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American Music Series
The Dad Rock That Made Me A Woman
A memoir-in-essays on transness, dad rock, and the music that saves us.
When Wilco’s 2007 album Sky Blue Sky was infamously criticized as “dad rock,” Niko Stratis was a twenty-five-year-old closeted trans woman working in her dad’s glass shop in the Yukon Territory. As she sought escape from her hypermasculine environment, Stratis found an unlikely lifeline amid dad rock’s emotionally open and honest music. Listening to dad rock, Stratis could access worlds beyond her own and imagine a path forward.
In taut, searing essays rendered in propulsive and unguarded prose, Stratis delves into the emotional core of bands like Wilco and The National, telling her story through the dad rock that accompanied her along the way. She found footing in Michael Stipe’s allusions to queer longing, Radiohead’s embrace of unknowability, and Bruce Springsteen’s very trans desire to “change my clothes my hair my face”—and she found in artists like Neko Case and Sharon Van Etten that the label transcends gender.
A love letter to the music that saves us and a tribute to dads like Stratis’s own who embody the tenderness at the genre’s heart, The Dad Rock That Made Me a Woman rejoices in music unafraid to bare its soul.
When Wilco’s 2007 album Sky Blue Sky was infamously criticized as “dad rock,” Niko Stratis was a twenty-five-year-old closeted trans woman working in her dad’s glass shop in the Yukon Territory. As she sought escape from her hypermasculine environment, Stratis found an unlikely lifeline amid dad rock’s emotionally open and honest music. Listening to dad rock, Stratis could access worlds beyond her own and imagine a path forward.
In taut, searing essays rendered in propulsive and unguarded prose, Stratis delves into the emotional core of bands like Wilco and The National, telling her story through the dad rock that accompanied her along the way. She found footing in Michael Stipe’s allusions to queer longing, Radiohead’s embrace of unknowability, and Bruce Springsteen’s very trans desire to “change my clothes my hair my face”—and she found in artists like Neko Case and Sharon Van Etten that the label transcends gender.
A love letter to the music that saves us and a tribute to dads like Stratis’s own who embody the tenderness at the genre’s heart, The Dad Rock That Made Me a Woman rejoices in music unafraid to bare its soul.
7 pages, Audio CD
Published May 6, 2025
70 people are currently reading
3704 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 86 reviews
September 12, 2025
There is nothing wrong with this book. The writing is good, interestingly idiosyncratic, and ostensibly about things I am quite interested in, music and gender. Somehow, though, I did not find it interesting at all. I think part of the problem is that it does not deliver on the promise of the title. There is writing about music, there is writing about Niko's lack of direction in general and their unsuccessful efforts to feel like a man and to perform maleness. What there is not is a convincing connection between the music and the gender identification. I think the last chapter I read -- I cut bait at 37% after the Fake Plastic Trees essay -- was most successful at connecting music to Niko's life and choices, but that was only because the other essays were so unsuccessful at doing that.
If you are interested in a book about a person in a small conservative town with no direction, no ability to interact successfully with others, and a knowledge that she was failing at identifying with men as a fellow, I think this will appeal to you. If you are interested in hearing what a person with broad music knowledge thinks about a lot of 90's music you could definitely do worse. If you are interested in how those things come together, I suspect you will be as disappointed as I was.
I am settling at a 3-star (not counting it in my "read" total, so no date, but this is being written in June 2025.) The writing here is a 3.5 with some very strong passages, some less so. The interest level for me turned out to be a 1, but that is just me.
If you are interested in a book about a person in a small conservative town with no direction, no ability to interact successfully with others, and a knowledge that she was failing at identifying with men as a fellow, I think this will appeal to you. If you are interested in hearing what a person with broad music knowledge thinks about a lot of 90's music you could definitely do worse. If you are interested in how those things come together, I suspect you will be as disappointed as I was.
I am settling at a 3-star (not counting it in my "read" total, so no date, but this is being written in June 2025.) The writing here is a 3.5 with some very strong passages, some less so. The interest level for me turned out to be a 1, but that is just me.
May 25, 2025
Virginia Woolf describes the significant moments in our lives that form our identity as “moments of being”. These are the moments that we can remember that, like cotton wool held up to light, are the material we can see ourselves through.
