It’s hard to know where to begin with Number 2, the latest album from Minneapolis’s own HebbaJebba. The title might seem a cheeky nod to a certain kind of humor, but don’t be fooled. What’s waiting underneath is an invitation to lose yourself in the kind of immersive musical experience that so many albums of today seem to have lost touch with. HebbaJebba’s message is clear: take 42 minutes, sit down, and let the world fall away.
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In an era where singles and quick streaming hits reign supreme, Number 2 is a love letter to the long-player, an almost rebellious celebration of the album as an art form. The band—Paul Gordhamer (drums, vocals), Tom Carlon (bass, vocals), Ted Hajnasiewicz (vocals, guitars), Mark Ganje (the good guitars), and Brendan Ober (everything else)—leans hard into their collective belief that music, true music, should be something you live inside of. They even produced an accompanying book to drive this point home, a physical artifact meant to guide listeners through the album as they stream, reminding us of the days when we held liner notes and lyrics like sacred texts.
HebbaJebba’s self-produced Number 2 feels as much like a communal experience as it does a personal journey. It’s clear from the first track that this is a band in total control of their sound. Mastered by Ty Tabor at Alien Beans Studio, the album’s sonic depth is notable, a mix of raw rock energy and introspective moments that make you want to lean in a little closer. Every corner of Number 2 is steeped in the kind of craftsmanship that comes from people who’ve spent years not just playing music but living it.
“Swagger,” one of the standout singles, lives up to its name. It struts in with a gritty confidence, guitars ripping through the silence like a dare. Ted Hajnasiewicz’s vocals ride over the top with a sneer and a wink, pulling you into HebbaJebba’s world with an irresistible charm. The music video only amplifies this, with visuals that swing between humor and intensity, perfectly capturing the essence of a band that takes its craft seriously but not itself.
Then there’s “Wings of a Dove,” a track that showcases a different side of the band. It’s more introspective, a haunting blend of melody and atmosphere that feels like floating in a dream—if that dream had a sharp undercurrent of longing. The video for this song takes viewers on a visual ride through these emotions, underscoring the band’s ability to translate sound into something visual and tangible. It’s the kind of song that leaves you in the middle of your own thoughts, somewhere between peaceful and unsettled.
But it’s “What Do You Want Me to Say” that perhaps best encapsulates the album’s ethos. The question itself feels like something larger than just a lyric; it’s HebbaJebba looking out at the chaos of the modern world and asking, “What are we even supposed to do here?” The song channels frustration, vulnerability, and resilience all at once, and like much of the album, it refuses to offer simple answers. Instead, it invites you to sit in the uncertainty with them, to just be.
For all its variety, Number 2 maintains a strong cohesion, a testament to HebbaJebba’s DIY ethos. Every song was written by someone in the band, with the notable exception of “I’m Tired,” co-written with Matthew French, a track that drips with weariness yet offers the kind of catharsis only true exhaustion can bring. There’s something deeply human about it—honest, raw, and beautifully unpolished in the best way possible.
The album’s production stays true to the band’s roots: organic and intentional. Each instrument feels alive, not over-polished to the point of sterility but brimming with character. The drums, handled by Gordhamer, drive the album forward with a precision that keeps the often sprawling compositions grounded. Meanwhile, Carlon’s bass work is the glue, providing a foundation for Hajnasiewicz’s vocals and Ganje’s “good guitars” to soar. And let’s not forget Ober, whose contributions—listed as “all the rest”—add layers that give the album its expansive feel.
One of the more fascinating aspects of the Number 2 experience is the accompanying book. It’s more than just lyrics or photos—it’s a guide, a reflection on the art of listening. In a time when most albums are consumed in fragmented snippets, HebbaJebba offers a counter-narrative: here’s a full experience, meant to be absorbed in its entirety. The book invites you to take part in the ritual of listening—sit down, press play, and let everything else fall away for 42 minutes. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but one that feels revolutionary in our attention-deficit age. The pages are filled with reflections, stories, and lyrics, drawing you deeper into the world the band has created. It’s tactile, personal, and deeply rewarding for those who take the time to engage.
HebbaJebba doesn’t claim to be special, but what they’ve achieved with Number 2 is something increasingly rare: they’ve made music that asks something of you. It’s not background noise. It’s not passive. This is music that challenges you to stop, listen, and reflect. In a world that rarely stops spinning, that might be the band’s greatest triumph.
Gwen Waggoner
