So the big question is whether or not the Protoculture show is happening tonight. I just talked to the show promoter and he says it’s on no matter what. The heavy stuff isn’t supposed to start until later tonight — probably right when the show is going on. It should make for some interesting driving. I’d skip it, but this is The Protoculture, and though they say they’ll be playing again soon, who really knows for sure what our future holds?

Nice crowd last night for Ladyfinger and Mr. 1986 at Sokol Underground. My ears are still ringing. Frickin’ loud. Ladyfinger was double-barrel hardcore heavy. Throw the bitch out the window mean, but cool like a serial killer up there on stage. Chris and the boys are anything but metal head rock freaks when it comes to stage presence. Machmuller just leans to the mike and does his thing while nonchalantly uncorking a hail of power chords. That’s the irony of this band — they seem like nice guys, but their music is some dark shit, black and negative, psycho angry, rattling around loud and scary like a box of smoking chainsaws. All that time spent recording has done something to this band. Obviously they sound tighter, but they also sound harder, almost weathered. The old songs from their first EP seemed compact and well-planned. The new ones are complete chaos, not as hook-laden as, say “Too Cool for School, ” which, in comparison, sounds like a dance song. The groove is still there, it’s just more subtle amidst the ensemble’s raw power. Did I mention how loud it was?

I only caught three of Mr. 1986’s songs seeing as I had to make it down to O’Leaver’s to bid farewell to Reader music writer/editor Jeremy Schnitker, who’s on his way to Chicago. Good luck in the Windy City, bro. ’86 does what it does about as well as anyone could — huge, cinematic songs that recall Mogwai and God Speed, repeated tonal instrumentals that can explode at any moment. The drums were otherworldly in size and scope, and made the whole thing work. I wonder, however, if what they’re doing hasn’t become somewhat dated, if they have room to take it a different direction or if they only want to play these throbbing, dynamic symphonies of noise…

If I hear any updates about tonight’s show, I’ll pass them along right here. Otherwise, I’ll see you there…

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The Lincoln 5-piece does what Godspeed does with as many as nine or 10 people, albeit on a smaller scale. The idea’s the same — create sprawling, echoing, tonal sound pieces that are theatrical in size and style. These guys do it well. The first tip that we were in for something special was when the band didn’t face the crowd, but faced each other — the guitarist and keyboardist at stage right faced another guitarist and a bass player who stood toward center, focused intently on the drummer. They watched each other as we watched them create haunting, sonic joyrides. Like tonal chamber pieces, the 10- to at times 15-minute ambient overtures often rode on two or three chords that switched at the end of two-bar phrases of 4/4 — back and forth or back and up and back while the drummer played crisp syncopated rhythms. Guitars added even more rhythms, created effects or took off on their own highly technical though nuanced tangents.

Column 68 — Dilly Dalleying in Court
A chat with Juror No. 23

There are few things more dull in life than serving on jury duty. You get the letter in the mail. You show up at the appointed time. You sit in a cramped little room filled with the other unlucky few forced to give up two weeks of their lives for the right to vote and drive a car. It’s the price you pay for liberty, I suppose. You do your time like a good citizen and if you’re lucky, they won’t call your number and force you to sit and listen to cheap-suit lawyers argue over whether their client had the right-of-way when the light turned yellow.

So there I was, Juror No. 73, stuck in stuffy Courtroom 20 in the Douglas Co. Courthouse, bored, absently listening as the names were called, when suddenly up walked Juror No. 23. “What is your name and occupation?” asked the bailiff.

I wanted him to say, “My name is Denver Dalley and I’m a ROCK STAR.” Instead, the frontman to Omaha indie band Statistics and guitar player for Saddle Creek act Desaparecidos (a band on perpetual hiatus), merely said, “I’m Denver Dalley, and I’m a musician.” Dalley sat quietly throughout the vior dire process, looking forlorn in his blue hooded wind-breaker. I don’t know how he did it, but when it came time to appoint the final jury, his name was struck from the list and he left the jury box, relieved.

