into the stew. And the lyrics often exude a specificity and accuracy that is only trumped by the specificity and accuracy of hip-hop lyrics. BUT, we don’t have to choose. We can love hip-hop and we can love the blues. So I knew that when I moved on from the Current and started to have my Saturday nights free I’d start to try to get more connected with the blues community. I also knew that would be a good idea for my work at Jazz88. We have 12 Hours of the Blues and we would be well-suited to be more connected to the incredible community of blues players in Minnesota. We have a good scene here, but it is sorely under-celebrated by non-blues enthusiasts. TACK ON TO ALL OF THAT the fact that my friend Erick Anderson, Afrokeys, has been sitting in on the regular jam session over at the Blues Saloon on Tuesdays. TLDR: I’m trying to get into the blues scene here in Minnesota.

To that end, I have the opportunity to play some blues on Friday night over at the Blues Saloon and I’m overjoyed with the opportunity. I’m working with a bunch of great vocalists and players who I didn’t know too well at all before the gig. I have been supportive of Annie Mack’s music in the past, and I’m connected a bit with Bambi Alexander, but other than that, I hadn’t met any of them. That’s a friendly reminder that this scene is full of world class players that you happen to not know. You might be shopping for groceries next to Robert King, the drummer. Robert can bury the kick and snare inside of 16th note hi-hats in this 70s Al Green recordings way that I’ve never played with before. OMFG, it felt great. And Andrew Guerin, the guitar player, monster talent. He did a thing on the Betty Lavette tune where he kept a drone going on every note of his solo. It sounded like a record. (by having your own blog you can basically review your own bands, what an idea). So, come on down and watch me play some blues on Friday, it’s going to be great.

I Had the Best Muffin of My Life

I used to live across from the Minnesota Historical Society and I used to enjoy drinking on weekdays. This would often result in me booking ass to my gig at McNally Smith on foot bright and early in the morning. But I didn’t feel bright and I certainly wasn’t early. I was a man in need of a muffin. The muffin of choice was at the Minnesota Historical Society. The pistachio muffin was crusty, nutty, with actual pistachios involved, and the coffee was stellar. Get one of those going while you hit the steps by St. Joe’s hospital and by the time I got to McNally I was ready to work on promoting Heiruspecs at my desk! What a treat.

But that has given me a lifelong affair with pistachio muffins. After Minnesota Historical Society switched food vendors I had to scratch my issue with only okay pistachio muffins from Dunn Brothers. They’re green, they taste a bit like pistachios and they’re usually available. But they have no actual pistachio action, and they are kind of disproportionate. You get a lot of muffin bottom and not much muffin top. Solid, but a B at best.

Flash forward to late 2022. I start filing away the CDs for Jazz88 in a storage area of North High in Minneapolis. The radio station had already located to St. Louis Park, so I’m sneaking out of our studios usually once every two weeks to put in 3-4 hours of filing. Generally I was getting through about three letters of the alphabet a time. And pretty much every time I finished up a shift I’d stop at Cuppa Java in Bryn Mawr for a god damn pistachio muffin. Love a coffee shop reward after a job done decently. Also shout out to Alexei Casselle aka Crescent Moon. Whenever I am in Bryn Mawr I think of him, he’s basically the only person I know from there, and his childhood home is maybe three hundred steps from this soon to be discovered majestic muffin. Now listen, I didn’t expect there to be pistachio muffins there, this coffee shop is basically just exactly halfway between North High and iHeart where we currently have our offices. Now once or twice they didn’t have pistachio muffins, and once I wanted an egg salad sandwich. But I’ve probably gotten 5 of these muffins. What makes them good? They are moist with pistachio oil or some other kind of oil thing. But it’s not overbearing. So these muffins have all been excellent. Thank you Cuppa Java. But, I’m in line the other day in need of true muffin satisfaction. Probably 11:20 on a Wednesday, the food I’ve got with me is to be eaten circa 4pm during my afternoon shift. I needed that muffin satisfaction. Waiting in line on this particular day I didn’t see the subtle green tint emanating from any of the pastries they were hawking. But when I got to the front I sheepishly asked if they had pistachio muffins already starting to tell myself that the egg salad sandwich would suffice. When this tall “I bought a coffee shop in my forties” looking man sauntered back and brought out a muffin I could already tell it was hot. Just the way he was holding it. He asked “do you want a bag” to which I wanted to say “I am going to eat in the alley and then probably tear the wrapping into small pieces and try and digest it”. Instead I said, “no”. This was the best muffin of my life. It’s all down here from here and I’m totally okay with that.

Actual Fat People in Ads for Large Clothes, Excellent Choice Universe

Growing up they didn’t even let fat people model clothes designed exclusively for fat people. The Big and Tall catalog always leaned real heavy on the “Tall” part of that equation. It’s not that way anymore. I had to buy some new gym shorts and swim trunks after some poorly executed gym runs and the gentlemen in my feed are all legit big, not big boned, but fat. And they are looking good. And they are selling me clothes. I also buy clothes monthly from a place called Winston Box and I get nice gear that I like and my wife likes too. Sometimes it’s important for fat people to see fat people looking fucking awesome. It’s not the same, but it comes from the same family of the joy I hear Black people talk about when they see Black people looking great, living their best life and being excellent on social media or elsewhere. And if you need a feed of fat people looking great, check out this list my nutritionist gave me. I’ve definitely stolen some fashion choices from this crew. I hope that the pseudo fat people that used to be in my ads can go sell clothes to pseudo fat customers.

