I Owe Jeremy Messersmith a Five-Spot
This isn’t just the story about how I owe Jeremy Messersmith five USD. It is the story of how simply asking can sometimes get you things you want.
Wednesday, August 27, 2025.
I can barely sleep. I am way too excited to take the always magical drive north up 35 to the home of my alma mater, the birthplace of the press-dubbed conscience of the 1960s, and a mall on a hill that needs to be preserved forever (at least in photographs). I bring my golf clubs thinking I may sneak in nine somewhere near Moose Lake. After a pit stop outside of Hinckley, golf is the furthest thing on my mind and my entire focus shifts to a quiet morning at Park Point. I have also packed my guitar just for this occasion. Even though I have completed this drive hundreds of times before, it never fails to pull at every last heart string, especially when Duluth’s city limits come into view and 103.3 FM shifts from static to clarity. I flip on said radio station and am greeted by what I think for a second is Matt and Kim, but then soon realize it is Mates of State. Perfect welcome back to Duluth. The next song I am not quite feeling so I slide in the new Matt Berninger CD and scan to track three, “Bonnet of Pins,” as this feels like a good way to soundtrack myself into the city. It proves to be a wonderful choice.
I cross the Lift Bridge over to Park Point and think I should go back to 103.3 FM as it always helps me connect more centrally to the local community. Lo and behold they are playing “Bonnet of Pins”. I catch the last 45 seconds, smiling all the way, park the car and head to the beach. I am greeted by a flock of seagulls and a pristine shore that could easily compete in a beauty pageant with the likes of Oahu’s Lanikai Beach. Remnants of what must have been a late Tuesday night back-to-school Park Point bonfire sprawl into my periphery, but only add to and not detract from said beauty. It’s a spiritual place to say the least and after snapping a few photos of the calm water and city center, I head to a picnic table in an adjacent field to play guitar under some trees. It is still quite comfortable out - near sweater weather - and I begin strumming “Wheels on the Bus,” a song I performed live for my nephew in Longfellow, Minneapolis just a few nights prior. From those simple chords a song about traveling to Duluth pours out and new melodies are formed on top of borrowed rhythms.
Park Point
From Park Point I head to the West End for a highly suggested burrito and a bit of record shopping. Not thrilled by the record store’s prices, but dazzled by the delicious burrito, I leave the West End satiated and head for the Miller Hill Mall, a place I once attempted to make dough rise like the best of them at Cinnabon. Interestingly enough, that shop has expired, but a sign on the other side of the mall states a new one is coming soon. I visit the mall for one reason only: to try and capture the essence of a dying midwestern mall in photographs. I leave feeling somewhat successful and with zero regret about making the somewhat lengthy drive up the hill. It is about coffee time and I navigate back downtown for a cup and recharge myself and my smartphone before the concert on the pier at Glensheen Mansion.
West Duluth and Miller Hill Mall
I thankfully find a parking spot at Glensheen, get in line near the entrance, and not 10 minutes later the gates open and I step inside the hallowed grounds. Just beyond the entrance I come across the merch stands for both performers that evening: Sophie Hiroko and Jeremy Messersmith. I’ve been searching for Jeremy Messersmith’s 2024 live album, Live at the Bryant Lake Bowl, but I haven’t been able to find it at record stores in the Twin Cities.
Alas, it’s part of Messersmith’s merchandise line-up, and I’m excited to finally make the purchase. However, there’s a slight problem. I have no cash. And I don’t have, nor can I get, Venmo, which is the only other payment method his merch table accepts. I ask the person working the table if Messersmith takes PayPal. Unfortunately, he doesn’t. I explain that I live in Japan, and I can’t download Venmo on my phone because of my App Store settings. I also don’t have a local number to retrieve whatever pin I’d need, even if I did switch the app store to the U.S. and managed to download Venmo.
I then ask if I could have someone else Venmo the money to Messersmith’s account, and the merch person says that would likely be okay. I think about calling my sister, who has helped me out in this fashion before. Then, the merch person mentions that they have PayPal and that it would be fine if I PayPal them the money for the CD, and they’d then Venmo the same amount to Messersmith’s account.
While all of this discussion is going on, I realize I might as well also buy this really cool-looking Jeremy Messersmith shirt with a kitten on it. Actually, I decide to buy two. One for my wife as well. I mean, why not? Especially now that I can successfully complete the transaction via PayPal. So I settle on two shirts ($25 each) and the live album ($15). According to my arithmetic, that comes to $65, right? But somehow the merch person and I agree on $60, and amidst the confusion of how to pay, I quickly and anxiously fire over the $60 to their PayPal account without realizing it’s actually $5 short of the real price.