Dalley had arrived in Omaha the morning of the first day’s jury proceedings, driving straight from his parents’ home in Nashville, where he’s been living for the past few months while working on a new recording project called Intramural. More on that later.

Maybe the most interesting news was that Dalley has left Jade Tree Records, the label that took him on in early 2003. The original deal called for releasing one record and two “optionals.” With two records out, Denver wanted out of the third, and got out. “When I first signed, there was a lot of personal contact and excitement, then it got to the point where I barely heard from them,” Dalley said during one of the few breaks during our court time. “It wasn’t the same label that I signed to. I’m not trying to totally trash them, but I really didn’t want to work with them anymore.”

Jade Tree had been offered the Intramural project, but was confused at the concept, which involves Dalley and Nashville partner in crime Sam Shacklock writing and producing tracks that are then sent to other artists for vocal tracks. Upon hearing the initial instrumental tracks, Jade Tree thought the project sounded “unfinished” (Duh!). After they passed, he gave a copy to Slowdance Records label executive Ezra Caraeff. “He immediately heard the potential,” Dalley said. “He was stoked.”

Shacklock is the son of Abbey Roads Studio producer Alan Shacklock, who’s worked with the likes of Roger Daltrey, Jeff Beck and Meatloaf. “When he was doing sessions over there he got a number of outtakes that enabled us to get all these amazing drum samples and string sounds from the London Symphony Orchestra,” Dalley said.

But more impressive is the list of artists supplying vocals, including The Long Winters, Minipop, Slender Means, The Pale Pacific, Men Women and Children, Brand New, The Evening Episode, and last but not least, Greg Dulli (Twilight Singers, Afghan Whigs).

While in town, Dalley is working with local filmmakers Nik Fackler and Aaron Gum to develop videos for each song on the album. The final product may be used for an Intramural tour. After he moves to Los Angeles in the coming weeks, Dalley said he plans to ask Dulli if he can film him playing piano at a local dive bar. Very cool… if it happens.

With all but one song mixed, the only thing left is mastering. Dalley said he’s shooting for an August release date, which would be followed by an Intramural tour featuring him, Shacklock and a yet-to-be-named drummer. “We’d all be running around doing different things, playing keyboards and playing guitars and stuff,” Dalley said.

So what’s going on with Statistics? “I’m taking time off, but will come back eventually,” Dalley said. “I want to record the next album entirely on my own and take as much time as I need. Right now I’m focused on this new project. I was determined to not tour for a while, but my UK booker really wants me to come over in September.”

It was European tours that got Dalley out of two other requests for jury duty. He said he couldn’t avoid serving any longer. By the end of our second day, however, it was all over. Neither Juror 23 nor 73 was ever called, and both were excused. I know I can speak for Dalley when I say how proud we are to have performed our civic duty.

God bless America.

The Nein is The White Octave without Criteria’s Stephen Pedersen (who was in the audience cheering on his former comrades). With a new CD out on Sonic Unyon, the band carried itself like seasoned indie rock veterans, playing tunes that sounded like typical angular indie rock with a hook. The lead singer/guitarist has a voice that (when you could hear it in the poor mix) was reminiscent of a young, gritty Elvis Costello — a comparison that will seem out of the blue for these guys who would probably prefer to be compared to the usual suspects (Gang of Four, Pixies, etc.). Their music, of course, sounded nothing like Costello’s. Overall, I guess I liked it, though we’ve all heard these songs before in one form or another. I think if they pulled it back they’d be better for it. That said, the CD is a keeper and worth finding.

