It happens every year — we experience one or two days of balmy, above-freezing temperatures in early March and think that the worst is over for us. Every year, we’re wrong and winter comes back to sneakily snow six inches. Here are 24 things to do this month instead of watching the snow melt, vengefully. The warmth is coming soon!

Many venues in the Twin Cities require proof of full vaccination or a negative test within three days of show dates. Events allow all ages unless otherwise noted.

1. Spring Festival at Canterbury Park
When’s the last time you went to a massive arts and crafts fair? Canterbury’s Spring
Festival has hundreds of handmade gifts, activities and plenty of food and drink to offer. More information here. $10 for adults, children under 10 get in free. April 1-3

2. Stratified Silhouettes at St. Paul Student Center’s Larson Gallery
Visit the Larson Gallery this month to view the abstract works of Emily Quandahl,
Alexander Pollock, Holly Kilander and Igor Dukic. Free. April 1-29

3. Shakespeare galore at Rarig Center’s Stoll Thrust Theater
The University of Minnesota’s Department of Theatre Arts and Dance BFA Second-Year Company will be performing two of the Bard’s great works, “Hamlet” and “Romeo and Juliet,” during the first weekend of April. Free but registration required. More information here and here. “Hamlet” April 1-3; “Romeo and Juliet” April 2-3

4. Wine Tasting at the Campus Club
Visit the Campus Club in Coffman Memorial Union for a night of socializing and free (!) wine for one night this month. Sharpen your sommelier skills and make silly, made-up observations about the tannins or something at this event. Free, but registration is required. 21-plus. April 2

5. Free April Films at Coffman Theater and Saint Paul Student Center Theater
Student Unions & Activities have a pile of your quirky indie favs on view at campus theaters this month, including: “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” a Wes Anderson movie marathon, “Licorice Pizza,” “Almost Famous,” “Coraline” and “Sing Street,” among others not included in the indie category. More information on films available here. Free, all month long.

6. Minneapolis Winter Farmers Market
Though fresh local produce may not be available yet, there are still plenty of local foods available at this weekend market. Take the trip to East Lyndale Ave N for fresh eggs, cheeses and meats, among other products like plants and maple syrup. Free to attend. April 2-3, 9-10, 16 and 23-34

7. The Minneapolis Pancakes & Booze Art Show
Do I really have to say more? The event features roughly 500 pieces of artwork, live body painting, performances from local DJs and yes, all-you-can-eat pancakes. Tickets are $10 presale and $15 at the door, 21-plus. April 2

8. Life is Peachy Reception at the Coffman Art Gallery
Meg Petersen, local multimedia artist, likes to romanticize everyday life in her work. The exhibit runs from March 30 to May 8, but her opening reception will happen this month.
Free but RSVP encouraged. April 7

9. Junk Bonanza Vintage Market at Canterbury Park
One man’s trash is another’s … you get the idea. Visit Canterbury Park for a three-day vintage home goods market packed with antique finds. Local, small-batch artisans will also be there to peddle their goods, along with live demonstrations and a raffle. Junk it up. More information here. Tickets start at $12. April 7-9

10. The Flaming Lips at the Palace Theatre
The eclectic alternative band will be on their “American Head American Tour,” supported by the Heartless Bastards. Tickets start at $45, 18-plus. April 8

11. GIGS: Student Sound at the Whole Music Club
Visit the Whole this month for a student musician showcase featuring Bad Dance, Daphne Jane and The Shelf Below. Free. April 8

12. Black Label Movement’s “Canary, Crimson, then Emerald” at the Cowles Center
University of Minnesota Dance professor Carl Flink’s company will perform their latest number, a combination of three works that explore themes of time. Tickets start at $25. April 8-10

13. Minnesota Craft Beer Festival at the Minneapolis Convention Center
This event boasts almost 200 local and national brewing companies offering limited release or taproom-only brews for a day of tasting and getting tipsy. Live performances by classic rock band Rough House will accompany the beverages. Tickets start at $44.99, 21-plus. April 9

14. Earth Day Cleanups
Has there always been so much garbage waiting under the snow after the big melt? Ick! Treat the planet with some sweet, sweet love and go to a cleanup somewhere near you. Check the Minneapolis Parks website for information on nearby events, or organize your own cleanup wherever you are. Free at your local park. April 23

15. John Mulaney at Xcel Energy Center
The SNL star, award-winning comic, actor and tall child is coming to the Twin Cities on his “From Scratch” tour, likely to joke about his divorce. For the unfamiliar, Mulaney has several major Netflix comedy specials, including “New in Town,” “The Comeback Kid” and “Kid Gorgeous.” Tickets start at $35.50. April 23

16. Hippo Campus at the Armory
Saint Paul’s indie darlings known for “Buttercup” and “Way it Goes” will be performing at the Armory in downtown Minneapolis, presented by First Avenue, Jam and the Current. This show comes after the February release of “LP3,” their third full-length album. All ages, Tickets start at $37. April 23

