Ladies and gentlemen, gather ’round, because I’m about to tell you about Number 2, the latest album from HebbaJebba. This album isn’t just music; it’s a fever dream wrapped in a leather jacket, wearing sunglasses indoors, and whispering cryptic advice like, “Never trust a guy who says he’s got ‘the perfect playlist.’” It’s chaotic, occasionally tender, and guaranteed to leave you scratching your head in the best way possible.
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/HebbaJebba/
The album kicks off with “Swagger”, which doesn’t just walk into the room—it saunters in, flipping a coin and winking at everyone. The guitars are raw, the drums are brash, and Ted Hajnasiewicz’s vocals sound like he’s been up all night, solving mysteries no one asked him to solve. It’s got that “barely held together but undeniably cool” vibe, like a vintage car that shouldn’t run but somehow does. You’ll either find yourself dancing awkwardly or looking for a leather jacket you didn’t know you owned.
And then—bam!—they hit you with “Wings of a Dove”. This track feels like floating through a dreamscape, but not one of those serene ones. No, this is the kind of dream where you’re gliding peacefully, only to realize there’s something lurking in the shadows. The melodies are haunting, the rhythm is deliberate, and there’s just enough tension to keep you gripping your metaphorical seatbelt.
But let’s talk about “What Do You Want Me to Say”, a co-write with Matthew French that’s the album’s emotional heavyweight. It’s heartbreak distilled into sound waves. Hajnasiewicz’s voice is raw and aching, like he’s singing into the void, hoping someone will answer. The song is so intimate it feels like you’re reading someone’s diary. And yes, it’s a little uncomfortable, but in that good way—like eating an entire pint of ice cream after a breakup. Necessary.
Now, a shoutout to the band itself. This isn’t just the Ted Hajnasiewicz show. Oh no. Paul Gordhamer’s drums don’t just set the beat; they slap you across the face and demand you pay attention. Tom Carlon’s bass hums along like the steady dread of an unpaid parking ticket, while Mark Ganje’s “good guitars” bring just the right mix of grit and grace. And Brendan Ober? He’s the glue holding it all together—or at least making it look effortless.
But, folks, if I had one quibble—and I always do—it’s this: sometimes Number 2 feels like it’s trying a little too hard to be edgy. The disjointed moments can be thrilling, but occasionally they wander into “Was this planned or a happy accident?” territory. Not a dealbreaker, but it’s like a magician pulling out too many scarves—impressive, but do we need that many?
In the end, Number 2 isn’t here to tuck you in at night. It’s here to mess with your head, shake up your soul, and maybe spill a drink or two in the process. So grab your headphones, press play, and get ready for an album that doesn’t just play music—it stages a full-on intervention for your ears. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and you’ll wonder what just happened. And isn’t that what great art is all about?
Jason Hillenburg