Some notes from last night’s show at O’Leaver’s…

Slender Means is a hard band to put your finger on. The five-piece from Seattle features a solid rhythm section and a frontman with a voice that’s just this side of Morrissey, but ballsier, more masculine, almost brassy. A good voice. Almost too good for the relatively straight-up adult-sounding pop music that they play. The guy next to me (who knows more about music than I ever will) said they reminded him of Greg Kihn or The Plimsoles or Graham Parker. They reminded me of Semisonic or Jonathan Richman, but not really. The only similarity to those bands is their ability to make smooth, balanced pop music. In fact, if they have a flaw it’s that, other than the frontman’s sonorous voice (and the sweet harmony vocals), nothing stands out about them. Sure, they’re first-rate musicians, but their songs lack a certain distinction that makes them stand out from the crowd. Does that really matter? Probably not to most people. But in this world where there seems to be 2 million bands with myspace accounts, having a quality that’s obvious and distinguishable is a must. Slender Means is a good band in search of an identity, and when they find it, look out.

When it comes to identity, Landing on the Moon has it in spades — three vocalists including an intense woman keyboard player, a dynamic over-the-top drummer and a bigger-than-life guitarist who wears his soul on his sleeve. They take chances with styles and dynamics, merging sprawling, poignant album rock with modern, quirky, post-rock tendencies. Whether you like them or not (and certainly those looking for standard-ish jangle-pop indie probably won’t), you have to admire their bravado in playing a style of music — with honesty and determination — that no other bands are even attempting around here.

By the way, you would never have thought it was a Monday night at O’Leaver’s. The place was packed like a Saturday night. Something’s going on around here, as last weekend seems to indicate. Everyone’s talking about Saturday night, where there were five shows/events simultaneously — Jenny Lewis at the Scottish Rite, Criteria at Sokol Underground, RFT at The 49’r, The Terminals at O’Leaver’s and The Groundhog Prom (wherever that was) — and all were either sell-outs or capacity-only events. It was a landmark weekend, and after a break for St. Paddy’s day, the following weekend should be just as busy. We live in a music town, folks. Forget about Austin.

Tomorrow, here, Pink Mountaintops.

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A long weekend of shows isn’t over yet. If you haven’t tuned into the site for the past few days, scroll down and check out a couple live reviews. I didn’t make it to the Of Montreal show last night unfortunately. If you were there, let us know how it was on the board. Too many deadlines, including for a piece on Pink Mountaintops (online Wednesday) and a column with a judicial slant involving Denver Dalley (online Thursday). It’s always something…

Tonight at O’Leaver’s, Slender Means with Landing on the Moon and Le Beat. Slender Means records on Mt. Fuji Records, the Seattle label owned and operated by Omaha native Mike Jaworski, whose bands also include Little Brazil, Jaworski’s own The Cops, and recent signing, LA-based Wintergreen. SXSW-ers can check out the roster at a couple showcase events around Austin next weekend. Details are on the Mt. Fuji site. Tonight’s show: 9:30, $5.

Also tonight, for all y’all on the hip-hop tip, a member of the Wu Tang clan is in the house. Ghostface Killah will be on the mike down at Sokol Underground with M-1 of Dead Prez and Omaha’s own Surreal the MC. $20, 9 p.m.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my brackets… what do you got for Kentucky/UAB?

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One of the reasons I went to the Jenny Lewis show last night was to get a gander at the Scottish Rite Hall where the concert was held. I’d heard it was nice, but come on… it’s really nice. It’s downright gorgeous. And the bathrooms! It could become Omaha’s version of Lawrence’s Liberty Hall, except that it’s a lot smaller. To think I’ve been driving past that place for years never knowing that there was a old-fashioned theater stage inside. Anyway… we got there early and took a pair of seat in the balcony, foregoing the main floor. I’m happy we did, but more on that later.