17. Fashion Week MN
Celebrate local designers and clothiers in ten shows at this year’s MN fashion week. Shows are kicking off at the end of the month with Rose + Bull’s “La Vie en Rose” for a day of dreamy florals and rose-tinted views. Native Starlight at the Machine Shop follows, along with “Picnic: A Floral Fashion Frenzy” and other bountiful spring runways. Ticket prices vary depending on event. April 24-30

18. Euphoria: The Drag Brunch at Crave
Join queens Sasha Cassadine, Frozaen Pissás, Priscilla Es Yuicy and Ken Doll for brunch as they enter Euphoria High. Three events, five queens, one day only! Dressing as your favorite character from the HBO sensation is encouraged. Tickets start at $16. As the event page says, “Drag brunches are all ages, but we would not recommend bringing a kid to this show.” April 24

19. Big Thief at the Palace Theatre
The indie folk group will be touring their sprawling latest album, “Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe in You,” which features songs like “Certainty,” “Simulation Swarm” and “Spud Infinity.” Kara-Lis Coverdale, a Canadian composer, producer and musician known mostly for ethereal instrumentals will be opening.
Tickets start at $32. 18-plus. April 27

20. Charli XCX at the Palace Theatre
The English pop icon will perform jams from “CRASH,” her latest album released earlier this year. Baby Tate, the Atlanta-based rapper known for a feature on Euphoria’s soundtrack in 2019 with “Beckham” and several viral singles on Spotify, will be her supporting act. Tickets start at $39.50. 18-plus. April 28

21. Art in Bloom 2022 at the Mia
It’s time to leave snow behind and frolic fancifully through a field of flowers, or at least walk calmly through a museum gallery filled with floral paintings. This year’s Art in Bloom will feature a celebration of the museum’s flowered works, a lecture on flowery themes in art from Lisa Michaux and a floral demonstration by Bachman’s. There will be live tours both in-person and online. Free to the public. April 28-May 1

22. Third Coast Percussion with Movement Art Is at Northrop Auditorium
Grammy award winning band Third Coast Percussion will accompany dance duo Cameron Murphy and Quentin Robinson of Movement Art Is (Lil Buck and Jon Boogz) for performances at Northrop’s Carlson Family Stage. The event features a combination of street dance styles with new music by Jlin and Tyondai Braxton.
Tickets start at $28, April 30

23. Spring Jam
After a two year absence, the University’s classic Spring Jam will be returning this year for a day of festivities at the end of April. The student-run event will feature carnival rides, a beer garden, live entertainment by as yet unannounced musicians, student group-led activities and plenty of food and drink. Recently announced food vendors all include vegan, gluten free and vegetarian fare. Check @umnsua on all social media platforms for updates on the lineup. Free for University students regardless of age, $15 for 18-plus general public. More information here. April 30

24. “Liz Larner: Don’t put it back like it was” opens at the Walker Art Center
The exhibit will feature roughly 30 works by Liz Larner, a California-born sculptor and installation artist, created between 1987 and 2020. Her work explores the connections between material form and perceptions through the use of unconventional materials like bacterial cultures, hazardous materials, sand and leather. There will be a free opening-day talk between the artist and Mary Ceruti, curator of the exhibit and the Walker’s executive director. Tickets are $10 for students and $15 for the general public. More information available here and here. April 30-Sept. 4

The chronically online may know that for a time, asking if someone listened to girl in red was a modern equivalent to the 1980s’ “I’m a friend of Dorothy” slang, a way to signal one’s queerness without saying it outright.

Marie Ulven Ringheim, the queer Norwegian bedroom-pop singer-songwriter better known as girl in red, rose to fame on the internet with bubble grunge songs like “we fell in love in october,” “summer depression” and “i wanna be your girlfriend.”

Her most recent album, “if i could make it go quiet,” veers into the direction of a breakup record, filled with angst and heartbreak compared to the saccharine sapphic love songs of previous works. Still, this Monday night at First Ave was anything but low-energy.

Ringheim started with a literal headbanger, jogging onto the stage, shouting “Whaddup!” and immediately kicking off “You Stupid Bitch,” rife with snappy guitar licks and dance-worthy melody. Her vocals at times verged into screams for this soft grunge tune, and she flipped her long, wavy hair around with the band as the song came to its peak.

The energy only went up from there as Ringheim bounced around in her baggy gray tee, black jeans and black Hoka One One’s, a chunky orthopedic sneaker.

“A lot of my music was put out in 2018, a lot of lo-fi, bedroom pop shit, and I love it, but that’s not what my live shows are like,” she told the space-bun, grandpa sweater, Dickies-wearing audience.

Ringheim walked the line between slow, indie-girl crooning and upbeat pop with “girls,” a ballad about women-loving-women, as she would continue to do throughout the entirety of the show. The crowd matched her seemingly endless amount of vigor as she managed to simultaneously skip jump around the stage, play guitar and sing without missing a beat.

Baby hairs curling away from her face with perspiration, she transitioned to a slower verse. “No, this is not a phase, or a coming of age; this will never change,” she sang in harmony with the audience, many holding up pride flags and wiping away tears.

