Blog Summer Recap: Part I
It's October, but we're still thinking about Hot Blog Summer
By Fern Abramson-Slater, Owen Brandes, Thayer Jacobs, Ebun Lawore, Ben Rosielle, and Jenny Sequoia
You might have heard that the WOBC station collapsed this summer and it kinda gummed up the whole starting broadcasting at a normal time thing — which means we’re getting a late start, too. Still, we know you’ve all missed us since May and have been dying to know what we’ve been up to all this time, and so we’re gracing your Substack feeds/email inboxes with our glorious Summer Recap. We wrote so much that this recap will be a TWO-PARTER! Everyone cares about Blog. EVERYONE. Read on to learn everything you ever wanted to know about Hot Blog Summer.
Fern Abramson-Slater
A significant amount of my summer was spent on the bus, going back and forth between my house and my workplace: a small non-profit in a dying, half-abandoned mall. My bus albums rotated as the weeks dragged on and days got hotter and drier, but the artist I found myself coming back to most was PJ Harvey. Unsurprising, given that I think she’s the greatest to ever do it. Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea is everything you could ask for from a summer evening commute album.
At work I often took on the responsibility of managing the aux. We had a speaker, why not use it? I found out my boss was a past Lilith Faire attendee, so I ended up playing a lot of 90s alternative folk and rock from the likes of Neko Case, Tori Amos, Liz Phair, and Fiona Apple. I also added in some (relatively) newer acts that I was sure would be crowd pleasers such as Japanese Breakfast, Big Thief, The Beths, and Courtney Barnett. I did manage to get people to ask who I was playing, an esteemed coworker compliment. Sometimes the music got a bit difficult to hear though, due to the pop-punk blasting from the Hot Topic we shared a wall with. I’m someone with quite a big soft spot for Fall Out Boy, but I found myself baffled by some of the song choices. Call me a purist, but I just don’t understand why a Hot Topic would be playing the Sinners rendition of “Rocky Road to Dublin.”
The musical highlight of my summer was getting to see L7, one of my favorite bands. They were on tour celebrating the 30th anniversary of their album Bricks Are Heavy. If you enjoy the classic, grimy sound of 90s-era grunge and you haven’t listened to this album, you’re missing out. An average L7 song is usually about a horrible disgusting woman getting blackout drunk. A lot of them kind of sound the same and it rules. I remember listening to them in high school and marveling at how little they seemed to care about being pretty or palatable in any way. They played the Crystal Ballroom, an iconic Portland venue which I’ve been to countless times before. Built in 1914, its most notable feature is a wooden floor that bounces as you dance, like the room is dancing with you. The crowd was delightfully multi-generational, the middle-aged riot grrrls sported the same fishnets and colorful hair as the high schoolers. The band played all the hits, with anthems like “Shove” and “Shitlist” being especially cathartic to scream along to. The closer, of course, was “Fast and Frightening.” Could it have been anything else? My friends and I drove home drinking Gatorade and listening to “Dancing in the Dark” on CD. I would call that a successful night out.
Owen Brandes
Dorset doom. The wizard in black revealed the sign. Fallen under the Saturnine spell. Pleading for recourse, no avail. Dopethrone on the drive to Narberth to see Zoe. Dopethrone on the drive back home from Narberth after seeing Zoe. Summer of forbidden sorcery. 70s and 80s B-movies in my room. Weird tales; crude titles. “Caligula.” “Invasion of the Bee Girls.” “Fire and Ice.” “Zardoz.” High camp. High sleaze. High. Reefer madness. Black goats form from dopesmoke. The wizard in black reveals the sign. Witchcult Today. “Dunwich” on the drive to Aldi with Dad. “Dunwich” on the drive back from Aldi with Dad. 1000 amps toll the end time riff. Under Saturn’s rays I rest in eternal sleep. Breakfast. Frying eggs to “Satanic Rites of Drugula.” Bay at the stars. Cleaning out the basement to Supercoven. Cleaning out my attic to Supercoven. Eko, eko, Azarak. Eko, eko, Zomelak. Eko, eko, Azarak. Doom-mantia. The chosen few look up at the sky. The chosen few, waiting for the sign. Dorset doom. More movies, more misery. “The Sword and the Sorcerer.” “The Phantom Empire.” “The Devils.” Come fanatics, come to the Sabbath. Our witchcult grows. Dead eyes, dead minds. No thoughts. Only ritual. One maxim, above all: “Legalize Drugs and Murder!”
Thayer Jacobs
Well, if you know anything about Thayer Jacobs, it would be that he (me) is a Dual Degree student. That’s right, I am enrolled in the College AND the Conservatory. Fortunately this means that I am better than you, unfortunately it means that I am holier than thou. Of course, I jest, and the fact of the matter is that, when I’m out of the practice room, my AirPods are in and “Unbreak my Heart” by Toni Braxton is UP! This summer was no different, but with a Spanish twist… Amidst my tireless bouts of furious practicing, I found myself making my usual hour-long hike to Safeway listening not to Toni Braxton, but to Chilean artist Myriam Hernández. If you know anything about Thayer Jacobs you would know that he (me, again) is actually a quarter Chilean. But more than just a shared heritage, something about the yearning, pre-emo tone of “Tonto” provided the perfect foundation for the rush of the heroic and prideful “El Hombre Que Yo Amo”. Maybe it was the neo-vaporwave of “Peligroso Amor”, or the Sade-like late 80s synth sounds of “Eres” that transported me back to the Motherland. Regardless, you can trust and believe that I was romanticizing the hell out of Mill Valley, CA.