Stratis’ beautifully literary memoir weaves each of her “moments of being” around a series of poignant songs, a “Dad rock” mix tape that helped form her identity.
This is such an important book for so many people.
For music lovers and appreciators - Niko’s knowledge is second to none. You will love being taken on a journey through these songs and their creation stories.
For lost souls who are struggling to find their place in the world - Niko’s story is one of liberation and strength.
For readers in general - Niko is a beautiful writer and this is a poignant, confessional memoir we are so lucky to have access to.
And for the one side of the political spectrum whose agenda seems to be increasingly determined to deny vulnerable groups of people their identity - you don’t deserve to know Niko’s story. Thankfully, society will continue to outgrow you.
Thank you for your book Niko - a testament to music’s ability to rescue us, shape us and create us over and over again.
Stratis’ beautifully literary memoir weaves each of her “moments of being” around a series of poignant songs, a “Dad rock” mix tape that helped form her identity.
This is such an important book for so many people.
For music lovers and appreciators - Niko’s knowledge is second to none. You will love being taken on a journey through these songs and their creation stories.
For lost souls who are struggling to find their place in the world - Niko’s story is one of liberation and strength.
For readers in general - Niko is a beautiful writer and this is a poignant, confessional memoir we are so lucky to have access to.
And for the one side of the political spectrum whose agenda seems to be increasingly determined to deny vulnerable groups of people their identity - you don’t deserve to know Niko’s story. Thankfully, society will continue to outgrow you.
Thank you for your book Niko - a testament to music’s ability to rescue us, shape us and create us over and over again.
May 29, 2025
I was visibly emotional for almost the entire 6 hours of this audiobook. Just incredible writing (and reading!) by one of my favorite writers working right now
June 21, 2025
this feels like two books that didn't really come together. I wanted more of a connection between the music and the journey, but it was "I was on a journey" and "here's some music I like." It wasn't bad, but it didn't live up to the perfect title, either.
June 2, 2025
This is really good and I'm glad I read it. Full review here.
May 10, 2025
Stratis bares her soul through poignant and vulnerable essays on the music that inspired her to embrace her trans identity in the face of fear, depression, and the surrounding toxic masculinity of the Yukon. She conjures an image of a rugged life in northern Canada with unpaved roads and crushingly long winters so cold they can kill you. It’s in the small town of Whitehorse where her story begins. As a young, closeted trans woman, family life inside her childhood home, shared with her father, mother, and sister, was a comfortable one filled with music from her dad’s record collection. But outside the safety of home, she lived in a constant state of survival mode, as the people of the Yukon favored social expectations and were “rigidly obsessed” with gender norms. “Always uncomfortable” in her own skin, she searched for “some secret path to understanding myself as a collection of men’s parts.” She was “desperate to be the right brand of man” to live up to outsiders’ expectations comparing her to her strong father. At first, she leaned into conformity yearning to “blend in,” trying to emulate her dad. The discomfort she felt seeps through as she writes of her professional life. She endured abuse and ridicule by the aggressive and closed-minded men surrounding her, writing that she “didn’t even know if I was really a man at all.” While living this lie, Radiohead consoled her, singing about “the falseness of the world.” Later, she took over for her father at his glass shop, where her masculinity was met with scrutiny and doubt from the men of the shop. While she “felt awkward” learning “to be a man,” The Replacements, a band of misfits “masquerading as men,” offered refuge. She was branded with bruises, scars, and death threats for not fitting the mold of a man. Records and radio saved her from enveloping darkness. Ultimately, Stratis triumphed over hardship, coming out as a trans woman and finding a new name through the music of Neko Case. Stratis “chose to live” and found herself within “dad rock.” She salutes dads everywhere, including her own, who embody love and guidance underneath a masculine exterior. Sprinkled with just enough self-deprecating humor to highlight Stratis’s humility, this raw and honest reflection of gender identity and the emotional power of music inspires to seek and embrace our own truths. It's a celebration of the resilience of the human spirit and a rousing call to be seen for who we really are.