“We’re just powering through all of the depressive songs for a bit, it’s all part of a grand master plan so don’t worry about that,” Ringheim said to the crowd coyly after singing two more utterly soul-ripping ballads: “i’ll die anyway.” and “.”

Next, a simple riff sent the audience into uproar as Ringheim began “we fell in love in october.”
Orange and red strobes gently cascaded on and off, the bass utterly quaking against her
bare vocals. Once again, she started with her signature ethereal softness before transitioning into something like grunge and ramping up the energy.

Sporting a pair of novelty sunglasses a crowd member tossed on stage, Ringheim gently plucked “I’ll Call You Mine” under a lone stage light. The shadow of her guitar neck cast upon the side of the venue as audience members young and old swayed romantically.

After a lovably botched, impromptu rendition of the Beatles’ “Blackbird” riff and a mildly concerning anecdote about pretending to drown as a child to scare her mom, Ringheim powered through “hornylovesickmess” and “Serotonin,” both from her latest album, with finesse and the invigorating passion that can only come straight from the heart.

“At the girl in red concerts, we lose our shit,” Ringheim said. “The low point was the acoustic one, and from there on, it shall only go upwards!”

If that was the low point, “bad idea!” was the show’s climax. The audience screamed its lyrics at the top of their lungs, operating as an entity all on its own as the music washed over them. Ringheim crowd-surfed as the song continued, still singing the chorus while a mass of hands held her aloft.

2019’s “dead girl in the pool.” followed, continuing in the vein of Gen Z’s dark humor with a poppy melody and lyrics about depersonalization. The crowd bounced to the upbeat, rapid tune as Ringheim belted the chorus.

Scatterbrained and lovable, Ringheim giggles that she’s a terrible storyteller after attempting to spotlight a fan who recently had her three-year anniversary with her girlfriend and playing a portion of “watch you sleep.,” one of the couple’s favorite songs.

As the night came to a close, we made our way to the back of the venue for the last song, and had the unfortunate timing to witness a man vomit over a staircase railing from several feet above as Ringheim wrapped up a spirited rendition of “i wanna be your girlfriend.”

Still, the only thing on my mind on the drive home was Ringheim’s stellar showmanship and her command over the audience, and the unpleasant sounds were replaced with a beautiful queer melody.

What do androids and prehistoric figures have in common, and what if they existed together, simultaneously? Kristen Sanders, working artist and lecturer in the University of Minnesota’s art department, seeks to answer these questions in “Infinite Beach,” her latest collection of paintings now on display at Dreamsong in Northeast Minneapolis.

Sanders’ work is set somehow in both past and future, creating life where there is none with eight works in radioactive color. “I’m really interested in consciousness and the body and how those are kind of connected – or maybe disconnected – in this idea of finding [one’s] self,” Sanders said. “How might an android come to discover a sense of self, and is a body still connected?”

The collection is currently on display at Dreamsong gallery, an arts venue created by Rebecca Heidenberg and Gregory Smith in 2021, and will remain there until April 30. The space seeks to uplift Minnesota-based artists by providing a place to display and sell their work, and boasts two gallery spaces, a cinema and an artist residency.

Heidenberg and Smith discovered Sanders’ work after she submitted to the gallery and found that she’d built up a powerful body of work. “The figures and the landscape just emit this really visceral feeling,” Heidenberg said. “They exist in a kind of space that’s beyond time, but anchored to the prehistoric and also speaking to the future.”

“They are never fully human subjects but they do maintain this sense of consciousness that really speaks to you immediately,” Heidenberg said.

Sanders found inspiration through a variety of different un-human but human-like figures. For reference, she looked at medical mannequins with silicon skinsuits, movie androids like Ava from “Ex Machina” and even robotic, artificially-intelligent sex dolls.

“I was really drawn to these images where the silicone faces were being removed, and the model of those dolls was very similar to Sophia the Robot; she has this silicone face over this robotic skull,” Sanders said.

Two of the largest paintings in “Infinite Beach” focus on piles of body-less silicon forms, fake skin already peeled away from its source to form ambiguous new beings washed ashore. “Midnight Marks” and “Morning Waves” capture timeless moments in combining natural settings with artificial life.

Sanders has been painting these kinds of un-human figures for much of her career, but mostly kept their locations ambiguous to the viewer until this collection, set on a primordial beach.

“There’s just so many connotations that come up with the idea of the ocean: you think of the origin of life and then there’s this idea with these kinds of masks, or these empty skins, or the shells which are also these similarly empty outer coverings,” Sanders said.

“Infinite Beach” holds many personal touches for Sanders. Many of the beached rocks depicted alongside her silicon skins reference real rocks she photographed in her home state of California — and one work borrows a motif from a late artist relative.

“Shell,” the third work in the exhibition and one of her most recent, depicts a cracking ancient seashell against a violent red background. Sanders borrowed the form of the crack from the only surviving image of a painting by her uncle, an artist who passed away in a studio fire in Kyiv, Ukraine when Sanders was four years old. The original painting featured a cracked vase of roses floating in mid-air.

“I used to give myself really strict rules about what I could paint, so it’s been kind of freeing to trust that I can allow myself to make some of these more personal choices,” Sanders said.