2pm on a Wednesday and Check Your Ratios

You have to decide how awesome your job is at some point. I’m coming up on a one year anniversary here at Jazz88 and I’m feeling pretty darn good about how things are doing. I’ve basically only had cool jobs in my life. Even my jobs that weren’t “cool” taught me a ton. Let’s go over them. Babysitter, sold baseball cards at the State Fair, sold CDs at Applause and Cheapo, played bass at blues clubs, entered data for Minnesota Department of Health, gift shop employee at Mass MoCa, made salads at Bennington College cafeteria*, worked the door at the 400 Bar, played bass and ran the band Heiruspecs, worked at group homes for boys and men with autism, did observed parenting sessions for parents with limited custodial rights, worked for a lady who wrote ad copy for awhile, Executive Assistant to the President of McNally Smith College of Music, taught at McNally, ran a Trivia company (still co-own it), played bass for Dessa, hosted at the Current, hosted and music directed at Jazz88. I’m sure I missed plenty of things that I made some money at, but I think that is most of my jobs. Here are some ways to measure how cool your job is:

Wednesday at 2pm test
Don’t think about how you describe your job at fancy dinner parties, think about what you’re doing at 2pm on a Wednesday. That’s one of the ways in which I feel I currently have the best job of my career. At 2pm most Wednesdays I am preparing music for future days on Jazz88 by programming music into our database, selecting music from that database or researching music to determine if it will be added into our database. All that work is amazing. Being a touring musician is great, the hours on stage are some of the greatest hours I will ever have in my entire life. But at 2pm sometimes you are staring at the back of your leader’s head in a van with one speaker, but that speaker isn’t even turned on, because your leader is having a long ass conversation with someone from her management team about something that might impact the next 6 months of your life schedule and money wise but you have to pretend like you aren’t listening cause it would be eavesdropping. So make sure your 2pm on a Wednesday or another spot check time is legit.

The Ratio
This dovetails right next into my new rubric for determining how cool a job is. How about you rate how cool what you are doing is across the hours of your job and figure out what the sum total of that across a week is. I feel that every hour I am on the air, sharing amazing music, communicating with an audience about jazz, the worst that can be on a scale of 1-10 is a 6. I’ve never never felt worse than a 6 while getting to be live on the radio. Running a trivia company sounds cool, but a huge amount of the hours I was feverishly trying to find people to run trivia that night, trying to get punk ass bar owners to pay their bills, trying to come up with another question about a word that rhymed with a state. It was a lot. And it was often solitary. I did a lot of work from home or from places that were empty. I am an office guy, I like to see people at work, I couldn’t take a work from home gig. I don’t even think I could take a work from home two days a week job. I like coming into work and shooting the shit. I’d say any hour at the office that isn’t in a meeting, can’t be lower than maybe a 3. Like I’ve never been sitting at my desk at an office or a radio station thinking “this is the absolute worst plane of existence”. Naw. Never that. Touring, what a strange ratio. A couple of the hours on tour are the absolute greatest hours of your life. I remember being in California, lightly drunk, driving in Doomtree’s van, listening to Frank Ocean’s “Swim Good” for the first time and believing we were all going to be famous and also believing that we kind of already were. I remember looking around the van and seeing that everyone was feeling some kind of similar feeling, Ander, who was selling merch was just moving his body in such rhythm, with such confidence, and Dessa, who spent SO MUCH TIME WORKING AND SCHEMING was in the moment, rolling her head back into the sound of the music in a way I never saw her do in the van. And Joey laughing, Dustin listening and driving I believe. On a scale of 1-10 that’s a 200, I haven’t felt that good at a job for years. The only time I get and exceed joy like that is by bodies of water with my children. But I don’t get paid for that. But so many hours on tour are terrible. And sometimes the playing music part is horrible. Sometimes you can hear nothing on stage, so you are just hoping the band sounds good. I remember once loading out of a club in Boise, ID completely by myself, the band had all connected with fun locals, drinking, hanging, selling stuff. I somehow felt we had to load out then and there so I carried all the shit out. It was horrible. I felt like I had been personally wronged in this situation, but at this point, I can’t quite tell why I didn’t just wait for everyone to be ready to load out. Made sense to me at the time. But, can’t really make sense of it right now. I also think small potatoes touring is just a better fit for younger people. There’s a thing about going to New York City at age 25 when you think no one in that city gives a shit about you that feels romantic. It feels completely different to go there at age 40 and wonder why you are skipping out on your kid’s bedtime to serenade 47 paid at the Mercury Lounge. I can think of a lot of 1s and a lot of 10s on the road. And on top of that I think the average rating of being in a van with other people for multiple hours is probably about a 6. It can’t easily get up to an 8, can easily get down to a 1 pretty fast. So check your ratio my friends. Pick a job that is awesome to you!

*The greatest good coldness I ever felt was submerging my hands deep into a HUUUUUUGE pot to clean an industrial amount of lettuce. My arm felt so cold on that hot spring day and I think about it all the time.

Rest in Peace to Sean Kopp-Reddy

I had heard in the past couple months about difficult health news for a former co-worker from McNally Smith College of Music. I ran summer programs over at McNally for a number of years and I had the honor to hire and work with a lot of students at McNally. Sean Kopp-Reddy was one such students and he was always game to pick up shifts and always had great chemistry with the high school students that came to the programs. I will always remember Sean ambling into a room, sporting the Doomtree No Kings hat that rarely came off his head and very casually saying hello. He always said hello to me like we were two musicians, he never greeted me like I was his boss (I was). He was an accountable, dedicated employee but he always treated me like a friend in the best possible way. We talked a little bit about records, about upcoming shows et cetera. It was clear Sean cared deeply about music and loved making music with his bands. Now that Sean has passed at a criminally young age (I believe he was in his early 30s) I’m not going to pretend that he was a close friend. We worked together, we said hi to each other when we ran into each other at the 331 Club. I cared for him.

I have one little memory about Sean that reminded me about the cycle of life in the Twin Cities music world, something I seem to be thinking about as of late. STAY WITH ME.

Probably around 2000 a gentleman named Allen Estevez was in charge of booking the Bryant-Lake Bowl in Uptown. My band Heiruspecs and related projects had been drawing pretty good crowds for maybe about a year at the venue. Allen called me and said something to the effect “I’ve got a hell of an opportunity for you Sean and I’m not sure if you’re ready for it but it’s yours if you want it. . .The Fourth of July is a really good bar night, everybody’s out, looking to have some fun, take in a show, keep the summer energy going. . .and I think Heiruspecs would be the perfect act to play that night over at BLB. Folks will be out, plus you’ll bring your people, we’ll have a great show, it’s a big opportunity”.

