Andrew Thoreen is a prolific songwriter and musician based in the Twin Cities, who has been doing this whole "making music" thing for a long while now. You might know him from his work with J.E. Sunde, his own band Har-di-Har (with partner Julie), his individual work under andandending, as a trombone player, or just as someone you've met in the music scene around Minneapolis or St. Paul. Yet he took time this past year to remove himself from this social network, to work on making new music – an endeavor often fraught with depression, anxiety, and isolation, despite the stereotypical glamorous appeal and reputation of being a musician. 

The resulting EP, Songs of Isolation for Rock Quartet, dips its toes in the water today with its first single, "I Know What It Takes." But instead of trying to cover up the perils of this creative journey, Thoreen admits them openly. The song itself is all about his struggle to keep making music, learning new skills needed to do so, and the doubts and obstacles that consistently get in the way. He illustrates this self-directed pep-talk with a lush sonic landscape of vocal harmonies, driving guitar chords, and perfectly mixed and mastered drums. You can hear his experimentation in the composition: taps of cymbals play along with messy guitar licks, echoes of his own lyrics chase him like the thoughts in his own head. Things fall apart and come back together perfectly in sync, the layers hang loose and then line up again. This track is like a trip in his own head: we hear the doubts, but also the persistence, the genuine desire driving him to keep going, to keep making – and the satisfying feeling when things actually come together. Or as he says: "Cause I know when it breaks down, we've gotta make something good."

To listen to "I Know What It Takes" and read from Thoreen himself about how it came into being, hit "read more." 
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There is an entire symphony within Buke and Gase’s opening track of their recently released album, Scholars. “Stumbler” wakes up hazily, like the groggy narrative it comes to tell. “I fall down on the weekend,” Arone Dyer repeats diligently, over layers of sound that build and crash around her. “You couldn’t find a better friend than me,” she finally admits, through a form of electronic distortion – before the song again takes a compete turn, jumping between tones and instruments. The sounds often make no sense, yet are guttural, instinctual, familiar. They resonate, they clash. They ache, they irritate. They spark curiosity, movement, discovery. And so it begins. Arone Dyer (her) and Aron Sanchez (him) have initiated us into their reimagined landscape, given us a test. And a warning: hang on for the ride. (There’s nothing else quite like it.) Are you ready?