Josie Langhorst: Diary of a Minnesota Musician, Chapter 6
This is a year-long series following Josie Langhorst, a Minnesota artist new to the Twin Cities, as she shares her experiences entering the scene and making music in a new environment.
January to mid-February 2026
There’s a particular quiet that typically settles in during a Six months doesn’t sound like much on paper. But when you’re in your 20s, have just moved to a new city, and are trying to build a life around something as fragile and unpredictable as music, six months can feel like a lifetime.
Then again, it can feel like the blink of an eye. For Josie Langhorst, it’s the latter.
Leaving the Door Open
Looking back to the first interview in this series and then at where she stands now, Josie’s surprised by how quickly it’s all moved. Winter has come and nearly gone and new friendships have slowly been forming. Doubt has crept in, been quieted, and creeps back. And somewhere in the middle of it all, she has begun to understand what it actually means to build a life as a musician.
It has been a season of unrest, of public debate, of conversations about immigration and justice that refuse to stay abstract. Being physically in the Twin Cities during this moment has shifted something in her. In her past life in Duluth, she witnessed national events from a distance, like the 2020 George Floyd murder. Now, she’s centered in the middle of everything, seeing musicians organizing mutual aid shows, communities gathering in response, and artists using their platforms to support families affected by ICE. Music has stopped being about just performance and instead becomes about care.
That realization led her to join the ICE Out compilation album curated by Grant Glad. When he reached out and asked if she would contribute a song, the answer came easily. She already had material written, songs born out of frustration, confusion, and a desire to say something rather than nothing. The album has already raised over $2,000 for mutual aid, a tangible reminder that songs can move beyond streaming platforms and into real-world impact.
What’s striking isn’t just her willingness to participate, but the clarity behind it. Josie is someone who openly admits she tends to overthink and always wonders how she’s being perceived. Yet when it came to attaching her name to a politically charged project, she didn’t consider the potential backlash.
Growing up in a small-town bubble, she’s seen firsthand on Facebook the divide in perspectives and comments that stem from racism. She knows there are people back home who would disagree with her stance.
“I have not thought about the fact that some people could put comments or say something to me that is unsupportive of what I’m doing. I think that’s because I know I’m on the right side of history, I’m doing the right thing. And I really don’t care if that were to end up happening, if I never play a show again afterwards, get blacklisted or whatever,” Josie shares.
We caught up with Josie at a recent house show in St. Paul with friend and fellow songwriter Ross Thorn. The evening was everything a Minnesota house show should be, soup on the stove, boots by the door, and friends packed shoulder-to-shoulder in a living room that suddenly became a venue. It was intimate in the truest sense of the word. No stage lights to hide behind. No distance between the artist and the audience.
Josie performed her protest song (currently untitled) for the first time. She stumbled at the end, something only she seemed to truly dwell on, but the mistake didn’t undo the moment. What mattered most was the act of saying out loud what had been building inside her for weeks. In a room full of people who shared her concern and compassion, the song felt like a personal diary that we each witnessed and have lived through.
In speaking with Ross about Josie, he isn’t shy to share that he sees something essential in Josie’s songwriting.
“Josie’s vulnerability and humility stand out to me in her music. She bares her heart on stage and in the songs she writes. The poetry of her lyrics is so sensitive and thoughtful that you can’t help but connect with her through the songs,” Ross says.
He also admires her songwriting and how it’s able to be unpredictable, but still make sense. Listening through her set that night, the blend of extremely descriptive lyrics and at other times very open-to-interpretation lines help connect you to her memories and paint a picture. Ross says Josie’s warmth is most visible when her friends are in the room. Josie makes a habit of acknowledging the people who write with her, who support her, who show up. It’s a small gesture, but it shifts the atmosphere from a performance into a gathering that we all can share in.
The house show ended not with solemnity, but with joy. Josie and Ross closed the night with a cover of “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, a song chosen impulsively after bonding over their shared love for the band. There was no real rehearsal and it felt more like karaoke in a living room than a carefully curated encore, but for Josie, The Chicks are woven into childhood road trips and her early memories of live music. Singing that song wasn’t just playful; it was a personal expression of her love of music. After the formal set ended, music kept playing and people danced.
Moments like that complicate the narrative of success. They don’t come with industry accolades or viral clips, but they build something harder to measure … community.
Ross is intentional about being part of that foundation for Josie. He understands how brutal the music industry can be, especially for young artists entering a new scene. Gatekeepers exist at every level and opinions are handed out freely, often unsolicited.
Ross is part of a group called the Twin Ports Artist Collective (TPAC). They’re doing the same work as the Twin Cities United Performers (TCUP) to keep improving Minnesota’s music scene. As he works to open doors for himself, he’s trying to hold them open for artists like Josie. Not to steer her path, but to make sure it doesn’t narrow unnecessarily.
One of the hardest truths Josie has wrestled with lately is the possibility that this might not turn into what she’s imagined. She’s spent over a decade pursuing music. Some of her earliest, clearest childhood memories are tied to writing songs, performing, and living inside that creative space. The thought that it could all amount to nothing, that she could end up working a nine-to-five with music relegated to the margins, feels frightening. It forces her to confront expectations she didn’t realize had solidified.
Halfway through this series, Josie isn’t standing at the summit of anything. She isn’t immune to jealousy or comparison. She still watches other performers and wonders if she should be funnier on stage, more polished, more strategic. She still catches herself thinking about traction, momentum, and the elusive idea of “making it.”
But when she steps up to the mic, most of that dissolves. In the moment, she tends to default back to herself, awkward, earnest, and unfiltered. Maybe that’s the thread tying these six months together. It’s not about arrival, but authenticity. Not certainty, but commitment.
Josie Langhorst is learning that success might not look like a straight line. It might look like soup in a kitchen, harmonies with a friend, raising money for neighbors, and a growing inner voice saying how proud you are where you’re at.
For now, that feels like enough to keep the door open.
Stay tuned for chapter 7 in March!
About the Author & Photographer
Tom Smouse. Photo Credit: Chris Taylor.
Tom Smouse is an innovative collaborator with 20 years of experience in the Minnesota music industry. As a professional photographer, podcaster, and music journalist, sharing stories from the community remains his core passion. When not at a show you can find him at a record store.