May 17, 2025
This was just incredible, music can make and save us
July 26, 2025
Transported
September 14, 2025
I’ve said it so many times in different reviews, but I just really love memoirs where people use some sort of pop culture as a lens to discuss their life and experiences. So this book being about different “dad rock” artists and songs that were important to Niko Stratis and her experiences as a closeted trans woman in small towns and very male dominated spaces definitely appealed to me. She shares so many vulnerable stories alongside descriptions of the music that impacted her life. I’d definitely recommend this for people who are interested in a very unique trans memoir.
December 13, 2025
Niko Stratis' beautiful book is such an achievement. Niko is a trans woman who finally came out in her 30s. She grew up in the Yukon, where she was considered odd and different. Her life was full of violence, not from her loving family, but from the people around her. In each chapter, Niko explores a stage of her life and the music that helps keep her sane. This is compelling book, and if you're like me, you'll have a list of things to listen to after you finish. I enjoyed how this book was partly a tribute to Niko's dad.
This book was open and honest and I look forward to seeing what Niko writes next.
This book was open and honest and I look forward to seeing what Niko writes next.
June 17, 2025
Love me a Toronto author… reads like a coming of age but it’s a coming of queer
December 1, 2025
Would not consider most of these Dad Rock.
November 12, 2025
this was very meh to me. i was expecting the content to have a more musical influence, but that fell flat. this was definitely more autobiographical in nature, which would be totally fine, if that's what this would have been marketed as. i am happy that the author is at a better place in life now, though. that was a lot of trauma to deal with in a short time.
July 3, 2025
This book, like its author Niko, is both authentic to itself and sincerely expressed—(which means it is also brave enough to not be liked by everyone) in order to be truly genuine. I personally put off marking this book as read for almost two weeks, because I didn’t feel like I had the words yet, to unpack it. Niko shares her a narrative that on it’s face feels like slice-of-life storytelling paired with music that creates the setting and the era. But it’s more than that, beneath the moments of her life is a subtle, often devastating, but at the end of the day vulnerable and undeniable ribbon of hope that there is something more, over the next horizon.
For a lot of folks who may read this, it might seem like a lot of stories about familiar songs and some tough years in a harsh part of the country. For the average-Joe/Joesephine self-insert crowd, this one may be a harder book to relate to immediately—Niko had a pretty niche experience for a number of these stories. That alone makes them interesting, if you’re open to learning about experiences different than your own, and can appreciate the value in that (even if it isn’t written to be gratuitous or shocking to someone with that very different life, as a lot of queer memoirs end up being, even unintentionally.) This one gives anyone willing and opportunity to connect to her, through music and the same self-reflection so many of us have been forced into after others start to label us as “different,” should it should be easy—provided there is no other reason to not come to this with an open hand any of these stories can stand on that metric alone.
But—there will also be people like me—(and not like me) but who are in the same category as me, meaning, like Niko in some way, for whom these stories will slip into like a thief. This book is really for the people who are us, but hopefully, while they are still 20, and don’t know yet, that being this kind of different is actually another kind of same.
I was a queer person in a small bigoted town of 1200 people—working in the service industry most of my teens and there were times when I felt like some kind of time rift had opened. Coupled with a soundtrack to place me back on the floor with some radio or my awful beat up car with the tape deck, and the cassettes we bought from gas stations, to bookend the barbed way that my bosses would ask if my friends were gay, or if I would make out with my friend for $5, since they heard I liked girls anyways… and I wondered if we had been extras in the same shitty movie and just not known. Only 2 years apart in age, but across the country, it was hard to not wish there had been a way to retroactively scoop us, and everyone else who had tears hit the pages of this book, all into one single town and let us do it all over again, but together, in one high-school…
Niko doesn’t shy away from giving us her darkness when it’s time. Or her regrets. And while reading these stories about a young woman, who was asking the world over and over for a place where she could put her heels down, you can’t help but root for her. There are so many crossroads where she could have chosen to become cruel, or given up, and instead, as the title suggests, she found a place to take refuge when necessary, in music, in counter cultures, and in herself. She uses the songs as vignette around pivotal and and anti-pivotal moments (like deciding if or if not to dream big, or instead, dream home, and stay and work the family business, even if there is a creeping longing in the decision) so we come to understand her fears, attempts to almost compromise/negotiate with her own gender, sexuality and happiness, but we also become aquatinted with her inextinguishable hope, along the path, traversed by the mobile home that is Niko herself and all her musical step-dads.