Drawing on walls may have warranted a time-out in your youth, but the University of Minnesota’s eStudio, a collaborative arts technology learning space, has an installation that encourages it.

The participatory display centers on the Scribit, a device that automatically draws digital illustration files onto vertical spaces with mechanical precision – basically, a wall-drawing robot, as eStudio researchers affectionately call it.

The eStudio was created by Diane Willow, an associate professor of art at the University, who works to simplify the intersection of science, technology and art for students. The lab is open to students from all colleges, regardless of whether they major in an arts field, and encourages “peer-to-peer” learning, Willow said.

“It’s a place for exchanging ideas and also to share processes,” Willow said. “Not everyone knows everything, but together, people figure things out.”

Research assistants like Jamal Awadallah help newcomers learn how to properly operate the various machines that populate the eStudio. The Scribit is only one of them, though it is the newest, Awadallah said, adding that “it’s definitely the hot thing in the studio right now.”

“We’d been trying to find a way for people in the eStudio to collaborate on something public,” Willow said. “It also raises energy for the group and brings attention to the studio, and then people might drift in and try something that they haven’t tried before.”

The eStudio also offers use of an embroidery machine, 3D printers, vinyl cutters, drawing tablets and all sorts of other gadgets meant to aid in the creation of art.

“I definitely think there’s a playfulness to the studio and, like, a welcome-ness,” Awadallah said. “Some people come in here and they don’t even use the machines. They just do their own projects and hang out.”

The idea to put the Scribit out for display came from a literal blank wall, according to Awadallah. The empty space outside of the eStudio, on the second floor of the West building of the Regis Center for Art, was just begging to be filled.

Mira Swartz, another eStudio research assistant, had the idea to fabricate a giant vinyl QR code to display next to it, encouraging people to submit their own art and participate in the display.

The machine drew student-submitted designs on the walls of Regis from March 14 through 24, and will be actively doodling away inside the studio for the rest of the semester.

“It works all day, usually. If you do a drawing, it could take up to 15 hours,” Awadallah said, “So it’s kind of cool to have it always be moving while people are walking in and out of the building.”

To Willow and the research assistants at the eStudio, public access to art is essential. “The participation of people is what actually activates the work; it isn’t really fully realized until other people are a part of it,” Willow said.

“I’m afraid my whole life is a play, and I’ve got stage fright,” indie-pop artist Landon Conrath sings in his upcoming single “Casanova,” slated for a March 18 release.

The 22-year-old Minnesotan has music in his bones and has no trouble publicly sharing the struggles he faces in his love life and career.

Conrath released his first single, “Pieces,” in early 2020 and rose to fame after scoring placement on some Spotify editorial playlists. He has since released two EP’s and a handful of other hit tunes, like “Acetone,” which garnered over four million listens on the streaming app. The musician recently played his second sold-out show at 7th Street Entry in February.

Though success rapidly came to Conrath during the early months of the pandemic, he has not been immune to the burnout many have experienced since.

“It was such a hard year for me,” he said. “I was trying to rationalize how much I cared about streaming, how much I cared about numbers and how much I care about what that’s doing to my head.”

His most recent release, “Last Week,” details a toxic professional relationship Conrath had while producing his first single. “It was like my first time forking over creative license to somebody else. You know?” He almost didn’t release “Pieces” after such a negative first experience in the industry, but he’s sure glad he did.

Conrath recently graduated from Bethel University with a degree in software engineering, after balancing his studies with efforts to foster a full-time career as a musician.

“I’ve always had a really intense connection to music,” Conrath said, adding that many of his family members were musicians or music teachers. He grew up in Lino Lakes, a suburb roughly 30 minutes northeast of Minneapolis, performing at church and working in cover bands whenever he could.

Conrath’s drive comes from his passion for accomplishing, whether that’s making music or pushing himself physically while hiking, skiing or biking.

“You’re just like destroying your body for fun, and you just kind of have to close your eyes and keep taking the next steps,” he said. “I guess that’s a good metaphor, as I’m saying that right now. To just keep trying. Keep showing up.”

He added that he didn’t want people to think his only hobbies included extreme outdoorsmanship. Often, he spends time relaxing by playing Fortnite with friends. “Don’t think I’m some crazy mountain climber, ultra marathoner. That’s definitely not the case,” Conrath continued with a laugh.

Conrath’s current band is mostly longtime friends who’ve performed and toured together throughout their late teens in their alt-rock band, Harbor & Home.

Caleb Dee, one of those bandmates and a solo musician in his own right, said that their friend group remains close-knit, despite each of them pursuing their own careers and often living in different places across the country.

Dee performed at 7th Street Entry with Conrath earlier this year. “It felt very nostalgic,” he said. “It was our first full circle kind of moment.”

Conrath played drums for Harbor & Home in high school, and couldn’t imagine any other life for himself back then. “I was like, ‘Man, that’s all I want to do,’” he said. “I just want to tour the world. I want to play on people’s records and I just want to play drums.”

