In April: A concert recap, an essay, a poem and a Record Store Day story
A four-part blog on Kendrick, SZA, Fust, Charli, turning 24 and meeting the vinyl shoppers who camped 16 hours in Davenport for the 'Wicked' soundtrack
I’m reading a book about why we all can’t focus anymore. It has, ironically, been the only thing I can focus on.
My brain has been jumping from idea to idea pretty viscerally.
I’ve had lots of ideas for Sounds Great columns this month. One of them I even published.
But the whole focusing problem has been, well, a nuisance. I’m working on it, looking to digitally unpack a bit this year. The social media detox subgenre of Substack is tired, so I won’t go into great detail.
But I think the phones have broken us all, to some extent.
To start: I turned off all push notifications on my phone and nuked my Twitter account. I deleted the social media apps. I bought a Flip video camera — those silly little guys shaped like a door? I love them! — to do some wholesome videography this year. It’s a hobby that might just fill the void.
But, alas, I’ve found myself itching for scroll dopamine. I’ve simply migrated to other platforms. I’m watching Facebook Reels on my Safari browser. I’m LinkedIn posting. I’m in the Bleacher Report comments section. It’s bad.
So I’m going to write a post that reflects the scattered attention I’ve had the last few months. Consider this a speed-run of all the blog posts I thought about writing in April, but did something else instead. It will include:
A recap of three shows I saw last month
Some prose about turning 24
A poem
A story about Record Store Day shoppers who waited 16 hours for ‘Wicked’ vinyl
Jigsawing these into one article is bad for the web metrics, but good for my soul.
Those always seem to be at odds, huh?
Concert roundup: A great month to be a Saturday
I’ve had April 2025 circled on my calendar for a long time, because of my tickets to four consecutive Saturday shows. All very different, all very special.
Here’s the short of it.
April 5: Anxious at 7th St. Entry
Because I got sick, I didn’t make it to this show. But just know, it pained me to not be there.
Anxious put on one of my favorite live shows at the Rebel Lounge in Phoenix in 2022, and I also love their new record. I was especially excited to hear their emo classic “Growing Up Song,” one of (to put it mildly) my favorite songs of the decade. But there was another song I was anticipating even more.
[This is where, if I had attended the show, I’d write about the life-affirming catharsis of singing along to “In April” in April. It’s a guttural song. I interpret it as being about looking out for somebody, but struggling to keep your balance. It’s a song about juggling self-reliance and selflessness. It’s perfect. “Hold me as something more than a friend, but less than someone that you can depend,” goes the hook.
I’m proud of you. I know you’re doing your best.]
April 12: Fust & Merce Lemon at Raccoon Motel
When people in Minnesota ask me where I’m from, I always give them all of it:
Las Vegas … well actually a small town just outside of Las Vegas … I also lived in Phoenix … but most recently I’m from Iowa, er, the Quad-Cities area.
These are all home to me. On the second weekend of April, Mia and I made the drive back to the Quad-Cities home to stomp around Davenport for a few nights. It felt natural, ironically a lot better than visiting my actual hometown sometimes.
I filled up the car at my favorite gas station on River Drive. I ordered several cocktails at The Last Picture House. I found out my nephew was born while tipsy at Devon’s, a block away from the now-closed bar where I learned, eight months earlier, that he was on the way. A lot can change!
One thing is forever, though: the magic of the Raccoon Motel, America’s greatest dive venue. That’s where we saw the the stellar alt-country bill of North Carolina’s Fust and Pittsburgh’s Merce Lemon. These are two bands with, in my eyes, perfect discographies.
Fust’s latest release, Big Ugly, is full of Americana slow-burners like the contagious “Doghole” and the twisted, twangy outro “Heart Song.” These songs sounded just as good live as they do on-record. I was particularly blown away, though, by Merce Lemon. I really loved their 2024 album Watch Me Drive Them Dogs Wild, but these songs had an extra layer of oomph in a live setting.
Maybe it was guitarist Reid Magette, whose violent-yet-lush solos seemed to sing their own lyrics behind Lemon’s. Perhaps it was violinist Libby Rodenbough — who also compiled last year’s stacked Cardinals At The Window benefit album for hurricane relief in North Carolina — giving each song a weeping rosiness. But this was pretty easily one of the best opening sets I’ve ever seen.
Song after song, my jaw slacked at my neckline. I turned toward Mia and Raccoon Motel booking man Sean Moeller with a wide-eyed look of “Thank you.” From here on out, Merce Lemon will be on my must-see list when they’re in my neck of the woods.
