This month, we’ve had a new song by Sufjan Stevens that harkens back to Carrie & Lowell; a Zach Bryan album that might sell stadiums and speak human at the same time; another fuzz-and-buzz single from MJ Lenderman; and a Julie Byrne masterpiece, the most cauterizing grief album since the aforementioned by Sufjan.

I call this sensibility Midwestern because it’s an attitude inherent to life on the plains, where you can see storms gather from miles away and can do nothing for hours but brace for the worst. The winters are some of the coldest in the country. There’s a reason some of the only immigrants who could bear it were Swedes, Russians, Norwegians, and Finns.

One afternoon three years ago, I was feeling that classic early-twenties feeling like I had never and would never do anything and everyone would hate me for it. I sat down and made a newsletter on a whim.

My Augusts are filled with the most dizzying mysteries. Faced with deducing what happened to the year, I play detective in my very own sun-drenched noir.

I've been looking at my roles, and hating what I’ve done with them. I just wanted to choose one that exercises my humanity, by sending you playlists made from my organic experience, even if I'll ultimately lose the battle to the machines.