He didn’t have a strong interest in songwriting until an unfortunate biking accident left him with a broken wrist, an inability to drum for months and a strong urge to keep making music. “I could still move four fingers, so I could play simplified piano,” Conrath said. “I started covering my favorite songs and learning how to do that, learning how to sing.”

Grant Deakins, another one of Conrath’s friends and bandmates that’s been with him since high school, said that Conrath is the same down-to-earth person whether they’re performing at First Avenue or in someone’s barn. “Getting to see Landon grow as a solo artist and develop his sound and brand over the last couple of years has been an honor to be a part of,” he added.

For now, Conrath’s working on getting his next album out later this year. He hates the idea of choosing between maintaining momentum by writing catchy hooks for TikTok and writing the kind of music that feels right.

“I’m trying to flip my headspace from those first six months, where it’s just like, ‘Whoa, we’re doing crazy numbers,’ to ‘I just want to make music because I actually, legitimately enjoy it,’” Conrath said.

Correction: A previous version of this story misstated Conrath’s age. Conrath is 22 years old. 

A complete overthrow of theater etiquette occurs on First Fridays at Minneapolis’ Parkway Theater. If you’ve ever felt the animal urge to express your distaste for a terrible movie by screaming at the top of your lungs, Terry Sommer and Natalie Koness welcome you, mouths agape, to Scream It Off Screen. The only requirement is to not take yourself too seriously.

Scream It Off Screen (SIOS) is an unconventional short film competition created by Sommer and Koness that started with a projector in their backyard and has since formed a passionate local community at the Parkway, along with a loyal online fanbase.

“It’s not just an event where people come and watch a movie together,” Koness, who manages social media and runs the show behind the scenes, said. “People are coming together and making a decision with other people by literally using their voices.”

As throngs of quirky folks stream into the Parkway, jovial crowds converse and reconnect with friends they see here every month. The show’s mascot, Screamy, jaunts around the theater sporting a skin-tight, hot red morph suit and a papier-mâché mouth as a head, eyes slightly visible between its vivid lips. This is the essence of the show: a display of local artists and a wonderful kind of weirdness.

The rules are simple: 15 original short films, submitted by local filmmakers and selected at random for the audience’s viewing pleasure, are played and noisily critiqued by an often relentless crowd.

After a certain point in the viewing, a red light illuminates the all-powerful, looming gong, signaling that it’s time for the audience to vote. They can choose to shout “gong,” if they think the film is unworthy of the $101.01 cash prize, or combat the gong-ers by yelling “let it play.” If the audience seems divided, those who wish to let it play will be asked to stand up to show their support, and the film will continue if they outnumber the naysayers.

“I think it’s also important for the artists, because they’re going to get some kind of honest feedback on what they made,” Sommer, who emcees the show and handles the gong, said.

Sommer, lovingly called by his first name by many in the audience as he rode a light-up scooter onto the stage that Friday, also wearing a morph suit — this one grape purple, adorned with balloons of the same color — was poised to entertain.

At the end of the night, the films are narrowed down to the audience’s favorites, and a winner is selected via an applause-o-meter. Gonged films are encouraged to resubmit after hearing the audiences’ criticism, with the overall goal to improve their ability and get their work out there.

“It’s taking the interaction with one another to the next step, which I think people are probably really hungry for,” Koness said, adding that many are overjoyed to return to in-person events after the pandemic halted theater-going.

The show moved online in 2020 to accommodate for the pandemic, creating a whole new audience that resulted in a worldwide community of Screamy lovers. Even after SIOS returned to the Parkway in late 2021, the online show persisted.

For those who grew up with internet culture, the competition is a way to find that specific brand of weird that marked their childhoods. “It’s not stuff you find in the algorithm,” Mary Danielson, last month’s winner and frequent SIOS front-row sitter, said.

Stephen Kubiak, Danielson’s partner, and the winner of both this month’s show and January’s, agreed. The two discovered the online show in 2021, went to the first in-person show post-pandemic and have considered the Parkway show their date night ever since.

“It lets everyone choose to express themselves wherever they want. There’s no panel deciding, oh, this is worthy of this competition. People can just express themselves,” Kubiak said.

The online show’s lottery system and the lack of pre-screening results in wondrous chaos, allowing anyone to join in and share their creations no matter their experience levels (or the subject matter). “There’s a lot of diversity here,” Danielson continued, “There’s some voices out there that you might not see or hear otherwise.”

“It’s just like nothing else,” Sommer said, “I think that’s what a lot of people enjoy about it. No one knows what’s going to happen.”

Often, shows will contain a mix of highly produced, award-winning shorts and total amateur works. Koness especially enjoys watching the experienced filmmakers standing up for the little guy, showing their support for those just starting out.

This month’s top three films showed this range: “The Intervention” by Bryan McDonald and Ryan Becken, a surreal examination of self and what it takes to forgive past mistakes; “Sho U What I Got” by Stephen Kubiak, a demonstration of his prowess in the bedroom; and Cory Rosen’s parody of early vlogs, “LOST IN THE WOODS (BAPTISM?) HIKING GONE WRONG!”