Meanwhile, Messersmith himself makes his way over to the merch table. After discussing the simple, yet somewhat complicated merch transaction, he casually mentions that he’s grateful to sell any merch that would otherwise take up room in his garage in Minneapolis. I still don’t realize I’ve undercut his asking price by $5 and go on to tell him I’ve been a longtime fan, listening to his music all the time in Japan and beyond and how it connects me back to life in Minnesota. I also tell him my wife likes his music very much, that I’m buying a shirt for her, and that I’d love for him to sign the CD and address it to her, which he kindly does.
I shake his hand, thank him again for his wonderful music, wish him luck on the pier performance, and then head off to explore this unique mansion-turned-music-venue on the shores of Lake Superior.
It’s halfway through Sophie Hiroko’s set—incredible, by the way—when I realize I’ve shortchanged Messersmith $5. I think about re-PayPaling the merch person with a note to re-Venmo Messersmith, but I refrain. I video-chat my wife to show her a bit of Sophie Hiroko’s set, tell her the story, and she convinces me it was an honest miscalculation. I agree, and I begin to move on.
Sophie Hiroko
By this time, Messersmith and cellist Dan Lawonn take the pier and whisk us all away into an hour of his often amusing and sometimes startling storytelling. Magical doesn’t quite do the performance justice, but it’s downright magical, a magic on par with that of the early morning drive North. An hour later the sun is setting, Messersmith is jumping fully clothed into the Great Lake, and we all drift off into one of those soft summer nights that there are never, ever quite enough of.
Jeremy Messersmith, when you read these paragraphs, just know I’d like to somehow get you that $5 I owe you. Funny enough, I came back to Japan with exactly 5 USD in cash. I’m sure I’ll be at a show down the line and we can square up then. Or maybe I’ll pay you an extra $5 on Bandcamp for your latest single, Boomers. Until then, thank you for your art and for bringing us all together that incredible August night in Duluth.
Jeremy Messersmith
A Fine Night at the Fine Line
Then the clock struck 9:02pm. Horsegirl emerged from stage-right, humbly forming a triangular shape…
Horsegirl rolled through Minneapolis a few days ago and I was lucky enough to be at the Fine Line to witness their burgeoning greatness.
The sextet Godcaster opened the show, which included the acoustic guitarist Arcade Fire-ing his way into the crowd for some circle time. Excellent move and the entire band sounded wonderful, definitely living up to what their press release states: “If the most melancholic Beach Boys ballad was played at immeasurable volume.”
Godcaster
Up next was Lifeguard, a fiery three-piece from the windy city that makes you think a bit about Cap’n Jazz while you inhale their bursty guitar riffs and off-kiltered, pounding drums. I could not help but become fully immersed in their no-BS stage presence as they hammered through their 40-or-so minute set. Really brilliant stuff from this young band. Check out their debut album, Ripped and Torn, stat.
Lifeguard
Then the clock struck 9:02pm. Horsegirl emerged from stage-right, humbly forming a triangular shape before a sea of their awaiting fans, and proceeded to pull the entire room (balcony included) into their brilliantly crafted wall of sound. It was inviting, catchy, and spacious. All the good things that make really good indie pop really good indie pop - reverberating guitars, dreamy vocal harmonies, no-rack-tom drum sets, and gorgeous, minimal, repetitive melodies galore. A short 48 minutes later and they promptly left us satisfied, but wanting more. More we did not get, but surely they will be back for a sold out show at the Mainroom soon.
Horsegirl
My Private Instagram
My struggles with social media and the overwhelming desire to see the heart button light up my life.
I have not intentionally scrolled through social media since mid-September, 2024. At the time of this writing, it has been just over ten months - my longest calculated pause since signing up for Facebook in 2007. Instagram followed five years later. Posting to and checking these platforms became so ingrained in my routine that I would open the apps by mere reflex and often check one or the other instead of, for example, the weather app. I would end up spending 10 to 15 minutes swiping through the eternal slot-machine of content and completely forget why I was on my phone in the first place. Once locked into the feed, I would flip-flop between the two. When IG bored me, FB saved the day and when FB failed to satiate, why not check something like Gmail? Surely there is an Inbox (1) waiting for me there. Rinse and repeat throughout the day. Of course some of this content made me smile and some of it made me frown. However, most of it sparked unnecesary jealousy as I entered the comparison hyperloop, which mostly led to a low sense of self-worth.