It becomes almost a spoiler to know that just by virtue of the fact that she is who she is now, and wrote the book, that the Niko of these stories, makes it. She is firmly into the life that was the footnote through all these essays. The end of the book, is almost, the cover of the book—the existence of the book, as the start of what will hopefully be many more in this future for the young Niko of The Dad Rock That Made Me A Woman, now a published author, in living as genuinely and as authentically as ever, and giving us this book to say “and then, sometimes it can be a long time coming—but you still arrive at yourself” and Niko, I will say, I am so thankful that you did.
Your visibility and vulnerability will make the world feel less lonely for so many people. It will make someone safer. It already has for me.
For a lot of folks who may read this, it might seem like a lot of stories about familiar songs and some tough years in a harsh part of the country. For the average-Joe/Joesephine self-insert crowd, this one may be a harder book to relate to immediately—Niko had a pretty niche experience for a number of these stories. That alone makes them interesting, if you’re open to learning about experiences different than your own, and can appreciate the value in that (even if it isn’t written to be gratuitous or shocking to someone with that very different life, as a lot of queer memoirs end up being, even unintentionally.) This one gives anyone willing and opportunity to connect to her, through music and the same self-reflection so many of us have been forced into after others start to label us as “different,” should it should be easy—provided there is no other reason to not come to this with an open hand any of these stories can stand on that metric alone.
But—there will also be people like me—(and not like me) but who are in the same category as me, meaning, like Niko in some way, for whom these stories will slip into like a thief. This book is really for the people who are us, but hopefully, while they are still 20, and don’t know yet, that being this kind of different is actually another kind of same.
I was a queer person in a small bigoted town of 1200 people—working in the service industry most of my teens and there were times when I felt like some kind of time rift had opened. Coupled with a soundtrack to place me back on the floor with some radio or my awful beat up car with the tape deck, and the cassettes we bought from gas stations, to bookend the barbed way that my bosses would ask if my friends were gay, or if I would make out with my friend for $5, since they heard I liked girls anyways… and I wondered if we had been extras in the same shitty movie and just not known. Only 2 years apart in age, but across the country, it was hard to not wish there had been a way to retroactively scoop us, and everyone else who had tears hit the pages of this book, all into one single town and let us do it all over again, but together, in one high-school…
Niko doesn’t shy away from giving us her darkness when it’s time. Or her regrets. And while reading these stories about a young woman, who was asking the world over and over for a place where she could put her heels down, you can’t help but root for her. There are so many crossroads where she could have chosen to become cruel, or given up, and instead, as the title suggests, she found a place to take refuge when necessary, in music, in counter cultures, and in herself. She uses the songs as vignette around pivotal and and anti-pivotal moments (like deciding if or if not to dream big, or instead, dream home, and stay and work the family business, even if there is a creeping longing in the decision) so we come to understand her fears, attempts to almost compromise/negotiate with her own gender, sexuality and happiness, but we also become aquatinted with her inextinguishable hope, along the path, traversed by the mobile home that is Niko herself and all her musical step-dads.
It becomes almost a spoiler to know that just by virtue of the fact that she is who she is now, and wrote the book, that the Niko of these stories, makes it. She is firmly into the life that was the footnote through all these essays. The end of the book, is almost, the cover of the book—the existence of the book, as the start of what will hopefully be many more in this future for the young Niko of The Dad Rock That Made Me A Woman, now a published author, in living as genuinely and as authentically as ever, and giving us this book to say “and then, sometimes it can be a long time coming—but you still arrive at yourself” and Niko, I will say, I am so thankful that you did.
Your visibility and vulnerability will make the world feel less lonely for so many people. It will make someone safer. It already has for me.
November 12, 2025
If I had a nickel for every time I read a book with an essay about a Julien Baker song, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.
In all seriousness, I love reading about other people's relationship to music and what certain songs and artists mean to them. Especially when you have similar tastes! It's always cool to see how other people are affected by things that also move you.
This book was a grower - I liked the first few chapters, but felt that it really found its momentum about halfway through. The chapter about Neko Case was my favourite.