Kubiak’s crowd favorite took home the prize. He was awarded with a comically large check, one clearly reused at each show, and an improvised victory ballad by Sommer himself.
“I’m glad on what seemed to be such an aggressive night, my lovemaking made the cut,” Kubiak said after his victory was announced.

This month’s show was rife with rule-breakers, hecklers and harsh critics, but it was nothing Sommer couldn’t handle as he expertly shut down those challenging the system or being a little ruder than necessary.

“You’ll never know what the audience wants, and the audience doesn’t really know what they want either until they’ve had enough,” Kubiak said.

SIOS appears live on YouTube every second Friday of the month, and its creators have big hopes for the future. Sommer expressed hopes of one day taking SIOS on tour and creating a studio where they can fully fund small filmmakers.

“The online community, they’re saying, ‘Please, don’t stop doing this, now that you’re back at the theater. We need this,’” Koness said. “So I think we’re gonna keep doing it and hopefully it’ll get bigger and bigger.”

Spirits are everywhere in American culture and history. We tell ghost stories by campfires, play with Ouija boards and consume paranormal media like it’s a full-time job just to feel something.

Robert Cozzolino, the curator for the Minneapolis Institute of Art (Mia)’s “Supernatural America,” knows that these spirits aren’t just some fun sideshow for most people. This country is also a place of genocide, atrocity and war, where the results of these actions still linger today.

“This exhibition is at heart about contact, about a will to make contact with the otherworldly,” Cozzolino begins in the audio guide for “Supernatural America.”

The gallery itself explores the occult side of American history through four main themes, each with their own unique takes on reality. It mainly features works by historical artists but includes several current working artists, culminating in 150 paintings, sculptures and presentations that attempt to document the unseeable.

The exhibit opened late last month in Mia’s Target Gallery and will remain at the Mia until mid-May. “This is a show where you wanna read every plaque,” Cozzolino said. “Each one of these people is individually super fascinating, but a lot of them are dismissed as weird.”

The gallery aims to incorporate artists who are traditionally underrepresented because of their beliefs or identities and join them together. “The past and present are speaking to each other constantly,” Cozzolino explained of the living artists’ intentions, adding that the combination of time periods is purposeful. “I’ve really valued the collaboration with the contemporary artists.”

The gallery opens with the theme of “America as a haunted place,” featuring works that explore the ghosts of legends past (and present) that inhabit the country’s own landscape. This section lays bare the hidden parts of our history and the things that lurk in dark forests and abandoned places, according to Cozzolino. Visions of spectral beings drifting through open fields, haunted buildings and towns that breathe adorn the walls.

The second section holds an exploration of “National and personal haunting,” a similar subject but an important distinction. Memory is of utmost importance here, according to Cozzolino, as remembering grief and confronting the idea of spirits (and the past traumas that made them) is the only way to move forward.

“Objects and rituals for the spirit” follows, brandishing tools of mediums’ past, visual representations of communing with spirits and plenty of cursed objects. In speaking of all the rituals of the past, Cozzolino mentioned the Mia’s own ritual prior to the gallery’s opening: inviting a Lakota elder to say a blessing over the gallery and aid any lingering spirits in passing on.

Alien abductions, obelisks and conspiracy theories energize the next and final room of the gallery, “Plural Universes,” inviting visitors to consider new ways of thinking.

“It’s really important to think of the creative process and how the artists think about their worldview. We can’t discount it if we don’t believe in it,” Cozzolino said. “It doesn’t mean it’s not valid to these people.”

As one of those poor souls who turned 21 during the pandemic, my experience with campus bars is limited to the one time I visited Sally’s my freshman year on a Tuesday afternoon.

February 18 was the night that changed.

Though the afternoon was pleasant enough by Minnesota’s standards, sunset brought a nasty bite and a negative 14 degree windchill. Weather apps in the Twin Cities warned of high wind speeds. The ever-present, late-winter blues were creeping in.

That wouldn’t stop throngs of University of Minnesota students from going out to binge drink themselves into oblivion. Things like “being of age” and “subzero temperatures” aren’t really a concern. After all, when it’s this cold — what else are they supposed to do?

My night began at my partner’s house in Como, where his roommate’s indie band rehearsed in their unfinished basement. Armed with hand warmers from winter survival care packages (sent by well-meaning relatives), my clunkiest Docs and two pairs of pants, I was ready to take on whatever the night wanted to blow my way.

Manning’s Cafe on the corner of Como and 22nd is a Como kid pregame staple, and though it does typically have an older crowd, its ambient lighting and strong drinks left me feeling warm inside. I met some friends there just after 8 p.m. Our server, Bones, wore a tweed paperboy cap and a scraggly beard.
“American Pie” played under the chatter of old college buddies catching up.

Confused at why we were closing our tab at 9 p.m. on a Friday, I told Bones that I was writing a story about college bars and that we needed to move on to the next place. After bringing us our receipts, he told us to wait a minute. “Can I show you something for your book?” he said, visibly excited.

He returned moments later with a mouth harp and played us a little jig, later adding that he’d just learned how to play dubstep on it. I thanked Bones profusely, then readorned my winter gear for the short trek to the next spot.