Now I’ll translate that speech into what Allen was actually thinking:

“Hey 20 year old sucker, the boss just told me they want entertainment on the Fourth of July even though the staff told em they should just close because let’s be honest the 4th. . .it’s one of the shittiest bar nights on the calendar. Everyone is sun burnt and drunk by 3pm and the only people who do want to see music on the Fourth probably don’t want to go get a hummus plate from Bryant-Lake Bowl and take in your forward thinking hip hop project. But, you, dumbass, don’t know the rules of the game yet and I’m going to get you to take this gig for a door deal and my boss will be happy that the 35 hardcore Heiruspecs fans who would come to see you on Christmas morning all came and that the 15 of em that are over 21 bought one beer a piece”.

It was like three years later that I was working the door over at the 400 Bar and the head bartender said “Fourth of July is a terrible bar night, nobody comes out” and it was then that I realized I had gotten screwed.

Flash forward to the summer of probably 2010 I’m working over at McNally Smith and Sean Kopp-Reddy tosses me a flyer for a show at the 400 Bar on the Fourth of July. I took the flyer and I said, “cool you got a gig coming up” and I shit you not Sean said “yeah, the booking guy called me and told me that the Fourth of July is a great bar night. . .built in crowds, people just want to be out and enjoy the music”. I didn’t tell Sean he was kind of getting scammed, cause he was only lightly getting scammed, and I had only gotten lightly scammed some ten years ago. Some people came to my show and he said plenty of folks came out to his show. But it was just that cycle, that circle of young musicians filling up an old booker’s calendar. And because Sean died too early, way too early, he won’t get the chance to take a flyer from some young student of his at the School of Rock and find out that they’re playing at the Midway Saloon on the Fourth of July to complete the circle. But Sean will be remembered and honored by his friends, a musician and friend who was making his way through the Twin Cities music scene. Sean, I’m thankful to have shared some time on Earth with you, I appreciate you and I hope you are in a better place, still wearing that Doomtree hat surely.

Moveable Feast - Legends to Us

Moveable Feast L-R Tommy Barbarella, Peter Vircks, Kevin Washington, Jeff Bailey

I decided to postpone doing my taxes even more! Who needs a 1099 anyway?? And instead I went to go see the Jazz Residency at Icehouse. In February Kavyesh Kaviraj was holding court and for his final night and he tapped the artists he was inspired by to close the night. That includes this group Moveable Feast that was an absolute fixture of my early musical journey in the Twin Cities. Tommy Barbarella, Peter Vircks, Jeff Bailey and Kevin Washington. All heroes, all a handful of years older than me. In February of 2000 Heiruspecs put out our first CD. We had released a cassette a handful of years earlier, but the CD was a big step. The release show was at Foxfire Coffee Lounge. Opening up the show would be Abstract Pack and Moveable Feast. Primarily because everyone in Abstract Pack and Moveable Feast was old enough to drink we thought they were the coolest guys on the planet. But the reality is, these men from Abstract Pack, from Moveable Feast and from countless other groups that invited us onto their stages and vice versa became our family. Musical icons, teachers, lesson givers, they welcomed Heiruspecs into the fold, into the scene, into the brotherhood and sisterhood of Minnesota music. It meant and means the world to be. I had been taught how to write a press release by a woman named Kim Randall who ran a record label called No Alernative that I was interning for. That press release helped get some coverage for the CD. Including a write up from Jim Walsh in the Pioneer Press. Including Kim bringing a young Keith Harris to the show. Probably the lessons I learned between fall of 1999 and fall of 2000 gave me more foundation for my career than anything afterwards and maybe anything before. I had the groundwork from my work at St. Paul Central High School, but those first couple lessons from Kim Randall and from booking Heiruspecs directly into nightclubs around the Twin Cities was an education. And seeing Moveable Feast was part of that education.

I loved Moveable Feast, I listened to their records, I remember going to one particularly amazing show at the old Dakota in Bandana Square. Tommy Barbarella walked in to the venue about ten minutes before taking the stage looking like he was the hottest motherfucker on planet Earth, a stunningly beautiful female on his arm, his hair effortlessly and unexplainably wet, his keyboards somehow shinier than any surface on Earth. I remember thinking, “this is a cool thing to play music and hang with amazingly attractive women and walk into already sold out clubs and rip amazing solos in strange time signatures”. I still think that’s cool. And then I got to see what these men did to make it work, they practiced, they taught, they promoted, they networked, they listened to music. In something like music it helps immensely to just see people doing it. My first bass teacher was Sean Hurley, who is now a well-known LA bassist for big ass artists. But I got to accompany Sean to gigs, watch him set up his amp, he’d let me sit in on a tune. God bless the rest of Moveable Feast, but I’ve probably spent the most time around Kevin Washington and he embodies this spirit of passing it on. In the set before Moveable Feast he even brought up one of current high school age students to play on two tunes. That spirit of bringing musicians into the fold, moving this music thing forward into the next generation. It’s so strong, it’s so moving. Yesterday I saw just about everyone I know in the Twin Cities cool music scene in the audience: Kenne Thomas, LA Buckner, Brian Ziemniak, Omar Abdulkarim, Jordan Carlson, Zacc Harris, Brandon Commodore, Greg Schutte, The Lioness, Andrew Gillespie, Tanner Montague, Lucia Sarmiento, Erik Jacobson and I’m forgetting about a million other people. We were all there to see this band that in one way or another welcomed us into Minnesota music. The room felt so warm, so many memories rebubbling. And then they started playing. . .still wow. How are they remembering these songs? They were navigating these athletic jumps with unisons passages and intriguing textures lined up for each solo and they looked like they were a working band that would do it all again the next night. I left feeling so warm and connected and happy. And thankful. The path I saw these gentlemen starting on some 23 years ago. . .I took that path, I chose it so long ago I can’t see the other tines of the fork. Was it everything I thought it would be? Fuck no! I struggle in strange time signatures, I am not where I want to be as a bass player and I don’t know if I’ll find the time to get there. I have been so thoroughly disappointed in the Twin Cities music scene so many times. Disappointed by how we act, by who and why we anoint to higher ground. But everything I do, how I carry myself professionally, how I am able to communicate information, passion and humor surrounding the world of music it starts in the late 90s in a world laid out by Moveable Feast, Abstract Pack, Rhymesayers, Lifter Puller, Truth Maze, Mint Condition, The SPMC, Bellwether, Mason Jennings, Happy Apple. Some of these names mean something to you, some of them might not. It’s not a perfect foundation, far from it, but it’s my foundation, these were the people I would study to do what I do. And seeing Moveable Feast on stage last night, it just got me, it reminded me of this journey, my life’s work, their life’s work, the ups, the downs, the off nights, the on-nights, the days not even your tuner works properly and the days where you feel you could do anything imaginable on your instrument.

