HebbaJebba’s Number 2 feels like rolling down a long stretch of backroad with the windows wide open, every bump and twist reminding you why the journey matters more than the destination. It’s raw, gutsy, and full of surprises—a sophomore album that doesn’t just step forward but stomps, struts, and occasionally trips, all with a smirk that says, “We meant to do that.”
From the first swaggering chords of “Swagger,” the band establishes they’re not here to please—they’re here to play. Mark Ganje’s guitar growls and snarls, driving the track like a rusted-out muscle car tearing through the night. The imperfections are what make it perfect, capturing the livewire energy of a garage jam session where anything can happen. Paul Gordhamer’s drums thunder in, not polished but purposeful, grounding the chaos with a backbone you can’t help but move to.
The heart of Number 2 lies in its unpredictability. One moment, you’re swept up in the haunting, cinematic swirl of “Wings of a Dove,” where Ted Hajnasiewicz’s vocals carry a weight that feels ancient, like echoes bouncing off canyon walls. The next, you’re caught in the cheeky rebellion of “What Do You Want Me to Say,” a track that throws attitude around like confetti at a party you didn’t know you needed.
But it’s not all swagger and sneers. There’s a vulnerability woven into tracks like “I’m Tired,” co-written with Matthew French. It’s stripped-down and soulful, a quiet moment amid the noise that lingers like the smell of rain on asphalt. The interplay between the instrumentation and Hajnasiewicz’s wearied delivery strikes a chord that’s as relatable as it is heartbreaking.
Where Number 2 shines brightest is in its refusal to fit neatly into any one box. “Hell’s Canyon” channels a Spaghetti Western vibe, its dusty twang conjuring images of sun-scorched landscapes and duels at high noon. By contrast, the acoustic rendition of “Blue Lightning Ambush” pares things down to their essence, offering an intimate glimpse into the band’s softer side. It’s this push and pull—the light and the shadow—that keeps the album compelling from start to finish.
Yet, the album isn’t without its quirks. At times, the shifts in tone can feel abrupt, as if the band’s eagerness to explore new territory occasionally leaves the listener catching up. But even in these moments, HebbaJebba’s unpolished charm and infectious energy carry the day, reminding you that imperfection is part of the magic.
Mastered by Ty Tabor at Alien Beans Studio, the production walks a fine line between raw authenticity and just enough polish to keep things cohesive. It’s not overproduced—it’s alive, breathing and shifting with every listen. And the accompanying multimedia book adds another layer, transforming Number 2 from an album into a full-body experience. This is music that demands more than just your ears; it asks for your imagination, your attention, your time.
HebbaJebba isn’t interested in playing it safe, and thank God for that. Number 2 is weird, wonderful, and wholly unapologetic—a reminder that sometimes, the best trips are the ones where you’re not sure where you’re headed.
Rachel Townsend