Como Tap, just across the street from Manning’s, appeared to be our first stop’s cooler, younger sibling. Lit with neon signs and arcade games, the sprawl of the industrial space felt like a hipster’s playground. The crowd was considerably younger, wrought with skater boys sporting ‘70s porn staches and beanies perched absurdly high atop their heads. A curmudgeon-y bouncer shined his LED flashlight in our eyes before asking for our IDs.

More punk than trendy, the menu was littered with punny cocktail names like the Katniss Von D and the Comosa. I ordered a gin fizz to start. One bartender wore knee-high socks and tiny metallic running shorts. He weaved through the line of black puffer coat-clad 20-somethings that suddenly appeared to deliver our food. We talked about the kind of people who frequented Trader Joe’s.

The hum of the 10:30 rush quickly set in, filling the wide concrete space with conversation. We toyed with the idea of just staying for the night to continue people-watching, but after an order of garlic parmesan fries and a second gin fizz, we begrudgingly clomped our way to the bus stop to wait for the 3 toward Dinkytown.

The plan was to stop at Blarney’s for as little time as possible to avoid the crowds. The massive line of suspiciously young-looking people outside the doors made going elsewhere the obvious choice. After speed walking away from the thrall of (assumed) first-years, we arrived at Burrito Loco, or Bloco, as some prefer to call it.

We entered to find a deceptively lively crowd and a mostly empty dance floor. “This is no one’s first choice,” one of us muttered as we found a table in the corner to skulk at. Even the happiest in the crowd here kept their coats on; they’d be leaving soon. A pair of roughly 40-year-old men sat down next to us, seeming to leer at the drunk girls on the dance floor.

Not wanting to stay another second, we stopped in the oddly liminal bathroom and shouted about where to go next over the blare of “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” and decided to shell out the $7.50 cover charge for Kollege Klub down the block.

We walked in just in time to watch a varsity jacket-clad bouncer make a girl in a marshmallow puff, knee-length coat cry. “I don’t fucking care, you need a physical copy,” he yelled in her face, towering above her small frame.

The cover included a “free” drink, so we waded through the sea of maskless drunks, trying (and failing) to avoid being bumped into and shouted our orders across the bar. We ventured upstairs to find an even larger crowd, a wall of paper white kids trying to escape the cold, slurring and stumbling along. I asked a bored-looking bartender about the crowd. “It’s like this every night,” she yelled over the music.

The night was mixed, to say the least, but I still felt warm. Good conversation and prime people watching opportunities abounded in our bar scene, and I couldn’t help feeling like a member of a community.

Tired and buzzed, we jogged down 4th Street to catch the bus back to Como just before midnight.

As one of those poor souls who turned 21 during the pandemic, my experience with campus bars is limited to the one time I visited Sally’s my freshman year on a Tuesday afternoon.

February 18 was the night that changed.

Though the afternoon was pleasant enough by Minnesota’s standards, sunset brought a nasty bite and a negative 14 degree windchill. Weather apps in the Twin Cities warned of high wind speeds. The ever-present, late-winter blues were creeping in.

That wouldn’t stop throngs of University of Minnesota students from going out to binge drink themselves into oblivion. Things like “being of age” and “subzero temperatures” aren’t really a concern. After all, when it’s this cold — what else are they supposed to do?

My night began at my partner’s house in Como, where his roommate’s indie band rehearsed in their unfinished basement. Armed with hand warmers from winter survival care packages (sent by well-meaning relatives), my clunkiest Docs and two pairs of pants, I was ready to take on whatever the night wanted to blow my way.

Manning’s Cafe on the corner of Como and 22nd is a Como kid pregame staple, and though it does typically have an older crowd, its ambient lighting and strong drinks left me feeling warm inside. I met some friends there just after 8 p.m. Our server, Bones, wore a tweed paperboy cap and a scraggly beard.
“American Pie” played under the chatter of old college buddies catching up.

Confused at why we were closing our tab at 9 p.m. on a Friday, I told Bones that I was writing a story about college bars and that we needed to move on to the next place. After bringing us our receipts, he told us to wait a minute. “Can I show you something for your book?” he said, visibly excited.

He returned moments later with a mouth harp and played us a little jig, later adding that he’d just learned how to play dubstep on it. I thanked Bones profusely, then readorned my winter gear for the short trek to the next spot.

Como Tap, just across the street from Manning’s, appeared to be our first stop’s cooler, younger sibling. Lit with neon signs and arcade games, the sprawl of the industrial space felt like a hipster’s playground. The crowd was considerably younger, wrought with skater boys sporting ‘70s porn staches and beanies perched absurdly high atop their heads. A curmudgeon-y bouncer shined his LED flashlight in our eyes before asking for our IDs.

More punk than trendy, the menu was littered with punny cocktail names like the Katniss Von D and the Comosa. I ordered a gin fizz to start. One bartender wore knee-high socks and tiny metallic running shorts. He weaved through the line of black puffer coat-clad 20-somethings that suddenly appeared to deliver our food. We talked about the kind of people who frequented Trader Joe’s.

