Ben Aviles

Kiss the Tiger performed at the Landmark Center in the F.K. Weyerhaeuser Auditorium. Anderson said, “It’s pretty amazing to be able to play music to people when people actually show up. I love to have people dance and move around.”

     “We don’t fight anymore, and I like that,” belts Kiss the Tiger lead singer, Meghan Kreidler, on the opening track of their new album, “Infinite Love.” Kreidler and Michael Anderson, her husband, form the creative core of the band. For the last decade, they have struggled with the push-and-pull dynamics of joint ownership. As Anderson said of their new album, “It feels more like us, like our band.” 

     They came from divergent childhoods. Kreidler grew up a kid on the move, attending four elementary schools in six years. She had a white father and a Korean mother. “I grew up with conflicting forces in my family,” Kreidler said. “Oftentimes, there would be an inability to communicate with one another and with us because of those differences.” However, in third grade, when kids were asked to bring in family food, she didn’t shy away from her identity: “I remember bringing in Korean food, and I felt really proud.”

     Kreidler found joy onstage in the form of acting. In the middle school play, “Music Man,” she performed as the mayor’s wife: “I just fell in love with being on stage.” Soon, Kreidler found herself at the University of Minnesota Theatre Arts & Dance program and in shows for the Guthrie. 

      In contrast to Kreidler, Anderson was born into music. Before his birth, his father played in a band called “The Dogs.” “He kind of gave up his life as a musician because of me,” said Anderson. His father’s record room shaped his formative years: “I would lie down there and listen to records. It was everything from like Roxy Music to Pink Floyd, Kraftwerk, to all this pretty wild stuff.” 

     In adolescence, he spent countless hours with his favorite guitar teacher, an “old hippie guy,” whose trailer was messy, filled with guitar magazines. As Anderson progressed into early adulthood, he bounced around the Twin Cities, playing gigs with a revolving cast of bands. 

      Kreidler’s theater youth collided with Anderson’s musical background at a transmission dance night in a downtown dance club. As Anderson said, “I’m a fast mover.” Kreidler recalled that within the night he told her, “I’ve always wanted to have a female singer in one of my bands.” 

     Anderson booked their first show. The start was rocky with Anderson’s enthusiasm and Kreidler’s inexperience. Kreidler remembered, “I was really nervous, and I didn’t really know what I was doing.” For Kreidler, it was overwhelming. “I didn’t know what my identity was as a musician on stage. I could really feel that in my body.” 

     The duo persisted. Soon, Kreidler grabbed the reins onstage at Triple Rock Social Club: “I felt the impulse to break out of my discomfort and just kind of go for it. I was wild and kind of uninhibited, which was really fun, but felt a little sloppy.” Fans began to recognize an onstage presence of fist pumps and motion, distinctive in the Minneapolis music scene.

     In 2021, “Vicious Kid” broke through with hits like “Motel Room” and “I Miss You.” Despite success, Anderson noted, “I did a majority of the writing.” They worked hard to establish balance, but it would not come until their next album. 

     “Infinite Love,” which was released in 2025, broke the barrier. The creative engine room became equal: now they both songwrite. Kreidler said, “I feel like I can now finally say I’m a songwriter and not feel like an imposter saying it.” Anderson said, “She’ll show up with a song, and there will be no argument about whether we’re playing it or not because it’s so good.” 

     She surmises, “This band is our relationship.” As with any marriage, musical or literal, change happens. Kreidler said, “It wasn’t my intention to demonstrate that we’ve evolved, but anybody who’s followed us along can see that we have.”