I woke up this morning to this terrible, terrible news.
It's strange revisiting a band that soundtracked a specific, private slice of my life — those afternoons in the '90s at the kitchen table, comics taking shape frame by frame — and then watching that same band's name trend across every music outlet for an entirely different reason. Rolling Stone, Billboard and NME are all running tributes within hours of L7's announcement, each one leaning on the band's own words: that Finch was a true original who lived entirely on her own terms, and that her impact on music and art couldn't be measured.
What struck me scrolling through it all was how many people seemed to have their own version of my kitchen-table memory. Fans are filling social media with old concert photos, favorite tracks and stories of hearing L7 for the first time, some crediting Finch specifically with the reason they ever picked up a bass. It's a reminder that a band you associate with one narrow period of my own life was, at the same time, doing that same thing for thousands of other people I'll never meet.
Courtney Love, who'd known Finch since their pre-Hole days together, marked the news by posting a few photos of a young and more current Jennifer Finch, especially when referring to Finch's GoFundMe page.
There's also a harder edge to the timing that's hard to look past. Finch's death came just months before L7's planned farewell tour, "The Last Hurrah 2026," and only days after she'd announced she'd have to sit out the U.S. leg because of her diagnosis, becoming a unplanned goodbye instead of a send-off tour. Read about my tribute to this iconic musician and killer grunge band.