One listen to the opening of The Duluth Local Show on the Current and a person gets a sense of the folksy, wholesome veneer the city imparts to its people and out of towners alike when it comes to its cultural musical identity. It’s the birth place of Bob Dylan, in case you didn’t know. But, just beneath the woodsy surface and what hides in so many of the homes in the Hillside above Bob Dylan Way, gulp, are an impressive number of artists plugging in synthesizers, drum machines, samplers … oh my! …
February 20, 2021
Early morning winter cold floods in through the gaps between the sheet and mattress. The cold is so powerful, so penetrating, I imagine it to be as fluid as a rushing river with the ability to seep into minute cracks and crevices. In the chaos of adjusting the comforter and pulling the pillow into my impromptu cocoon, my sleep-hat has gone AWOL. An instinctual desire to escape the cold and fortify the barrier makes me abandon any pursuit of the lost headpiece.
A new form of low temperature has erupted in Minnesota, a reverse volcano maybe. Not a temperature so high it melts rock, but one so powerfully low it could probably fracture silk. This kind of cold, the kind that cracks house rafters, and spiderwebs the smallest chip in a windshield, has blown in from the north. Weather enthusiasts call it a Polar Vortex — something about the North Pole, and cold, and pressure. But at five o’clock in the morning in northern Minnesota, those technical, and normally interesting, scientific truths can crawl into a snowbank as far as I am concerned. Whether it’s a vortex, or cyclone, or Voldemort’s Dementors unleashed, the only truth that encapsulates this moment is something I learned years ago: “cold is the absence of heat.” …