My main qualm with this book was the writing. There were some really beautiful passages and paragraphs, but sometimes the writing just felt a bit repetitive and clunky. Certain details were repeated throughout a sentence or were mentioned again instead of expanded on in different chapters, which messed with the flow for me. At some points, I felt like each chapter would work better as a standalone essay rather than a linear story.
There were definitely some heavy parts. But Niko's relationship with her family was quite sweet, especially her dad, and it made me think about the music that my parents grew up listening to and played for my brother and I. I also enjoyed getting to read about a part of Canada that I don't usually hear about.
To end this on a little full circle moment: one evening while I was reading this, my dad was going down a rabbit hole of playing old 70's rock songs on youtube, to which my mom would yell out "oh I remember this!" from the other room and sometimes start singing along. Dad rock indeed.
In all seriousness, I love reading about other people's relationship to music and what certain songs and artists mean to them. Especially when you have similar tastes! It's always cool to see how other people are affected by things that also move you.
This book was a grower - I liked the first few chapters, but felt that it really found its momentum about halfway through. The chapter about Neko Case was my favourite.
My main qualm with this book was the writing. There were some really beautiful passages and paragraphs, but sometimes the writing just felt a bit repetitive and clunky. Certain details were repeated throughout a sentence or were mentioned again instead of expanded on in different chapters, which messed with the flow for me. At some points, I felt like each chapter would work better as a standalone essay rather than a linear story.
There were definitely some heavy parts. But Niko's relationship with her family was quite sweet, especially her dad, and it made me think about the music that my parents grew up listening to and played for my brother and I. I also enjoyed getting to read about a part of Canada that I don't usually hear about.
To end this on a little full circle moment: one evening while I was reading this, my dad was going down a rabbit hole of playing old 70's rock songs on youtube, to which my mom would yell out "oh I remember this!" from the other room and sometimes start singing along. Dad rock indeed.
June 28, 2025
First and foremost, I loved the language in this memoir. This book is centered around music and the writing itself helped establish that tone wonderfully. Normally prose would be described as lyrical, reminiscent of some standard of classical movement, but this book reads as the rock its named after, full of jarring phrases, swears dropped in acting almost as power chords, all undercut by this beautifully personal and emotional storytelling that acts as a throughline tying everything together. I also loved how central music was the the text and using it as a throughline for identity. Music is such an important part of my life and identity and it really just connects with some part of you that is deeply human, hearing her describe all these various songs that defined different moments in her life. Tracking her identity as it grows and changes and evolves in parallel to the musicians she loves just works so well. The trans themes that she prescribes to dad rock make you ponder yourself, these ideas of the anger and hope and confusion of youth growing and changing with time until you are unafraid to be who you are, where you can stop cutting out pieces of your identity and embracing this hard-fought sense of self. Its a wonderful recollection of the struggles and triumphs of identity set to a kick-ass soundtrack, what's not to love?
June 8, 2025
The title of this book already had me thinking. What on earth is Dad Rock? Before I started reading I looked it up. And as a matter of fact I got more questions now than I found answers.
But that's not very important. What is, is this book. I had no idea what to expect when I started. Would it be a story about music, about transitioning, about the metal path to changing?
It turned out to be a very engaging book. I'm not sure why, exactly, but it was. The peak that I got into Niko's life was interesting yet disturbing. The fact that alcohol, drugs and other addictions played a big role in het life makes me sad. That she needed to find a way to escape, not only her surroundings but also her own thoughts is frightening. It's very sad that there was no room at anytime or in any setting, for whatever reason, to really have a heart to heart conversation about this in the family.
I'm glad this not so much a book about physical transition as well as the mental process that the writer went through. It even is not revealed (or I have missed a subtle hint at it) that there was one (already).
But that's not very important. What is, is this book. I had no idea what to expect when I started. Would it be a story about music, about transitioning, about the metal path to changing?
It turned out to be a very engaging book. I'm not sure why, exactly, but it was. The peak that I got into Niko's life was interesting yet disturbing. The fact that alcohol, drugs and other addictions played a big role in het life makes me sad. That she needed to find a way to escape, not only her surroundings but also her own thoughts is frightening. It's very sad that there was no room at anytime or in any setting, for whatever reason, to really have a heart to heart conversation about this in the family.