The show started rather unremarkably with opening act Whispertown 2000. The LA-based four-piece are pals of Lewis’, having released a split single with her. Yikes, they were horrible. The band consisted of frontwoman/guitarist Morgan Nagler, a wedding-dressed tambourine shaker/harmony vocalist, a bass player and a guy on electric guitar. Nagler’s voice is sort of Ricki Lee Jones-esque when it isn’t completely off pitch. When Miss Wedding Dress joined in on harmonies, dogs from a five-mile radius could be heard howling in pain and fear. Particularly cringe-worthy was a butchering of Gillian Welch’s “Look at Miss Ohio” and an a cappella number where the guys snapped fingers alongside the girls — real high school talent-show stuff. Ah, but the crowd loved ’em… maybe because they were so cute, unsophisticated and obviously lacking in talent.

After that low-point, however, things took a decided turn for the better with Jonathan Rice. I guarantee that in five years you’ll be seeing this guy on one of the late-night chat shows, and turn to whoever is lying next to you and say, “I saw that guy when he was just a kid open for Jenny Lewis” (Rilo Kiley having long been broken up). He reminded me of a young Jackson Browne, but without the broken-hearted lyrics. With acoustic guitar in hand and accompanied by a guy on pedal steel, Rice played a quiet, upbeat set that included a sing-a-long and a cover of Neva Dinova’s “Poison” from the Neva/Bright Eyes split EP. In addition to being musically talented, Rice is quick-witted, with some funny between-song patter.

Then came the headliners — Lewis and the Watson Twins. What to say about those twins… they’re kind of creepy and kitschy, with their matching black cocktail dresses, ’70s-era feathered LA hairstyles and mirrored do-what-I-do poses, it felt like something out of a David Lynch movie. There’s no denying their vocal talents, they brought a whole new layer of sound to the ensemble, which included Rice, his pedal-steel player (doubling on keyboards), a bass player and Rilo Kiley’s Jason Boesel on drums. I only wish the twins had been used more during the set. They spent most of their time standing side-by-side with their arms behind their backs, or adding bits of percussion (one song featured the two of them tapping rocks together).

The set began with the band on stage and Lewis and the twins entering from stage right singing “Run Devil Run” before launching into “The Big Guns.” And here’s where I’ll add that note about the Scottish Rite Hall — there is a wide space between the stage and the first row of chairs where about 50 people sat on the floor during the first two performances. About 30 seconds into Lewis’ first song, the crowd rushed the stage — everyone stood up and was joined by about 50 others. I couldn’t tell from my seat in the balcony, but I assume everyone on the main floor (or at least most of the first few rows) stood up for the entire set, as there would be nothing to see seated except for a lot of blue-jeaned asses. Hey, this is a rock show — what did they expect?

Lewis’ entire set was twangier than her album (which, to me, sounds borderline Azure Ray). With those twins out front, the whole thing had a revival-tent flair, helped along by a crowd that was eager to testify. I half-way expected the twins to yell “Praise Him!” between songs. Lewis’ voice has always been first-rate, like listening to an indie version of Loretta or Patsy. “Rise Up With Fists!!!,” with its classic Van Morrison-style chorus, was made to be played your local Smooth FM radio station, and probably will wind up there eventually. The main set ended with a Boesel drum solo (this is the second drum solo I’ve heard at an indie show in a month, let’s hope this isn’t the beginning of a trend). Lewis came back out a few minutes later and did a solo number before being joined by the twins for another a cappella song and finally the whole band for one song. All in all, a nice set by one of tomorrow’s radio stars. If she isn’t already, Lewis is bound to become the biggest act on Oberst’s Team Love label (besides Bright Eyes, of course), and could spur another C&W revival among the indie set — God help us all.

Tonight at Sokol Underground — Of Montreal. I was afraid that this show was being overlooked, but the promoters tell me that ticket sales have been brisk. With only one opening band, it could even be a early evening. $10, 9 p.m.