If they’re in my old neck of the woods, that works, too.
April 19: Kendrick Lamar & SZA at U.S. Bank Stadium
Kendrick & SZA completely changed my live music ideology this month.
Maybe it’s my brain rotted by years of concert review syndrome, but I’m a frequent visitor of Setlist.fm. I go into many shows having a good idea of what songs will be played, and in what order. Sometimes it even informs my decision to buy a ticket or not, when the get-in prices are steep.
Never again, though. I was handcuffed by the element of surprise for this Kendrick & SZA show, because it was the first show of their Grand National Tour — and Kendrick’s first full-length performance since Gnx and the Drake saga.
The unpredictability made every song hit so much harder. The feeling of shock I had at the needle-drop of “Poetic Justice” is something that probably won’t ever be replicated live.
Interludes included mantises, banter between Kendrick & SZA and lawsuit deposition parodies, each theatric enough to give ensuing tracks the feeling of a wrestler’s entrance. It was one of the best sets I’ve ever seen. Kendrick did all my personal favorites (save for “XXX” and “i”) — “wacced out murals,” “LOVE.” and “m.A.A.d. city” all made the cut, with the latter performed over an Anita Baker instrumental. SZA played my favorites, too, with a rockin’ “F2F” and a moment for “Good Days.”
Add Setlist.FM to the list of platforms I’m blocking from my phone.
Turn that TV off. Take off the WiFi. Etc. Etc.
April 26: Charli xcx at Target Center
Is Brat summer over? I hope not. It sounds like Charli hopes it isn’t, either. It certainly felt alive and well at the Target Center, where half of the Twin Cities’ lime-colored shirts convened for Charli Church.
With a minimalist stage design you’ve undoubtedly seen clips of online, all focus was on Charli herself. Over a brisk 90-minute runtime, she strutted between the catwalk, under-stage scaffolding and an elevated platform, performing nearly the entirety of the Brat tracklist.
The party leaked out onto the downtown Minneapolis streets long after Charli closer “I LOVE IT.” The line for the queer nightclub SALOON stretched several blocks, and the energy inside was even more vibrant.
That’s where the clock struck midnight. I rang in my 24th year alive, “I’m just living that life” still stuck in my head, rattling like a loose screw in a drying machine.
An essay: 24
I turned 24 on a Sunday afternoon. I woke up with a soft hangover from Charli-related activities, the taste of pizza-by-the-slice still stinging my throat.
After a few hours of sleeping in, Mia and I ate cheesecake for breakfast. We then drove to The Briar, my favorite Northeast Minneapolis café, to read and relax. I waited for the glow to arrive. I called and left a voicemail, asked for it to descend upward from the depths of every year before me at its earliest convenience. I sent a text, reminding the glow’s dreamlike state of impenetrability that it has been there at every birthday so far. Please don’t skip this one.
Holy fucking hell, I haven’t seen you in a while
We sat at the bar as a revolving door of sweet animals came in: a three-legged dog, an old golden retriever, the sweetest kitten I’ve ever seen. The glow held the door for each as they entered. It turned back to the gridded wooden entrance and left, promising to stop by later. Steam from an espresso machine rose.
Mia took the car back to the apartment to finish her work shift. I stayed at the bar, focusing on reading my book about focusing. I recommended it to the woman sitting next to me, then learned minutes later that the author has a fairly long rap-sheet of plagiarism errors in his past. Sigh. I clarified my recommendation with a grain of salt or two, which were enough to hospitalize the glow, whose sluggish allergy frustrated me. I called a few friends and family members.
A tidal wave of years have crashed, and a couple thousand miles
The bar staff invited me into a group shot of Malort around 5 p.m. I obliged on a mere half-shot, gagging at the taste but savoring in the ways it reminded me of my visit to Chicago last fall. We made small talk, the glow and I and other Briar regulars. They asked what I do for a living, what kind of music I like, what part of town I’m in. I stumbled on the answers. The glow paid its tab sternly and left.
I headed home after finishing a stout, saluting my newfound friends at the café on the way out. I listened to Florist’s Emily, Alone on my two-mile walk. The wind wrestled my hair and won. As I walked past a sports bar, I heard some shouting. The Wolves-Lakers game was close to wrapping up, I remembered. I stepped inside to watch the last minute. Joy erupted from the bar. For a moment, I felt community in a local team I don’t even really root for. The glow smiled at me as L.A. missed the go-ahead shot. Then it hailed an Uber and I continued my walk.