The journey isn’t done, but I’ll be honest with you, it’s half over by a lot of measures. I’ve made a lot of the records I’m going to make, I’ve done all the touring I care to do besides for when I can finally get that Pizza Luce Heiruspecs gig up in Duluth and I can go with my whole family. The journey continues but at this way station of Moveable Feast reuniting I glow, this is my world, this is my community and these are some of my big brothers. Thanks for doing it again last night.

Way Over My Married to a Jew Skis

Okay, my work schedule is really hard on my family. I miss family dinner every night. I’m proud to cook the dinner in the morning, but by the time I get there the kids are starting bed and I just get to help my five year old to bed and see my three year old from a distance as my wife does the honors for her bedtime. I’ve been trying to deliver great experiences outside of evening hours to compensate for my schedule. That includes getting to my daughter’s kindergarten class on Monday mornings and hanging out for an hour. I don’t do ANYTHING, but the teacher said it is still awesome to have another adult in the class and some of the kids are starting to remember me. ON A LARK I told Ms. C that I could speak about Purim next week. (Purim is a Jewish holiday that is commonly celebrated by Jews but doesn’t have the same mainstream awareness of Hannukkah or Passover). Could I pass a quiz about Purim? Hell no. Does it sound like it’s a relatively easy Holiday to summarize to a group of 5 and 6 year olds? No. There is genocide, there is sexual objectification. Why did I agree to this? I will figure it out, I will make it work. I am committed to us being a Jewish family. Can I bring treat?

UPDATE: Great emails from my Father in Law, supportive words from wife and confirmation that Cecil’s has hamentaschen. I’ve got this.

I Appeared on the Brian Oake Show, What a Treat

I had the joy of connecting with my old colleague Brian Oake. You can listen here! He runs a great podcast with his friend Sean Barnard that I listen to frequently (I strongly recommend eating up any episode he does with 90s radio friends, it is always an absolute education and laugh fest). I was honored to get the chance to talk with Brian, both about the new Heiruspecs record and about our careers in radio and our time together at the Current. I hope you’ll take the time to give it a listen.

Back at White Squirrel

Big Trouble is getting ready to hit that residency again. We’ll be taking the stage of the White Squirrel on Saturday February 25 from 6-8pm. As you may recall, this hang is the perfect opportunity to show your kids that you used to be cool. The music is on the quiet side (it was too loud for one family that came, but I don’t think the kids had heard much loud music at all before that). Mostly it works, it’s a fun time and a fun jam. Big Trouble plays instrumental music, we sound good in the room. And we’re done at 8, so like, very early. You’ll enjoy yourself. And it’s free. Let’s do this.

A flyer my brother made largely with AI which looks great.

It’s a Trip, It’s a Vacation

Some well meaning A-hole early on in your parenting career will hear you refer to some two day trip you recently took with two full bags, a noisemaker, three cameras and enough snacks to feed a stoned freshman from UMD and say “listen, it’s not a vacation, it’s not a trip”. And you’ll laugh, and you’ll finish your Summit EPA and you’ll realize that that well meaning A-hole is both correct and is an A-hole. Taking vacation days for yourself or just for you and your partner isn’t the same as going with your young kids. It would be amazing if a job just said “we’re gonna let you take sick days for this, cause we know it’s a thing you should do, but we know you aren’t getting rejuvenated”. Traveling with kids is a pain in the ass. And I think you’d have to be so wildly rich for it not to be a pain in the ass. On this particular “trip” I’m happy to say that Rachel and I also got a vacation. I have no shame in saying that it was the most fun part of the trip. I felt great about spending time with my kids, it was magical, it was rewarding. But do you know the fun of drinking free drinks at the Fort Lauderdale Embassy Suites while trying to figure how the two couples sitting right next to you are connected to each other while laughing with Rachel Levitt? If you do know that fun. . .holy shit, what are the odds? It was a joy. We ate a restaurant endorses by Guy Fieri and honestly, no apologies, wonderful, delicious and I haven’t really been disappointed by a Diners, Dives and Drive-In recommendation yet. Facts.

I also had the best cocktail of my life, and it’s not even that close. I got the Cucumber Margarita from El Camino Fort Lauderdale. Cucumber is a spectacular part of a cocktail. This one also had some kind of cordial that was spicy, but not too spicy and then they used Mezcal so it was smoky. I’ll be spending my days trying to figure out how to make this bad boy at home. Also, there was no distraction. We weren’t there for the food. We weren’t even there for the drinks. We were there to see the score of the All-Star game (Giannis beat Lebron). And the bartender was a sweetheart, we all had a good time, and that makes a drink taste so much better. So, the little Rachel and I solo vacation was the highlight but if you get to a truly warm place during a Minnesota winter, you win.

I’m in the midst of a historically le poo snowstorm here in Minnesota that I will have to traverse to get home from work tonight. I’m valiantly trying to stay in touch with the warm Florida sun in my mind. My youngest daughter turned three down there, my stepmom made a cake and let the kids decorate it. I’ve always been a big supporter of “just buy the cake” but you know what. . .decorating that cake was a whole new level of fun, so I’ve changed my tune.

I lost my wedding ring which sucks cause I love that ring, but I’ve been married for ten years, maybe it’s time for a new style. It’s not hard for me to imagine an amazing next chapter of our marriage, with a new ring. We have loose plans that we need to cement into real plans, to celebrate the occasion of us having been married for ten years. So that’s a cool opportunity to get a new ring.

