What can you do.  What is it even possible to do. How can you help, how can you help but feel powerless and destroyed when you witness and experience the destruction of innocence and love. To see your community, friends and neighbors, your very own goodness, be cast as evil by the very same people enacting evil upon you. To be plucked and torn apart and thrown away as if it wasn’t the very purpose of existence. As if the pursuit of happiness were not the purpose of the entire experiment.

In the face of such a revolting, revelatory, and revolutionary moment, Minnesotans have found numerous ways to absolutely step the fuck up. As tragic and demoralizing as this campaign of terror has been, the response of everyday citizens, organizers, and artists, has been every bit as miraculous. Case in point: the Mess Records and Drifter Music MN’s Thaw compilation.

These 30 tracks were written in immediate response to the trauma being inflicted on the Twin Cities. The participating artists have captured their reactions and the emotional impact, documented the pain and injustice, and given shape to the anger and dismay so many innocent people are feeling. According to the Mess’s social media announcing the album, “The Mess and Drifter opened their studios to creatives across genres, and throughout Minnesota in need of opportunity to express their grief and anger following the federal occupation of our state. The raw emotion and shared experiences across this record shares both insight, and inspiration to those on the ground locally, and those viewing from outside looking in. thaw exists to defend the marginalized voices that are being minimized during this time, and to represent the true feelings and experiences shared as a city, state, and country that was built on the efforts and sacrifices of Black, Brown, Asian and Indigenous communities.”

Thaw is loosely divided into three sections, delineated by hand drum chants courtesy of The Homie Front. The first third is generally traditional folk: acoustic guitars and vocals, with heavy homages to traditions of the past. This nostalgic opening suggests we’ve been here before, and there is a path forward. While the compilation’s second movement doesn’t exactly defy that assertion, it appropriately suggests that path will not be easy. This stretch of songs gets loud and dark, with a lovely and unsettling dirge from Frank and Janae and a dyad of metal shredders from Eyes of Sorrow and Scramble the Jets. After another drum chant helps turn the page, the tone shifts back toward healing and hope, with some stunningly crafted songs aching for an America that rises above our haunted and haunting history. Bathtub Cig, 26 Bats!, and Storm Coffee lend their unique talents to the fight for America’s soul, culminating in an achingly poignant portrait of the moment from Robyn Jammer.

As with any compilation, some contributions stand above others. But what stands out above the differences between these songs, in style or fidelity or skill or talent or anything else that separates them, is what they all have in common. Regardless of how these artists express themselves, however they choose to feel and convey their response to this moment, not one of them could stay silent. This is the miracle that sustains us. This is why we sing.