I'm glad this not so much a book about physical transition as well as the mental process that the writer went through. It even is not revealed (or I have missed a subtle hint at it) that there was one (already).
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Read
June 7, 2025“Dads are not always men, and dads are not always fathers. Dads are simply there to raise you as best they can with the lessons and failures that have carried them … with stories they might forget they've told you before but will share again all the same. They will entrust you with beautiful melodies that will conjure flashes of a time that seemed easier only because you no longer have to live in the moment of how hard it felt then.”
I think I read this book the right way: I waited until I was the only one home and I blasted the music to go along with every chapter, and when I finished I took a break to process and feel before diving into the next section. There were essays that made me cry and also essays that I had trouble connecting to, but altogether they painted such a vivid picture of Niko‘s various homes and selves. In this way she too is a dad, passing on her hardest stories and her favorite singles ❤️
I think I read this book the right way: I waited until I was the only one home and I blasted the music to go along with every chapter, and when I finished I took a break to process and feel before diving into the next section. There were essays that made me cry and also essays that I had trouble connecting to, but altogether they painted such a vivid picture of Niko‘s various homes and selves. In this way she too is a dad, passing on her hardest stories and her favorite singles ❤️
June 10, 2025
Such a beautiful memoir on Stratis’ life and the dad rock that aided her journey to living her true gender identity. It’s emotional and there are very tough topics that are touched upon such as alcohol addiction and targeted violence. The way Stratis weaves these stories with albums that hold significance in their life is powerful. I especially loved the chapters on Neko Case (for whom Stratis’ name Niko comes from) and Bruce Springsteen which connects the Born in the USA album to her working class roots and relationship with her father. I think this is a great read for people who enjoy queer nonfiction, memoirs and music criticism.
August 18, 2025
A hard hitting memoir that emphasizes the connection between music and memory. Enjoyed how this balanced discussing the author's life with her musical analysis, drawing lines between her and the artists' experiences. When Stratis discussed artists I'm less familiar with, some of it went over my head.
TWs: transphobia, homophobia, sexism, physical assault and abuse, alcoholism, cancer, sexual harassment.
TWs: transphobia, homophobia, sexism, physical assault and abuse, alcoholism, cancer, sexual harassment.
June 29, 2025
Very strong 4.5 stars. This is not my normal read at all but it was honestly so compelling, and while I don’t know enough to be able to know if the dissertations on the music are accurate, the earnestness and realness of living a life as a trans person both before and after are very real. It’s an interesting read but not always easy. I was glad I was able to hear her journey
June 14, 2025
This is a gorgeous book that I savored every page of. And I wanted to mention on here that there is a Spotify playlist of every song in order. I actually read the book while listening to the music and I would pause the playlist if it got ahead of me. I highly recommend doing this! The effect is like being on a road trip with a friend, who by the end of your trip becomes someone you know yourself better through. A really remarkable feat.
June 20, 2025
This book is heartfelt and beautifully written. Just fantastic.
June 25, 2025
Good tunes. Thanks dad😊
November 4, 2025
A mesh of music journalism and personal narrative, Stratis does a great job of using dad rock as a conduit to explore masculinity and identity.
August 26, 2025
Dad Rock Is Good, Actually.
August 28, 2025
This is a unique memoir-in-essays.
The author discusses in multiple essays her relationship with her dad and with herself through various music, particularly “dad rock.” For her, dad rock was emotionally open and honest, which she connected closely with to survive the hypermasculine environment she lived and worked in as a 20-something closeted trans woman.
Some artists mentioned include Fleetwood Mac, Cheryl Crow, Wilco, Bruce Springsteen, and Radiohead. I am not familiar with or a fan of every band or artist, but it was interesting to learn about them through Stratis’s eyes and experiences.
This does act as a collection of love letters to music and tender dads, but it was lacking for me.
Stratis spends a lot of time either telling personal anecdotes or giving facts and histories about songs/artists, and not as much time diving into connections between her life, her relationships, and the music.
Some of the message became repetitive, with the author saying that such and such song/artist helped her get through days at work, and so on.