As the kids get older, the travel gets easier. Everyone can walk, our five year old can walk for long ass distances without much sign of fatigue. Pretty great stuff. Since the last time I saw my Dad and his wife in person I’ve had a lot of therapy devoted to trying to get a better hold on my relationship with my childhood and thus obviously with my dad. It’s interesting to then navigate it all in person, it’s simultaneously less and more than doing it on a couch in White Bear Lake. I don’t know what I really want to talk about in regards to this . . .but I know that being open about therapy being a part of my life might help somebody else get ready to take that step and meet with a therapist. It’s helped me, not all at once, but in bits and pieces across the last five years. It’s made a difference, it’s helped me, and I bet it might help you too. It continues to help me. I’m getting something from it.

I finally got to watch the Rick James documentary from Showtime. Amazing. Not inspiring. Rick James sounds like a wildly talented and deeply tortured person. I have learned so much from his records, I love his sounds and his looks. But hearing about his dark times, it’s so painful. He served time for forced oral copulation, kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon. These are horrible acts, acts I believe he did and acts that he served time for. He was a tortured person who was a musical genius. Of course the documentary had to spend the obligatory five minutes on the Rick James/Prince rivalry, the tea is too good to skip it. But it then got me thinking about both of these men dying before they hit sixty years old. Both deaths being connected to drug use, not necessarily drug overdoses, but the toll of drugs. It felt painful and ominous that night, watching the Rick James doc and thinking about Prince and Rick James. They were very different people, but they were black artists at the vanguard of music at the end of the 1970s who ushered in a new level of eroticism and vulnerability into the culture. Beyond that, they both had the curatorial muscle; the ability to deliver sounds and songs handcrafted for someone else. In this regard I think it’s probably fair to say that Rick James was better. James did more with the Mary Jane Girls, The Supremes, Teena Marie and company than Prince provided for most of the artists he cultivated. . .I feel conflicted saying this. . .I know how big the Time are, but I don’t know, I still give it to Rick for producer. Wow, send the hate mail to s@getoverit.org.

Now I’m back in Minneapolis, the music is washing over me, I’m getting back into the fold of things, I’ll get through this short week and get ready for a bunch of long weeks, but I come back a bit more inspired, a bit more rested and more ready for the weeks ahead.

I think that’s all I got. It was a vacation, it was a trip, it was a joy and it’s good to be back. Onward.

Rest in Peace Trugoy, Change is Neutral

I’m 41. Our heroes, our stylistic fathers, our real fathers, they are dying. Not all at once, not all from COVID. But there is a cycle of life, I’m halfway through my expected journey on this Earth (but nothing, including tomorrow, is promised). Yesterday morning I got a text from Big Zach, Zach Combs, a Minneapolis emcee I’ve been in friendship and business with since I turned 17. Trugoy the Dove, PlugTwo, Dave Joliceur died. 54 years old. One third of De La Soul. Rappers will die of natural causes. The man had congestive heart failure, he had been struggling for some years. He fed my soul. Some of the best days of my life are the summer of 1996, going to third base on the regular with my first real girlfriend, playing Road Rash on the Genesis and listening to Buhloone Mind State on the five disc changer with Steve and Conor. I would describe it now as wasting time, but I didn’t really know what waste or time was. I was just diving in to this record and even though I was young I could understand how crafted the record was. This wasn’t four world-class talents doing what they did best comfortably. This was world-class talent stretching themselves further than they thought they could go. So much of De La Soul’s career seemed to be about campaigning to be understood as full ass human beings since their biggest splash in the mainstream was misunderstood as a one dimensional bunch of hippy black kids. No, not cutouts. What they were was complete young men, which is to say incomplete adult men. Full of humor, anger, affection, inside jokes, outside jokes, vision, record collections and unbelievable skills. For the world of hip-hop I’m in, it doesn’t get bigger than Native Tongues. When the center of your universe was you and your friends record collection, when social media couldn’t so clearly tell you that not everyone loved Aceyalone, not everyone had the Sacred Hoop tape. In that era, Native Tongues was the superstars. I’ve never read a quote where any Native Tongues artist said this explicitly, but I’ve listened to all the records so I’ll say it: nothing easy. These artists might’ve made it sound effortless, but the strictures of their work . . .challenging. Three bar loop, bar of 3/4, trading across the bar line, everyone’s verse has to start with the same line, flow next to someone rapping in Japanese, navigate around long vocal loops. There was something athletic, ambitious and dextrous about Native Tongues music. Within that challenge they exuded emotion and they delivered my favorite soapbox to stand on in regards to great writing, SIGNIFICANT DETAIL. Press play on this one.

Trugoy appears first on this DJ Honda tune “Trouble in the Water” is an incredible story of a young boy moving from Brooklyn to Long Island. What do I mean when I say significant detail? I mean the moment when a writer gives you one phrase, one image, one snapshot and gives it to you so right that in that moment they have every credential they could need to speak to your soul. Trugoy gives us a handful of images in this verse that mean that for the rest of his career, he’s trustworthy to me, I trust him to paint pictures in my brain. Now what role and right do I, pudgy Massachusetts-turned-Minnesota white kid listening to DJ Honda in ‘98 cause my brother bought it at Cheapo used, have in giving a Trugoy the credential to say that I believe his story of moving out to black suburbia in the late 70s? My answer is my headphones. I have to listen to the stories I fall into, and I fall into these stories, delivered with the vision and perspective of a poet. I never thought of De La Soul as journalists, even though their authenticity is part of the their pitch, I thought and think of them as poets. “stepping to backyard parties was a blast, fucking up our sneakers on the wet grass” , it’s all in there, the youthful joy of gathering, the plus sides of backyards and more space, the pain of pristine sneakers corrupted by freshly dewed grass. But here’s the line: “now my time moves slow/ain’t it all full circle?/now a dove cry makes the whole scene turn purple/remember that night you had to hide in the freezer for real? see them kids were real/we still slid”. I hear it all in this one. I hear the significance of Prince, the connection to Trugoy the Dove, but that freezer line? I think about the Punky Brewster episode where somebody got locked in a freezer. I think about the idea of a young boy having to hide out in a freezer to hide from something, to survive something, but being able to walk confidently through the neighborhood afterwards. It has that depth. It has the significant detail. Most writers can’t get to it in 300 pages. . .Trugoy does it in two lines. Play this one:

And here’s my favorite little bite of a verse from Trugoy. Aside: some of the greatest moments in Native Tongues music is smaller than verses, it’s a no look pass to the center from the point guard, it’s an extra pass just to get it back to shoot the three. There’s an art not only in what they did, but how they did it, they did everything with finesse, with ambition, with style. Go to 2:40 on the song and listen how he lands “torn” on the one. Your basic rhyming words are going to land on the four. Great. But by the time of this release, that expectation was so frequently dashed that it was far from revelatory to drop the rhyming word on beat one. But somehow, the song didn’t have a lot of rhythmic sophistication yet, just a lot of bravado and style. Suddenly, Trugoy drops in on the one, goes off with by far the most rhythmically dense rhymes of the tune and signs off. It’s masterful, it’s cocky, it’s dextrous. Nothing easy, nothing but legendary. Rest in peace Trugoy.

FOOTNOTE: Trugoy, thank you for being an important part of the song “Baby Phat” which is how I track the start of the body positivity movement. It meant so much to see you celebrate big bodies when I was a young man, and it still means a lot. “Make the big panties look like little panties” is a classic line that I say to myself all the time.

SUBJECT CHANGE

I got to see my beautiful daughter sing in a kindergarten Valentine’s Show today and it warmed my heart. 35 years ago I was in kindergarten. My daddy probably wasn’t afraid that there might be a school shooting or stabbing that would take his son or one of his son’s classmates. I watch this class and I hope all these kids get through middle school, high school and beyond alive, healthy, with support. I also see all these kids blow the melody of the Beatles song “All You Need Is Love” and I feel so good I briefly believe that all we do need is love. But 1/8 of my brain tells me I’ll write about needing more than love later in my blog. How do we heal together? They’ll put some cops in front of some high schools for awhile. I understand why they want that. I understand why that might help. We need immediate solutions. But I don’t think they’re the permanent solution. Right? It’s not solved with a cruiser in front of the school. We had the cruiser in front of my high school my entire time at Central. I think it was Officer Brown. A thousand walkie talkies is all I remember. Grab a kazoo and blow a message to everyone that can hear: all you need is love. It’s not true, but don’t you love a kazoo.

Her Word Is Bomb, Psalm One’s new book is a joy

When I was in third grade going to school in Williamstown, MA some students from Williams College would come to meet students and teach them about writing. I was a very ambitious elementary school writer who had already been pushing out long, albeit shitty, stories. I rattled off the plot of the stories I had designs on writing to this undergrad and she seemed impressed. After getting through my science fiction-esque tales I told her I wanted to write a story about going to the grocery store or something equally mundane but I added that nobody would want to read it, that it would be boring. This young woman said “if you tell it well, it will never be boring”. That comment has stuck with me and it has had a great impact on my writing and on the way I relate to other’s writing.

Psalm One, aka Cristalle Bowen, has written a book that is fundamentally interesting. . .it’s called Her Word is Bond. Whether the chapter is documenting her highest highs or her lowest lows there’s a beauty in telling it well. Her story is notably unique but it’s also relatable. It’s a story with the ups and downs that most of us experience, rather than the clear trajectory towards superstardom that we often see documented in musician autobiographies. Psalm is a Chicago artist who made an early career pivot from chemistry to hip-hop and navigated complex personal and business relationships with a commitment to being true to herself. Since her professional start circa 2000 Psalm One spent periods of time on the road and on top of the world and times broke-as-shit stringing together a living with odd jobs and piecemeal gigs. No matter where she’s at in her career progression she tells it unflinchingly. This is what I love. She takes account of the staggering disrespect she sustained at times in the her career but she doesn’t let herself off the hook. There’s opportunities, collaborations that she derailed or sabotaged and she holds herself to task. There’s no way to know every side of ANY story, but I find this honesty in Psalm’s stories about her personal life as well.

I’ve crossed paths with Psalm One for pretty much the entirety of her career. We’ve shared stages together plenty of times and I know that that proximity plays a role in this book being such a page turner for me. I remember some of these shows, some of these releases, some of these issues. I can’t compare my path to Psalm’s, there’s more difference than there is commonality, but what I read rings true. The way your living can hinge on a couple emails and phone calls, a couple reviews, a handful of people thinking the right thing about you and hopefully thousands of people agreeing. It is fucking precarious. It’s also precarious to navigate the world of “underground” hip-hop. You want the right people to like you, but maybe you fear that things will be worse if the wrong people like you first. But primarily, I find making a living as a creative artist precarious because it’s constantly falling apart. Speaking for my time trying to make a go of it strictly as an artist. . .it was beautiful and ugly and depressing and boring and thrilling and it is absolutely exhilarating to read some version of this story in a real ass book. I file this book right next to So You Wanna Be a Rock and Roll Star from Jacob Slichter. That book is a story of Semisonic’s drummer finding out how boring fame is.When you tell a story well, it can never be boring. Her Word is Bond is a beautiful snapshot of a woman who has persevered in a profoundly challenging profession not to come out on top. . .just to fucking come out. To come out healthier, sober, more creative, more aware and quite simply more alive. It’s a beautiful book to read and it gives me so much more perspective on an incredible artist’s life. Thank you for writing it Psalm.

Rest in Peace to Mike Dreams

The Twin Cities music scene lost a fantastic artist this week. The universe lost a beautiful human being, a father, a friend, a supporter. Michael Hannah aka Mike Dreams is an artist I can only describe as an associate, we weren’t close but I cared for him and his work. We played music together moons ago when he was a featured performer for an open mic concert that Toki Wright and myself put together over at McNally Smith for the Hip-Hop Studies program. Since that time my primary connection with Mike Dreams was him connecting me with his music for play on the radio. He sent along his releases; they were always top-notch professional productions and he was one of those artists who took himself seriously. When someone exudes that confidence and resolve about their work, it makes it easier to engage with the work, easier to believe in. Mike Dreams was an easy person to believe in. He was honest about his struggles in his music and in his social media presence but within that honesty he was also honest about his belief in himself, his pride in his impressive accolades.