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Weak draw last night for Ester Drang. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. With a weekend full of shows, people have to pick and choose carefully, and something has to lose. So there I was with about 30 people watching one of the better sets I’ve seen down at Sokol in quite a while. Ester Drang managed to do something that few bands do well. They used electronics to replicate the strings and horns on their CD in a way that didn’t sound cheesy or made-up. The mix blended the prerecorded orchestra tracks via Powerbook seamlessly with the live musicians, which included one guy who switched between keyboards and guitar throughout songs without missing a beat. The result was a lush, earthy, atmospheric sound that would make any Radiohead, Coldplay or Roxy Music fan nod in appreciation. The other thing they pulled off was effectively using AV equipment. How many times have you seen bands project video on a whitescreen during their performance only to distract or confuse the audience? Not with these guys, probably because a band with this much cinematic flair in their music has to live, eat and breathe the movies. Their footage appeared to be entirely drawn from film — not digitally created on the Mac. All black-and-white, the images subtly supported every nuance heard on stage. The genius moment was when they used footage from High Noon — cropped scenes of a self-conscious Gary Cooper looking stern and unafraid — to enhance their spiraling, dustbowl epic “Hooker with a Heart of Gold.” Inspired. Though they sounded remarkable, the four-piece didn’t look like they were having a very good time up there, never once cracking a smile. Or maybe that’s just their style.

Tonight: Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins at The Scottish Rite Hall. This is a sold-out, general admission “sit-down” show, and I’m told that if you, in fact, want to get a seat you better get there relatively early or else you’ll be forced to stand in a small area in front of the stage (which, to be honest with you, sounds like the place I’d want to be anyway). Parking could be a challenge as the Omaha Press Club is having their annual grid-iron show at The Rose tonight. There should be a parking garage open nearby if you can’t find a place to park on the street. The hall is located at 202 S. 20th St. (20th & Douglas). The show starts at 8 p.m. and is sold out. So for those who didn’t get tickets, keep driving south to Sokol Underground where Criteria is playing tonight with Thunderbirds Are Now! and Rahim. $7. And I forgot to mention yesterday that there’s also a show at O’Leaver’s tonight: The Terminals and The Blind Shake. For whatever reason, the O’Leaver’s myspace site says this one starts at 8 p.m. (The usual start time is 9:30).

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I’ve heard they’re all the rage down in Lawrence. I was told last night that a certain Omaha record label had looked long and hard at them a year or so ago, but missed out to Jagjaguwar. I can see why they’d be interested. To me, The Minus Story sounded like a slightly more indie version of Now It’s Overhead, probably because vocalist Jordan Geiger has the same nasal high-end delivery as Andy LeMaster. Their opening song was a bit of a dud, but they only got better as their set went on. I’m a bit reticent about saying more because I wasn’t really in the mood for their style of dreamy/indie/pseudo-psychedelic rock, or maybe I’m just getting tired of the drone. They’re probably better than I give them credit for (Hey, Jagjaguwar doesn’t sign slouches).

Oakland’s The Heavenly States, an upbeat 4-piece ensemble that prominently features violin on most songs, were unbelievably entertaining. If pushed for comparisons, Spoon or Dismemberment Plan comes to mind, but neither really fits. Leader Ted Nesseth plays a left-handed guitar and sports a wicked phrase (for whatever reason, his vocal phrasing sometimes reminded me of Phil Lynott). His between-song patter is also some of the funniest stuff I’ve ever heard on stage. The motor behind their sound, however, is their rhythm section anchored by Jeremy Gagon on drums, a veritable dynamo that keeps it simple and keeps it moving. Violinist/keyboardist Genevieve Gagon blew me away as well. I picked up a copy of their new CD, Black Comet, and while the songs were just as good, the mix sounded muddy and unfocused — it just didn’t pop from my speakers the way this band popped from the stage.

Column 67: My New Laugh
The Protoculture are back

It was 1997 or ’98, I don’t remember which, but it was definitely one of those times when Omaha’s music scene was curving downward oh so slightly. A number of good bands had broken up or simply quit. Nothing interesting seemed on the horizon. Not yet.