I should have got your number, my phone was in my hand
I finished day one of being 24 by taking advantage of First Avenue’s birthday deal. (The venue offers a free ticket to any show on your birthday, plus a free drink ticket.) I decided on Canadian singer-songwriter Field Guide and a Jameson-Ginger Ale. At some point on the walk over, I got the news. The glow had other plans. It wouldn’t be joining me for the gig. It might not be joining me ever again. We had grown apart.
I understand, I understand.
Field Guide sang and I sipped. I went home early and went to bed. I dreamt about the glow, saw it tucked into the built-in drawers of my middle school desk, tasted it at the bottom of my first legal drink, fighting through the beer goggles to remind me of its presence. The glow came to me in wafer paper and candle wax and buttercream. The glow wrote me a letter in an envelope, made me swear to open it when I turn 25. I’ll see you then, it promised. The drinks are on me.
But I was born twenty years ago, I'm no good at making plans
I turned 24 on a good day. Better than I expected.
Chat
Drain water on a window pane
Doves silent this time of day
Red concrete is chipping away
I smell the sage, I smell the rain
In every dusty patch of grass
I see my high school’s soccer field
Kolsch and contemplation still smells
Like Phoenix in April
Exhaust fumes and cigarettes
Smoke reminds me of home
I was a point guard once
Now I’m taller, a power forward
Do you remember the months
That felt like years?
I forget how long it’s been
Since we’ve been there
Ripples on a river
Ripples on a dust pile
The air is crying and somewhere
I’m playing basketball
Meet the Record Store Day shoppers who waited 16 hours for the Wicked soundtrack
Or, alternatively: I went back to the QC and found a story to tell
Logan Jackson has been waiting all day for the waiting. He took the day off work. He canceled his plans to see the Quad City Storm hockey game across the river.
It’s 9 p.m. on a Friday night and he’s kicking back and relaxing in a lawn chair on a chilly but tolerable night on Davenport, Iowa’s Motor Row.
The occasion? Record Store Day at Ragged Records, the Quad-Cities’ beloved music store. RSD starts at 9 a.m. the next morning, but Jackson has been there since 5 p.m. He’s first in line. Somehow, he plans to sleep tonight.
It’s unclear whether the sidewalk or the anticipation is a bigger obstacle.
“This chair reclines,” he says, kicking back for emphasis. “I've got another chair behind me that would prop my feet up.”
Jackson, a huge rap fan, has a long list of exclusives he’s eager about: You Only Die 1nce by Freddie Gibbs, the “Guess” 7-inch from Charli and Billie, Barter 6 by Young Thug.
Writer’s note: I ran into Jackson several hundred miles away, a week after record store day, while walking through Minneapolis en route to the Kendrick show. That’s a kind of cosmic coincidence that deserves appreciation.
Those albums aren’t priority number one though.
The crown jewel this Record Store Day? Wicked: The Soundtrack, a 2 LP limited to only 2,000 copies worldwide. There are two here at Ragged Records, and the 23-year-old Jackson plans to get one of them for his girlfriend.
Is Jackson a fan of Wicked?
“She is, so it makes me one also,” he says.
Good answer.
“She would be here if she could, but she’s at work,” he continues. “So I’m locked in.”
Jackson and his girlfriend have been together for four years.
“When we first started hanging out, driving around and listening to music was one of our favorite things to do,” he said.
They have a merged record collection, now. Their music tastes have merged a bit, too. He enjoys the pop hits she loves.
So who gets the second Wicked copy?
A few feet to Jackson’s left are his biannual buddies, siblings Yvette and Eric Caudillo. The Caudillos call Jackson a friend. But they really only see each other twice a year: in this exact spot, on Black Friday and Record Store Day.
They don’t talk on other days of the year. But there’s an unspoken expectation they’ll see each other on the 2nd St. sidewalk.
“Last year, she beat me in line,” Jackson said. “But this year, I had to beat her.”
The Caudillos are planning to snag the second copy of Wicked. Eric, the younger of the two, is the one who is most excited about it. He’s a huge Ariana Grande fan. He’s seen the movie three times.
The siblings are closer because of music. They travel the Midwest together just to see shows. Eric and Yvette were near the front row for Chappell Roan at Lollapalooza last year. Recently, they saw Role Model, The Driver Era, Conan Gray, Harry Styles and Billie Eilish. On the record shopping list after Wicked: Gracie Abrams, Taylor Swift, “the pop girlies,” as Yvette calls them.