Mike Dreams made triumph music. In that genre I connected what he was doing with what Nipsey Hussle was doing. These are men who celebrated wins in spite of adversity, it wasn’t simply bragging, it was. . .well . . .triumphing. Mike also exuded the energy of somebody who HAD TO DO MUSIC. I’ve been around long enough to meet people who are working on music cause it’s a fit for them at the time. . .maybe their roommates are encouraging them, maybe they just got a new guitar. Great. But when the circumstances change, I know the music will stop. But there are people you meet where you know they will be making music on a Fisher-Price mic and a TASCAM if it comes to that. . .the need to create is forever and it’s strong. That was always what I got off of Mike Dreams. He was an all-seasons creator, nothing fairweather about his commitment to his craft.

I’ve spoken to a couple friends who were also connected to Mike since his untimely passing. I don’t know the circumstances of Mike’s death and it isn’t my place to guess. But, in a macro sense, I worry about how death piles up around us, a level of death that isn’t right and anecdotally isn’t the norm for previous generations. I don’t believe my dad and mom spent their thirties and forties hearing about friends dying in these sorts of numbers. I marvel at how it all keeps on happening. We all seem to agree it needs to stop, and it does not stop. Police killing unarmed people, people suffering from depression and taking their own lives, young people killing other young people, children getting their hands on guns. At this very moment it is this pile up of bad news after bad news. I pull news stories for the newsbreaks on Jazz88 and I know that pretty much everyone who does that work ends up fighting back tears as you read about the painful stories you pull from and prepare for broadcast. I don’t have a way to wrap up this thought. We are in a cycle of pain, of death, of government sanctioned killings and nothing nearly drastic enough is happening to stop this cycle.

From the day he was born, Mike Dreams’ story was unique. He crafted a career and a name in a very competitive music world, he told his stories and he touched people with his music. He will be missed most dearly by those closest to him, but I mourn him too, he was a beautiful human and the world is worse without him. Rest in Peace Mike Dreams.

A Very Opinionated List of the Greatest Weekly Music Events in Twin Cities History Mid 90s - Now

Dr. Mambo’s Combo at Bunker’s Sundays and sometimes Mondays since 1987. To thrive a weekly needs a combination of the expected and the unexpected. If I know everything that’s happening every week, why would I come back? If it’s a completely clean slate, what is going to drive me to get my ass out of the house on a cold Sunday? Sundays with Dr. Mambo’s Combo has a bit of all of it, maybe a legendary touring band is coming through, maybe it’s Michael B on drums, maybe it’s Petar, maybe it’s that shaved head dude. Who knows. But there also expectations, they’re probably going to play more Gap Band than you expected and less Prince than you friend from out of town expected. They’ll be a committed dance floor, they’ll be fun. One time I was there and it was empty (probably first set in the middle of August). One of the singers in between songs from a seated position announced confidently: “we don’t play our originals at these shows. . .because I prefer to jerk off at home”. I still think about that line and laugh all the time. You never know quite what is gonna happen at Bunkers, but you know what you can count on. It’s a beautiful thing and whenever I have a musician friend visiting town I make sure they see it.

Some of the elite players that make up Dr. Mambo’s Combo including Kevin, The Juice, Margaret, Michael B (above), Billy Franze (RIP), and Sonny T.

The Tuesday Open Mics with Kevin Washington and Desdamona at The Blue Nile I’m gonna guess maybe 2000-2012?
Rest in peace to The Blue Nile. Located on Franklin right by the Taco Bell (which I’m told is also no longer there). The Ethiopian food was not good in my opinion, the hang was spectacular. Amazing sound system, legendary recurring events, a musician centric hang. This open mic was courageously curated with a real sense that you could see a legend next to a rank amateur within a ten minute time span. But throughout the whole run, I thought that Desdamona and Kevin did an incredible job of pacing, swapping up familiar with brand new and the whole time creating this amazing hang. I saw a lot of now greats step on stage at their humble start over at that night. Recently I’ve reconnected with Pavielle as she started hosting a show at Jazz88 and half of our conversations are about these open mics. There’s a story Pavielle wants to tell and document about the Poetry Slam/Open Mic scene that developed in the Twin Cities from 95-maybe 2005 and wow, I want to read that story and I’m hoping I can help find a way to get that story told properly.

Headspin at Bon Appetit in Dinkytown for maybe one year around 2000.

This one has personal significance for me. I was not part of organizing these events but Zach, Serum and many others put together a weekly that offered up a lot of great music, including plenty of Heiruspecs shows. I spent a long time thinking that the only way you could have a great weekly is if it was possible for young people to get their hands on some beer from time to time. I have seen many weeklies that don’t follow that rule, but wow, was it easy to buy a pitcher up front at Bon Appetit and share it with the whole team back in the back room. The energy of Headspin was compelling, there was crews coming from all over the Cities, there were even visiting artists from other cities and the spirit was wonderful. I wasn’t at the center of it, but I spent many Sundays thinking in real time, “this will be one of the most special chapters in my life”. And I was right.

The New Primitives at Mayslacks (Thursdays?)

I’ve never had a physical reaction to music quite like waltzing into Mayslacks and seeing Stan, Chico and company deliver the goods. I had the lowest of low expectations, not cause I didn’t expect them to be good, I just didn’t expect them to be cooking yet. I walked in at maybe 9:30 and figured if they were playing it was going to be very first set sounding. Tentative, everyone is fixing their amps, working on the details, not ready to really go yet. But what I walked into was an insane energy and if I’m not mistaken they were working with a DJ at the time who would do some things during the set and then take it over for set breaks. It was sweaty, it was funky, it was raw and the stage presence was wild. People sharing mics, cymbals, drinks, probably joints. It was just this explosion on stage and I couldn’t believe I had missed it until then. Unbelievable.

B3 Nights at the Artists Quarter 1995-2011

I’ll keep it absolutely real. I went to this thing maximum . . .twice. But getting to see Billy Holloman work that organ and all sorts of folks guest with poetry, some with instruments. It was so exciting, so engaging and so clearly the center of so many people’s weekly calendars. I felt like I had walked into a family meeting with booze. There was this spirit like the rest of the week’s hours were just preamble and post script to these hours together at the Artists Quarter. Unbelievable.