I think that this memoir could have been more impactful if Stratis had unpacked and analyzed her connection to dad rock even further.
The author discusses in multiple essays her relationship with her dad and with herself through various music, particularly “dad rock.” For her, dad rock was emotionally open and honest, which she connected closely with to survive the hypermasculine environment she lived and worked in as a 20-something closeted trans woman.
Some artists mentioned include Fleetwood Mac, Cheryl Crow, Wilco, Bruce Springsteen, and Radiohead. I am not familiar with or a fan of every band or artist, but it was interesting to learn about them through Stratis’s eyes and experiences.
This does act as a collection of love letters to music and tender dads, but it was lacking for me.
Stratis spends a lot of time either telling personal anecdotes or giving facts and histories about songs/artists, and not as much time diving into connections between her life, her relationships, and the music.
Some of the message became repetitive, with the author saying that such and such song/artist helped her get through days at work, and so on.
I think that this memoir could have been more impactful if Stratis had unpacked and analyzed her connection to dad rock even further.
July 23, 2025
To start, I think my expectations were way too high and narrow given that I have my own rural working class gender stuff.
That said, I was pretty disappointed. The author does little to define or even situate dad rock in her life—it’s mostly brief histories of musicians braided quite awkwardly into her own narrative. The paragraph by paragraph switches were hard for me. I wish the essays had been broken up into sections; it was weird to read a paragraph about Jakob Dylan then jump to some anecdote about her life. On top of that, the connections between the music and her life were just weak at best.
Also, what makes any of this “dad rock”? There’s a little discussion about this at the start, but then we’re talking mostly about how Courtney Barnett and Sharon von Etten are sad, rather than doing much work to unpack gender and families and dads.
That said, I was pretty disappointed. The author does little to define or even situate dad rock in her life—it’s mostly brief histories of musicians braided quite awkwardly into her own narrative. The paragraph by paragraph switches were hard for me. I wish the essays had been broken up into sections; it was weird to read a paragraph about Jakob Dylan then jump to some anecdote about her life. On top of that, the connections between the music and her life were just weak at best.
Also, what makes any of this “dad rock”? There’s a little discussion about this at the start, but then we’re talking mostly about how Courtney Barnett and Sharon von Etten are sad, rather than doing much work to unpack gender and families and dads.
December 27, 2025
Everything I didn't expect in exactly the right ways.
When I think of "dad rock" I think of classic rock — Journey, Bon Jovi, and, if you're from the Baltimore area, the Ravyns. This book is decidedly not that, but it is nevertheless a mixtape made with an extraordinary amount of passion, love, and dedication, a love letter to dads (not necessarily fathers, not necessarily male) who let their vulnerability shine forth and show both their struggles and the way they managed to pull through it all, the brokenness and beauty amid the totality of life. Anything can be dad rock, and Stratis' work is itself exactly that.
There are maybe a few chapters where this book falls a little flat — as a Replacements fan, I kind of felt a little like that chapter didn't quite land right. But all the other chapters, alternatively cutting and tender, speak to Stratis' understanding of her life's journey as mirrored through the journeys of the artists and the vibes the songs evoke. To call the struggles "sad" is to flatten them, as each chapter shows portions of a complex prism of a soul pulling itself out from the abyss.
It's exactly this prism that was missing in I Heard Her Call My Name by Lucy Sante. Here, the memoirist openly shares her musical influences, name-dropping a little but for the most part delving into the lyrics and history of the bands she loves. Sometimes I wonder if we demand too much of memoir writers — if we want emotionally explosive tell-alls with levels of vulnerability we would never allow ourselves to experience. But I think what makes Stratis' book work so well isn't just that vulnerability. It's the beauty of her prose and an understanding of timing, the piecing together of moments so that they come into being and fade in ways that leave you feeling not so much washed clean as much as having your faults exposed with the understanding of your innate worth despite them.
Describing the beauty of Stratis' work is as difficult as diving into a star, so I'll just say: Read this book. Listen to the songs. It's a beautiful combination of memoir, musical influences, and (sort of) self-help in the ways that all the best dad rock songs manage to be, and I hope it brings you all the panoply of feelings it does.