Ebun Lawore
I listened to a fuck ton of music this summer. I’m not even exaggerating, I have never listened to this much music in my entire life. To give you a glimpse of what that was like, here’s a list of artists that I started listening to: Jia*, Azymunth, El Michels Affair, Lady Wray, Addison Rae, Sky Ferreira, Erika De Casier, Lorde, Dijon, Mk.gee, After, Shelly, Pastor T. L. Barrett, Delaney Bailey, Coco & Clair Clair, Labi Siffre, The Sundays, Nancy Wilson, Djavan, Audrey Hobert, Drugdealer, Al Green, Astrud Gilberto, HAIM, Elis Regina, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Fleetwood Mac, Dorothy Ashby, Sven Wunder, and Eli, just to name a few. But this isn’t even all of them, and it’s not including all of the artists I had already been listening to.
I want to highlight one artist I became a fan of this summer: Jake Minch. It was early August when I started seeing people on TikTok talk about his debut album George, which he released on July 11th. I don’t know if it was my developing addiction to new music or my late summer seasonal depression but after I listened to the whole thing I was immediately obsessed.
Jake Minch writes sad and weird folky songs that make you feel like you’ve been punched in the heart, and I’m pretty sure it’s because he himself has been punched in the heart. One example is a lyric in the song “For Leaving”, saying, “All my enemies, all have held a mirror to me, and I’m sorry, I thought I was ready to be seen.” Like what? How do you even come up with that? Luckily my George by Jake Minch obsession came with a side of an obsession with Jake Minch himself, and I spent an embarrassing amount of time stalking his social media. I was determined to find out.
Minch has a tendency to share his songwriting tips a lot online. All of a sudden I found myself stealing then, and then I found myself writing some of the best songs I’ve ever written. So even though the Jake Minch obsession came from insanity, at least it turned into a good thing in the end.
Ben Rosielle
What symbol of American freedom is more enduring than the mighty automobile? While some major American cities still cling on to the antiquated idea of robust public rail networks, Minneapolis was lucky enough to have torn them all up in the 50s, leaving city planners to erect a glorious entanglement of freeways that levelled and divided neighborhoods so that the residents of Lakeville or Coon Rapids might someday be able to make a 30-minute commute twice a day to downtown Minneapolis.
As a teen growing up in Minneapolis, I biked or bused everywhere, which brought me much pleasure at the expense of much of my free time. This spring, I finally got my driver’s license, leaving me salivating in anticipation for a summer finally unburdened by the yoke of geography. No longer would I have to rely on my reluctant parents or friends for a ride somewhere, or be forced to make the treacherous (albeit enjoyable) hour-long (or more!) bike and/or bus journey from my home in cozy Southwest Minneapolis to the faraway, exotic land of Central Minneapolis.
And after all, what destination in Minneapolis is greater than the humble Local Music event? From screamo to jungle to noise music, I spent my summer nights indulging in the riches of my hometown’s beautiful music scene.
Highlights include:
Screaming along to a cover of Joyce Manor’s “Catalina Fight Song” by now-local fifth wave emo heroes Hey, ily! at two of their shows.
Seeing Devil’s Lake, By Will Alone, Linus and the infamous Mommy Log Balls play a backyard show in the Seward neighborhood. Wooden boards were stomped on, slides attached to giant industrial scrap metal vehicles were slid down, and a short film by members of Devil’s Lake and By Will Alone entitled “On the Fritz” was premiered after the music wound down.
Attending a variety of shows at the legendary Seward Cafe. I hurt my toes at a packed concert headlined by screamo powerhouse whenthedustsettles and frequented by Ushanka-wearing high schoolers. I also ran into my former camp counselor at one of several nearly abandoned emo and ambient shows I attended at the cafe.
Having the pleasure of seeing Linus and By Will Alone member backtothemoney spin some impeccable jungle and juke tunes time and time again in the University of Minnesota Student’s Co-op basement, including a fantastic remix of Playboi Carti’s “Beno!”. Possibly the sweatiest string of concerts I’ve ever been to, even rivalling Jane Remover’s ‘Sco performance.
Getting a free pickle and some grapes at another backtothemoney show held under a freeway overpass in a North Minneapolis public park. Crazy location for a crazy summer.
Jenny Sequoia
Y’know that messy and confusing state that can be a mixture of depression, rage, and vulnerability? It was a pretty prevalent emotion I felt this summer, and was totally cramping my vibe. I needed a pick-me-up. Now, you see, I did not give myself a pick-me-up. In fact, Jhazmyne’s Lullaby by 7 Angels 7 Plagues is the exact opposite of that. But I think that’s okay! Beautiful even. I love this album a whole lot and I simply cannot contain it! And now that you are trapped under my spell, I will tell you about it.
There are few albums that really sound like what I feel when I’m truly, unbearably upset, which is exactly why Jhazmyne’s Lullaby is such a gem.
Released right about at the heyday of progressive metalcore (quite literally fourteen days after Converge’s Jane Doe, another album you Simply Must Fucking Hear), Jhazmyne’s Lullaby uses the medium of metalcore as a genre so perfectly that it makes my little heart sing. Though firmly a 2000s metalcore release, it’s quite influential and forward-thinking in its interpolations and genre mixes. All expected shredding, kick drums, and panic chords are contrasted by an acoustic guitar solo, an enormous dose of midwest emo twinkle, and an honest to god solo piano lullaby as its swansong. It’s an album that both creates and destroys, treating each act with equal reverence.
At its core, Jhazmyne’s Lullaby is lashing out in anguish — but that doesn’t stop it from being both immensely respectful and deeply human. I love this record. It makes me feel a little better about the mess I am. I also have a theory that at least one trans woman out there named herself Jhazmyne because of this album. Probably in some hellhole like Perth. Wait for me, wife; the swim is not far.