Listening to Number 2, the latest album from Minneapolis band HebbaJebba, is less a casual experience and more an immersion into a world where time stretches and contracts in strange ways. Produced by the band and mastered by Ty Tabor at Alien Beans Studio, this album feels like an intentional throwback to the days when people sat down with music—really sat down. The band even released an accompanying book, intended as a guide for listeners who wish to rediscover the lost art of simply being with an album. It’s a bold invitation in an era of Spotify playlists and 30-second TikTok clips, but HebbaJebba has never been one to follow the latest trend. They’re too busy creating their own.
The members of HebbaJebba—Paul Gordhamer (drums, vocals), Tom Carlon (bass, vocals), Ted Hajnasiewicz (vocals, guitars), Mark Ganje (the “good guitars,” as the credits wryly note), and Brendan Ober (everything else)—are not interested in convention. Together, they’ve crafted a sound that pulls from the roots of rock but bends it into new shapes, adding layers of odd timing, surprising harmonies, and a sense of humor that runs as deep as the basslines.
Take the track “Swagger,” for instance. This song struts into the room with the kind of confidence that feels almost out of place in today’s ironic musical landscape. Yet, just when you think you’ve got the song figured out, HebbaJebba swerves. The rhythm trips up, the vocals take a left turn, and what started as a cocky anthem evolves into something more introspective, like a party that turns philosophical at 3 a.m. It’s hard to tell if the song is celebrating itself or questioning its own bravado. But that’s HebbaJebba for you: always dancing between light and shadow, never letting you settle in for too long.
The video for “Swagger” does nothing to ease this sense of disorientation. Visually, it’s a kaleidoscope of shifting images, from abstract shapes to quick cuts of band members staring directly into the camera as if daring you to figure out what they’re thinking. Are they in on the joke? Or is the joke on us? Either way, it’s impossible to look away.
Then there’s the achingly raw “Wings of a Dove,” which feels like the emotional core of the album. Ted Hajnasiewicz’s vocals come through here like a distant signal from an old radio—clear, but with a hint of something haunted. The song seems to echo with all the ghosts of classic rock, but reimagined through the lens of HebbaJebba’s own peculiar worldview. As with many tracks on Number 2, the instrumentation is tight yet elastic, stretching and contracting to accommodate the song’s shifts in mood. Brendan Ober’s contributions, cryptically listed as “all the rest,” seem to weave the whole thing together, lending the song a texture that’s simultaneously lush and raw.
Lyrically, Number 2 reads like a series of diary entries written by someone trying to make sense of the modern world, but from the vantage point of a time traveler stuck between decades. In “What Do You Want Me to Say,” co-written with Matthew French, there’s a sense of resigned exasperation. “I’ve said it all before,” the song seems to shrug. Yet, there’s an underlying tension here, as if the act of saying something again, one more time, might somehow make the world finally listen.
It’s this combination of weariness and wit that makes HebbaJebba stand out. They’re not trying to be cool—they’re too wise for that. Instead, they focus on craftsmanship, on creating something that rewards those who are willing to sit down and give their attention fully. It’s no wonder they’ve paired the album with a book, a physical object designed to pull you further into their world. The introduction to the book reads like a manifesto of sorts, urging listeners to shut off the world for 42 minutes and just be with the music. It’s an audacious ask in today’s fractured media landscape, but one that HebbaJebba makes with confidence.
The band’s sense of humor shines through even in their credits—Mark Ganje’s role on “the good guitars” hints at the kind of tongue-in-cheek irreverence that threads through the album. HebbaJebba knows their way around a serious composition, but they also know when to wink at the listener. It’s a delicate balance, and one they maintain throughout the album.
While Number 2 is rooted in the history of rock, it doesn’t feel derivative. Each song offers something unexpected, whether it’s an odd chord progression, an unconventional vocal harmony, or a moment of instrumental improvisation that makes you wonder if the band is intentionally trying to mess with your expectations. The fact that all songs were written by someone in HebbaJebba only adds to the mystique—the album feels deeply personal, yet communal at the same time.
The mastering by Ty Tabor deserves its own mention. Known for his work with King’s X, Tabor brings a clarity and fullness to the sound that elevates every track. There’s a richness here that makes the album feel alive, as if the music is happening in the room with you, rather than coming through a pair of headphones.
As with the best albums, Number 2 doesn’t reveal all its secrets on the first listen. It invites you back, time and again, to uncover new layers of meaning and sound. HebbaJebba’s goal, as stated in their book, is to remind us of the superpower we all have but often neglect: the ability to stop time, to immerse ourselves fully in a piece of art. With Number 2, they’ve given us the perfect excuse to do just that.
Mindy McCall