The hum of the 10:30 rush quickly set in, filling the wide concrete space with conversation. We toyed with the idea of just staying for the night to continue people-watching, but after an order of garlic parmesan fries and a second gin fizz, we begrudgingly clomped our way to the bus stop to wait for the 3 toward Dinkytown.

The plan was to stop at Blarney’s for as little time as possible to avoid the crowds. The massive line of suspiciously young-looking people outside the doors made going elsewhere the obvious choice. After speed walking away from the thrall of (assumed) first-years, we arrived at Burrito Loco, or Bloco, as some prefer to call it.

We entered to find a deceptively lively crowd and a mostly empty dance floor. “This is no one’s first choice,” one of us muttered as we found a table in the corner to skulk at. Even the happiest in the crowd here kept their coats on; they’d be leaving soon. A pair of roughly 40-year-old men sat down next to us, seeming to leer at the drunk girls on the dance floor.

Not wanting to stay another second, we stopped in the oddly liminal bathroom and shouted about where to go next over the blare of “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” and decided to shell out the $7.50 cover charge for Kollege Klub down the block.

We walked in just in time to watch a varsity jacket-clad bouncer make a girl in a marshmallow puff, knee-length coat cry. “I don’t fucking care, you need a physical copy,” he yelled in her face, towering above her small frame.

The cover included a “free” drink, so we waded through the sea of maskless drunks, trying (and failing) to avoid being bumped into and shouted our orders across the bar. We ventured upstairs to find an even larger crowd, a wall of paper white kids trying to escape the cold, slurring and stumbling along. I asked a bored-looking bartender about the crowd. “It’s like this every night,” she yelled over the music.

The night was mixed, to say the least, but I still felt warm. Good conversation and prime people watching opportunities abounded in our bar scene, and I couldn’t help feeling like a member of a community.

Tired and buzzed, we jogged down 4th Street to catch the bus back to Como just before midnight.

“Change, like the sky, like the leaves, like a butterfly / Death, like a door, to a place we’ve never been before,” vocalist and songwriter Adrianne Lenker croons in a dreamy melody during the first track of Big Thief’s latest album. This song, “Change,” feels like a beginning, much like its lyrics imply. And, like the rest of this album, it holds wholly intentional, carefully crafted emotion that the band invites us to experience with them.

“Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You” is a flowing musical odyssey for the band, moving beyond the generic (but wonderful) indie that they’re often associated with. The expansive 20-song record is somehow nostalgic and entirely new all at once, begging you to listen to it in its entirety, to witness their creation.

Brooklyn-based Big Thief, comprised of queer indie darling Adrianne Lenker, Buck Meek,​​ Max Oleartchik and James Krivchenia, had already made a place for itself in the metaphorical indie hall of fame with its first four albums, like 2019 releases “U.F.O.F.” and “Two Hands,” before embarking on the multi-year project that would eventually result in this album.

This release was recorded across the U.S. in four different locations, each with their own producers and musical additions. Eight singles were released in the lead-up to this album, hinting at its massive scope and 80-minute listen time.

Through winding, well-crafted lyricism and a willingness to be completely unpretentious, Lenker shines in this work. Genres meld and flow together throughout as the band moves through subject after subject, following through on Lenker’s promise of an album about “everything.” She sings of aliens, potatoes, breakups, shoelaces, snakes and long car rides.

Each track encapsulates a unique feeling along with a new blend of genre. There is no one way to describe this album as a whole, but somehow it feels cohesive through Lenker’s easy vocalization and complex lyricism.

“Sparrow” offers a biblical ode to Eve, while “Simulation Swarm” provides tongue-in-cheek social commentary. “Time Escaping” is a jaunty, dissonant romp through the mysteries of space time. “Certainty” channels The Head and the Heart era indie folk, stacked to the brim with raw and ethereal harmonies.

Some tracks verge on bedroom pop or eight-bit video game soundtracks in their whimsy, while others echo the dreamy folk of artists like Fleetwood Mac and some are bare acoustic that rely on gentle harmony rather than instrumentation.

“Spud Infinity” holds good humor that is almost parodic in its resemblance to classic country and bluegrass on first listen, with fiddle and twanging jaw harp aplenty. “Ash to ask and dust to dusk / A dime a dozen, aren’t we just? / But a dozen dimes will buy a crust of garlic bread,” Lenker sings before the song’s climax.

Its clever wordsmithing gives it away as something new as Lenker rhymes “finish” with “potato knish,” along the kind of joyous melody that I imagine could only be made barefoot in a creek. “When I say infinity, I mean now / Kiss the one you are right now,” she continues breathlessly.

The title track, as expressive as its name, begins with ambient wind chimes and doesn’t fail to deliver on its promise of complexity. Lenker’s echoey, breathy vocals accompanied by softly wailing instrumentation create an otherworldly feeling.

Despite the winding and lengthy path it takes, “Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You” holds cohesion in its chaos. It’s easy to zone out to some of the band’s droning melodies, but the listener is rewarded for leaning in to pay close attention.

“Hmm … Gorgeous set, okay, what should we do now?” one of Lenker’s bandmates says at the end of “Blue Lightning,” the final track. I can’t wait to see what’s next for Big Thief.