So I made my usual trek down to the Antiquarium to see Dave Sink. I could always count on Dave to load me up with hope in the form of amazing records that I wouldn’t have heard otherwise. It was Dave that introduced me to Mousetrap. It was Dave that explained Simon Joyner. It was Dave that slid a copy of his Frontier Trust 7-inch into my record pile.

Things were different this time around, though. Dave didn’t have much to recommend. “It all sounds like crap to me,” he said, clearly uninspired by the latest efforts, be they from Omaha or points far away. “Except for this.”

He handed me a 7-inch with a black and white sleeve by a band called The Protoculture. “You may want to check these guys out,” he said. And so, I took the record home and played it. And played it and played it.

The single, “Driving a Stolen Car on a Borrowed Road” b/w “My New Laugh” was a revelation. The sound combined the ominous detached pop of early Talking Heads with the tense, post-hardcore posture of Fugazi and the volatile dissonance of Polvo. At the chorus (if you can call it that) three angry voices screamed “My new laugh will kill your smile.” Pure genius.

I was writing about music for one publication or other at the time, and realized I’d found the next band that I wanted to write about. So I called Dave, asking how I could get in touch with The Protoculture. “You’re too late,” he said. “They’re done.”

I never got to see them play live. And from the sound of it, not too many others did, either. But that’s about to change. The original line-up of Clayton Petersen, guitars/vocals; little sister Erica Petersen, bass/vocals, and Koly Walter, drums/vocals, are at it again. Last weekend I finally got my interview with the band over coffee at The Blue Line. I had my copy of the 7-inch in hand, and told them what a poppy, angsty, angular masterpiece it was. They just smiled.

One of the reasons The Protoculture called it quits in the summer of ’98 was that they weren’t feeling the love, from anyone. “We never realized people actually liked us,” Walter said. “We had shows at The Cog Factory and we played with The Faint at Sokol, and no one showed up, maybe because when we moved to Omaha, we didn’t know anyone.”

The band formed in ’96 in Kearney, where all three attended college. They moved to Omaha a year later and tried to establish themselves playing with bands like Bright Eyes, Opium Taylor and Simon Joyner. In the end, though, they never drew a following. A year later, and it was over. Clayton got married and wound up working as a financial analyst at First National Bank, where he is today. Walter said after the breakup he spent months in solitude, working at M.J. Java and reading Russian novels until he landed a gig at McMillan Magnet school doing what he still does today — teaching 7th Grade World Cultures. Erica also fell into seclusion. Turning down an offer to join The Faint, she focused on playing guitar and performing music solo. She eventually joined Son, Ambulance, and later, formed Kite Pilot with the guy who would become her husband, Todd Hanton.

And that would have been the end of the story, except that in the middle of their brief two-year history The Protoculture got together with A.J. Mogis at Whoop Ass Studio in Lincoln and recorded five songs. Two would end up on that single I bought from Dave Sink, followed a few months later by another self-released single, “Cloud Named Girl” b/w “Condescendence.”

A copy of the first single found its way on Clayton’s kids’ Fisher-Price record player. “The kids would play the record and sing along to ‘My New Laugh,’ and I started thinking about those old songs and how we needed to write the final chapter,” he said. “I figured we’re all here in Omaha. Why not?”

Erica had the same idea, and the two began bombarding Walter with emails at McMillan. Last November they began practicing in Erica’s basement. “It all came back with surprising ease,” Clayton said.

So did the songwriting. In January, the band recorded three new songs in Erica’s basement with husband Todd behind the board. The plan calls for releasing the new material, along with tracks from the two singles and the fifth unreleased song from the Whoop Ass sessions.

And on March 19 at O’Leaver’s, after waiting for eight years, I’ll finally get to see The Protoculture perform live. I won’t be alone. In their absence, the band has become something of a legend among local music followers. I tell them this and can see by the look on their faces that they’re not buying it. “At least our parents will be there,” Clayton said, “and my wife.”

Oh my, are they in for a surprise….