When I think of "dad rock" I think of classic rock — Journey, Bon Jovi, and, if you're from the Baltimore area, the Ravyns. This book is decidedly not that, but it is nevertheless a mixtape made with an extraordinary amount of passion, love, and dedication, a love letter to dads (not necessarily fathers, not necessarily male) who let their vulnerability shine forth and show both their struggles and the way they managed to pull through it all, the brokenness and beauty amid the totality of life. Anything can be dad rock, and Stratis' work is itself exactly that.
There are maybe a few chapters where this book falls a little flat — as a Replacements fan, I kind of felt a little like that chapter didn't quite land right. But all the other chapters, alternatively cutting and tender, speak to Stratis' understanding of her life's journey as mirrored through the journeys of the artists and the vibes the songs evoke. To call the struggles "sad" is to flatten them, as each chapter shows portions of a complex prism of a soul pulling itself out from the abyss.
It's exactly this prism that was missing in I Heard Her Call My Name by Lucy Sante. Here, the memoirist openly shares her musical influences, name-dropping a little but for the most part delving into the lyrics and history of the bands she loves. Sometimes I wonder if we demand too much of memoir writers — if we want emotionally explosive tell-alls with levels of vulnerability we would never allow ourselves to experience. But I think what makes Stratis' book work so well isn't just that vulnerability. It's the beauty of her prose and an understanding of timing, the piecing together of moments so that they come into being and fade in ways that leave you feeling not so much washed clean as much as having your faults exposed with the understanding of your innate worth despite them.
Describing the beauty of Stratis' work is as difficult as diving into a star, so I'll just say: Read this book. Listen to the songs. It's a beautiful combination of memoir, musical influences, and (sort of) self-help in the ways that all the best dad rock songs manage to be, and I hope it brings you all the panoply of feelings it does.
August 29, 2025
I'm going to review this book before I finish it because there are moments of such deep poignancy that I want to share them because it feels selfish to hoard them.
First off, this book is absolute Kristen catnip. This book is part of a series of books from the University of Texas Press called American Music Series, and it is curated by the inimitable writers/music journos Hanif Abdurraqib and Jessica Hopper. I would have read it for that pedigree alone, however this book just gave and gave beyond that.
Stratis writes about coming to understand their trans identity as they dredge through the hardscrabble, traditional masculinity of the Yukon, while sharing their favorite "dad rock" songs that helped them explore their identity. I like that Stratis' definition of dad rock is something beyond the Classic Rock station on the dial, and extends to defining it as familiar, soothing, and a bit tough, defiant even.
I've had lyrics find me at the right times in my life, like their invisible hold came right out of the speakers or the headphones and put a hand on my chest and said, "This. This is what you need to hear right now." Music has been like that for my whole life. Some people give up seeking out new music as they get older. I keep listening for those sacred moments of communion that come from a song that just knows me. Stratis seems to understand this on a cellular level. Karass buddies.
And this line, WHEW...What a heartaching testimonial of someone who has clearly walked through the fire: "We learn the words to describe being different well before we learn words that give shape to the truth." Wow.
First off, this book is absolute Kristen catnip. This book is part of a series of books from the University of Texas Press called American Music Series, and it is curated by the inimitable writers/music journos Hanif Abdurraqib and Jessica Hopper. I would have read it for that pedigree alone, however this book just gave and gave beyond that.
Stratis writes about coming to understand their trans identity as they dredge through the hardscrabble, traditional masculinity of the Yukon, while sharing their favorite "dad rock" songs that helped them explore their identity. I like that Stratis' definition of dad rock is something beyond the Classic Rock station on the dial, and extends to defining it as familiar, soothing, and a bit tough, defiant even.
I've had lyrics find me at the right times in my life, like their invisible hold came right out of the speakers or the headphones and put a hand on my chest and said, "This. This is what you need to hear right now." Music has been like that for my whole life. Some people give up seeking out new music as they get older. I keep listening for those sacred moments of communion that come from a song that just knows me. Stratis seems to understand this on a cellular level. Karass buddies.
And this line, WHEW...What a heartaching testimonial of someone who has clearly walked through the fire: "We learn the words to describe being different well before we learn words that give shape to the truth." Wow.
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