Real bummer I didn’t find a photo with Billy Holloman in it.

Molly Maher and her Disbelievers at Nye’s Polonaise Room Wednesdays 2000-2010?

This one was such a fun hang. Martin Devaney brought me down to this thing a couple times and it was one of those nights that had its own chemistry. Nobody was strangers after song one. There was just a forced intimacy in that room, plus the martinis were strong (and as a I recall sort of uncomfortably expensive). Man, some good times watching that band. And the one guitar player who worked at Willie’s, he was just unnecessarily good. Distractingly good. I wouldn’t know most of the songs and now that I’ve gotten more into that style of music I realize they were playing the great shit. Sometimes some famous people would roll out, but mainly it was Molly just holding court and making the vibe right. She is a great front person because I think she could give two shits about being a front person and that’s a huge part of the magic. (I have a theory that the secret to someone being good on the radio is them not thinking they would be good on the radio). Magic.

photo by Tony Nelson, who I am attempting to compensate!

Les Exodus at The Blue Nile (late 90s to maybe 2015)

There are differences between Les Exodus and the International Reggae All-Stars but I can’t tell you every difference. What I can tell you is that Thursdays belonged to Exodus. I haven’t heard many people call them Les Exodus to be 100% percent honest with you. I definitely say Exodus. But NO BAND, NO BAND at all sounds as good as this band did at Exodus before the one kind of jerky sound guy quit. I believe he built the soundboard. He was part of the band. He cooked all this extra bass into the system without having it be overbearing. No, it was something else. This band has two incredibly charismatic vocalists without either of them being “STAR POWERED”. They are just incredible to listen to, to spend a couple sets with. This was the band that played our wedding no bullshit.

October 20, 2013 Les Exodus delivering it at Rachel and Sean’s excellent wedding.

(I’ve just spent a long time watching a video thinking it was a guy that looked a lot like Drake but it’s actually Drake). Good song. In fact, pretty awesome song, and great videos, especially if you appreciate a butt. I do.

I also appreciate Les Exodus. That keyboard player, Chili, he’s out of control. He’s running three four things at the same time, triggering some, some are looping up and he exudes this massive calm, when he’s playing he looks like he’s watching a show, not playing one. When I went and saw em a lot it was Jordan Carlson on drums and then Andy Mark on bass. When I was really working with Dessa Andy Mark was the sub for Heiruspecs gigs. He is just such a great bass player, and absolute natural. That’s not to say the man didn’t work on his craft, but at this point he just exudes this straight up fucking mastery. Him playing with that group at Exodus, with the huge bass amp that stayed there? It was just massive. And this was the first place I really saw what could be done with having one of those drum pads next to you. Sure, I’d seen drumpads next to a kit, but I hadn’t seen them stuffed with amazing low tones, and claps, and washed out effects. Unbelievable. And this weekly was the one where suddenly this reggae fan found a little bit of that dancehall. I hadn’t gone hard for dancehall, but here I was falling in love with it. What a treat. This weekly had another magical thing, every set served a different crew. If I recall the opening set caught late diners and folks who were just catching one drink. The middle set kind of split the difference, everyone is there, taking it in, enjoying the scene and maybe moving. The final set. . .ALL DANCEHALL, lots of dancing lots of energy. Legendary. So many great memories.

All of Mint Condition playing Latin Tinged Jazz at Babalu with Wallace Hill as Joto 2006?-2008? Wednesdays?

Mint Condition (RIP) and their individual members are an under-appreciated part of the Minnesota music scene. Is a big part of this racism? Absolutely! We have a gold selling R&B band that hails from St. Paul and is revered the world over for their live performances and songcraft. And besides for a cover story (legit work from Peter Scholtes) I bet they were mentioned in City Pages 1/2 to 2/3 as often as many bands with vastly smaller fanbases and national profiles. Even to this day Stokley shows up on records with the like of Robert Glasper, Nate Smith and other rising stars in the world of forward thinking black music without getting the type of love he should be commanding from local media. And there’s opportunities to celebrate because the players of Mint Condition have stayed quite involved in the local scene beyond their primary projects. DeVon from Heiruspecs brought me down to see Joto sometime in the 2010s and what I witnessed was so inspired. This wasn’t R&B guys dabbling in jazz with a conga thrown in for some Latin flavor. No, this was bonafide masters of Latin jazz stretching out and going for broke. These sessions were so powerful. This band was a powerhouse and the scene was beautiful. Mint Condition and surrounding scenes: perhaps the most attractive fans in the Twin Cities. Nicely tailored suits, folks dressed like it’s a Friday on a Wednesday, some just beautiful human beings taking in this music. Also, people would dance to these jazz performances. Even when the songs would rhumba right into the ten minute mark there would still be committed dancers moving it. Unbelievable.

Couldn’t find any photo of Joto. Here’s a publicity photo of Stokley.

3:33⅓ King Pari - Sunshine

Today the sun felt great and that prompted me to pull out one of my favorite jams. Cameron Kinghorn is a wildly talented vocalist who is now working out in LA but was basically on every stage in Minnesota for about half a decade. I had the chance to play music with him a couple times and it was clear he was one of those individuals who got music on every single level, the nuts, the bolts, the heart, the people, the scales, the who the fuck cares about scales. He got it all. Unbelievable. He did a gig with me where he sang MY SONGS. Songs I wrote and he could remember the whole shape of a melody just by writing down what scale degree the line started on. And my words were clunky, with lots of syllables and strange turns and he handled them ably. Unbelievable. And on the ride to this gig in Fargo he was just high spirits, engaged, conversational and positive.

His partner Joe is an incredibly positive, capable musician who completely leveled up with his work in King Pari. He was the leader of a group called PHO that always created great funk music, but seemed to always play it safe and keep it kind of jam band adjacent (even though they packed incredible skills into those jams). But he arrived as a real creative force in King Pari. They are out in LA blowing minds and hopefully one day they’ll eclipse their current level of acclaim, but they are already doing pretty darn good.

The Record.

The Artwork.