And do I ever miss this routine! I miss it more and more as time goes on; not less as I had initially hypothesized when I began this pause last September. I miss seeing updates from friends, family, acquaintances, colleagues, former students, bands, and even brands. You name it - all the metaphorical highlight reels. I miss liking posts and getting that little rush of sugary goodness to the pleasure centers of my brain after tap, tap, tapping away as I scrolled through the bottomless glass while sipping my morning brew. I miss posting photographs that had the potential to immediately acquire at least six likes in its first hour of existence. I miss going out on photo walks or travel adventures with the intention of getting that one Instagrammable moment, only to be disappointed hours later when it did not do so well. Thus, I’d sit and think to myself what a lousy photographer I was. Or worse yet, opening the app 30 minutes after a post and being met with ZERO likes. I also miss seeing other photographer’s amazing work and comparing myself to each and every last one of them. 10k likes here. 4k likes there. 100k likes over there! Wow! What that must feel like to open your Instagram and have so many likes and DMs that your brain can barely process all the dopamine and you feel as high as a kite, put on that Violent Femmes song, and blister off into the sun. I miss this all. It still haunts me after nearly a year of intentionally avoiding these temptations.
Needless to say, the stranglehold social media once had on my daily smartphone usage is a bit concerning. Not a day has gone by that I do not think about social media, which include visions of the feed flashing before my eyes and receiving likes, comments, tags, and DMs. The question that has been haunting me is should I go back and if so, to what capacity? Previous intentional pauses from social media have found me going back more frequently than before I had taken the break. Perhaps I should get an app blocker to make sure I only spend 15 minutes a day on the platform? Perhaps I should just check it only before and after work? First thing in the morning? Post once a week and only check it Saturdays at 10am to maintain contact with this network? Social Media has had such control over me that I am no longer sure I can function as a normal human being without feeding the feed, or being fed from the feed. And I am not blaming social media for any of this. I chose and have chosen to keep coming back. No one ever once forced me to share, comment, like, or continuously check any of these platforms.
However, last September I knew I needed a break. Cold turkey. Like when I quit smoking cigarettes that January morning in Duluth. Smoking alone out on the front stoop in minus 15 degrees just wasn’t bringing me much joy anymore. Enough was enough. The desire for nicotine was starting to control my life and happiness. Much like posting into the abyss of content just wasn’t as rewarding or fun anymore. But I want to light up again. Chain-smoke two packs of Marlboro Light goodness and feel that sense of connectedness and purpose again. Find out what my favourite bands are up to. Find out what my cousins are up to. Find out everything. And keep coming back for more and more, never to ever truly be satisfied. I now understand that no amount of likes or comments will ever satisfy that desire.
How do I return in a healthy way without a sense of overwhelming jealousy each time I see a post of family, friends, relatives “living their best lives”? Late Night personality Seth Meyers summed it up quite wittily and even more accurately: “I open Instagram for three reasons: To post a pic that makes my life look cooler than it is. To get jealous when a friend posts a pic that makes their life look cooler than it is, and to see if the ‘for you’ page recommends any AI generated lingerie models.” Funny? Well, depends who you ask. True? Likely.
Additionally, Mel Robbins, host of one the most successful podcasts on the planet, has a theory called “Let Them,” which claims to set anyone who applies these two words “free from the exhausting cycle of trying to manage everything and everyone around you.” I am not sure if I can apply this theory to practice, but it sure is worth a shot. I can try as I might to apply it to each and every post, every day, every hour, every second I spend on the platform. If I cannot “let them” then is it possible to “let me”?
In the meantime, while it feels like I am stuck between stations, I have created this little corner of the web. My own private Instagram if you will. A place I can share without the worry of photographs and writings being liked/not liked; loved/not loved; commented on/not commented on; shared/not shared. Sure, the dopamine rush is far less potent by sharing photographs and thoughts on a website, but for me it just feels a little safer. The question still remains if I will go back to using social media. Maybe the better question is, can I go back to using social media instead of social media using me? Again, I do miss it, and feel that with the appropriate balance and moderation, anything and everything can be consumed in a healthy fashion. One Big Mac a month, you say? Go for it! But do I need to post about it?
Here’s a set of photographs I probably would have shared on social media. Don’t forget to like and…wait…uh…whatever…nevermind. See you on Instagram again someday.