Eric and Yvette pack for their record camping the way one would for a wilderness retreat. In their car, parked down the street: four blankets, a coat, a sweater, two pairs of pants, two pairs of socks, boots, gloves, hats, ski masks. They’re ready for the cold. Eric’s got the day off work the next day. Yvette just got off her job as a dental hygienist before coming over.
They take this Record Store Day stuff seriously. Partly because they’ve been burned before. Yvette, Eric and Logan all remember last year, when they say the person first in line ruined the experience.
This man made small talk, they say, asking what everyone behind him wanted. Then right before opening, he invited three people to join him at the front of the line. When the doors opened, these vinyl pirates raided the most desirable records. They suspect it was only to resell later.
So this year, the line was personal.
“As much as I wanted to beat (Yvette) out, I really wanted to beat that guy out,” Jackson says.
Down the line, Abiti Trasowech and Ellie Cupp have frustration to air out, too.
“Last year, the motherfucker that cut me snatched Laufey,” Trasowech says. “So this is gonna be payback.”
Cupp got bumped from fifth to tenth in line last year because of the cutters. Not happening this time around.
“She’s got Ragged Records on speed dial,” Trasowech quips.
And it’s true. Cupp is one of Ragged’s biggest fans.
Despite living in Rockford, Illinois — comfortably two hours away — she makes the trip to Davenport for RSD every year. She appreciates the alphabetical set-up, and the fact there is order to the chaos.
“I will never go to another record store,” Cupp said. “This is the best one I've ever been to.”
This year is extra special for Cupp, who left her own 22nd birthday party to run to line once she saw Ragged post on Instagram that people started showing up. “39 minutes ago,” the timestamp read. She had to hustle. The car was ready. She hopped in and hurried. This is the ideal birthday, she says.
“This is exactly how I would want to spend it,” Cupp said. “I have a massive record collection, and they mean a lot to me.”
Trasowech is nestled into Cupp’s shoulder on their adjacent lawn chairs. The two just met a few hours ago. Trasowech has been collecting vinyl since 2021, and is hoping to add In The Blue Light by Kelela and Number 1 Angel by Charli xcx to the collection.
Cupp is waiting on Live At Village Underground by Good Neighbours, “Fortnight” by Taylor & Post Malone and Me and The Dog by Sam Fender. She won’t say anything else on her 13-record wishlist, for fear of getting beat out by those in front of her. She trusts the Caudillos, though. They have history.
“I always end up next to them, I don’t know what it is, it’s something in the stars,” Cupp said.
“We are like aligned,” goes Yvette.
“They are always in front of me, though,” Cupp laughs. “I will never have a chance to be in front of them, because they just know.”
The girls are yelling and laughing over the quiet Cade Beasley, who is waiting on his girlfriend to return from a bathroom break. Beasley is there for Barter 6 and “Fortnight,” too. He’s also hoping for Post Malone’s Nirvana album and Lil Uzi Vert’s deluxe Eternal Atake.
Finally, he interjects in the conversation: “When you’re here for 12 to 15 hours together, you might as well get along.”
Throughout the night, on my crawl around Davenport, I caught glances of the crew. They slept on and off. Their eyes slipped open as late night drunks sauntered by, gawking.
By the next morning, this was no longer vacation. It was business.
By 8:45 a.m. on Record Store Day, the line outside Ragged was massive. There was an eerie silence. One woman waited with a baby strapped to her chest. Several stood wearing bulky headphones, on a solo mission.
Groggy-eyed and eager, the front of the line crew cracked jokes and readied to enter.
Their 15 hours of waiting gave way to 15 minutes of shopping. And the wait paid off. One by one, the familiar faces came piling out.
“Everything I wanted,” Trasowech answered when I asked about the haul.
The Caudillos chimed in from their car with yelps and cheers. Their stack was impressive, too. Eric got one of the Wicked copies, alongside albums by Wallows, Laufey and Omar Apollo. Yvette got “Fortnight.”
Moments later, Jackson walked out briskly, hauling his stack of records like a full pizza box. He tucked a coat over the top of the pile — with Wicked at the top — in his passenger seat. Then he took off.
Presumably, this crew will see each other again in November. I hope they do.
Writer’s note: Mia and I also indulged in Record Store Day. We left Ragged later that afternoon with “Wednesday Morning, 3AM” by Simon & Garfunkel, “Guts” by Olivia Rodrigo, “Foxing” by Foxing, “Imaginal Disk” by Magdalena Bay, “Beast Epic” by Iron & Wine and “Gnx” by Kendrick Lamar.
Support local record stores. Quad-Cities, I love you!