Briefly… Tonight’s Bright Eyes gig has been sold out for a couple days now. Bright Eyes’ frontman Conor Oberst has put together an impressive backing band for the evening that includes Mike Mogis, Nate Walcott, and Maria Taylor and Orenda Fink — this will be one of the few times they’ve been on stage together since Azure Ray “went on hiatus” in the summer of 2005. The audience will get a sneak peek at songs from Bright Eyes’ forthcoming full-length, due out on Saddle Creek Records in April. Opening is The Bruces and Simon Joyner and the Fallen Men.

If you didn’t get tickets to tomorrow night’s Faint concert, at least you’ll be able to enjoy the opener tonight when The Terminals take the stage at O’Leaver’s with Spread Eagle. 9:30, $5.

That’s all for now!

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Column 105: Hanging with the Cool Kids
Adam Weaver wants in.

This column is the result of a reader who took seriously my prodding to send in column ideas. Musician Adam Weaver wants to know:

“What does it mean to locally ‘make it’ in the Omaha music scene? I’m not talking about a record deal or anything, but at what point can you call a local artist an established and respected local artist? When you play Sokol? When you open for a nationally recognized and respected act? When you play a One Percent (Productions) show? When you’re featured in The Reader?

“And further,” the letter continued, “how does a band here in Omaha get legitimized without the blessing of One Percent, given that they’re pretty much the only show in town? Is it even possible? And if you don’t know any of the indie king-makers in town, and they don’t return your e-mails, what are your options as far as trying to get yourself heard?”

Good questions — questions that lots of bands have thought about over the years, but have never had the cojones to vocalize on the record. Weaver obviously feels like he’s been locked out of a scene with which he personally identifies, whether anyone else does or not.

A native of Gulf Port, Mississippi, Weaver moved to Omaha three-and-a-half years ago to pursue an internship for his graduate degree in psychology. He planned on moving to Nashville after graduation to connect with some music friends there. Instead, he’s still here, trying to land gigs at Sokol Underground and O’Leaver’s, with little luck.

I already know what you’re thinking: “Maybe, Adam, if you were any good you’d get the attention you deserve.” Not this time. After listening to Places We Were, Places We’re Not, the new CD by Weaver and his band, The Ghosts, it’s obvious that quality isn’t the issue. The disc is a collection of well-crafted — if somewhat somber — acoustic singer-songwriter stuff. In fact, it may be a bit too well-crafted. Produced over two sessions in a Nashville studio, the recording is slick, and Weaver’s voice is quite good. He doesn’t have the usual characteristic indie quirks — he doesn’t sing off-key, he doesn’t bray, he doesn’t shriek as if in pain. Weaver’s voice is radio-friendly. In fact, it’s downright mainstream. And that’s always been an unspoken no-no in the indie world.

Yes, you read that right — if your music sounds too well-produced or too “smooth,” it could very well be discounted by the indie set as being commercial, and hence, uncool. But that’s really not what differentiates indie music from what you hear on the radio.

Weaver, who wanted to make perfectly clear his comments aren’t sour grapes, clarified his viewpoint over the phone Sunday afternoon. He believes the line of music legitimacy in Omaha is drawn by Marc Leibowitz and Jim Johnson, the duo who book shows at venues around town under the One Percent Productions moniker.

“You can only go so far without getting them involved,” Weaver said. “I’m sure they didn’t get into this thinking, ‘We’re the guys that can make or break a band in this town.’ They try to promote the music they like. I’m not trying to give them a bad rap, but I can’t pretend that they don’t exist, either.”

Weaver also says that a band’s friends, political views and what they wear helps define them as “one of the cool kids.”

“Music is way down on the list as to how bands in that scene are identified,” he said. “There are bands that aren’t ‘One Percent bands’ that are just as good musically, but don’t get the attention or opportunities that those bands get.”

This is where Weaver and I part ways. I don’t think a dress code or a friendship network defines Omaha’s indie scene — not anymore. And certainly the scene isn’t defined by One Percent Productions, who are just as quick to book a teen-angst screamo-metal goon band as a Creek band if it means putting butts in seats. They are businessmen, after all.

There is, however, an indefinable quality that characterizes our indie music scene. I wish I could tell Adam what it is. All’s I know is I know it when I see it (or hear it). I’m not sure why Weaver feels that he needs to be part of that scene, anyway. We’re living in new times, when an affiliation to Saddle Creek no longer is a prerequisite for local or national success. Just ask Eagle*Seagull or Emphatic or Little Brazil.

“What is indie? Is it a sound or a frame of mind or a business model?” Weaver asked. “To me, a good song writer is a good song writer, whether you’re cool or not. If anything, my band has a hard time identifying if we’re indie or folk or pop or cool. I guess it doesn’t really matter. If you have good songs, you’ll always get your foot in the door.”

Adam, I think you answered your own question.

— Not much today. Seems like every “year in review” list is due this week, which puts me behind desperately trying to remember what music was good this year. It was, in fact, an off year for indie (and music in general). What’s it all mean? To find out you’ll have to wait for the annual Lazy-i Year in Review story, which will go online next week.

— Former Omahans now Portlandites Eux Autres wrote to say that they’ve got a new Christmas song online that warmly reminisces about coming home for the holidays. The track is significant in that, unlike 99 percent of holiday songs by rock bands, this one is actually pretty good. Called “Another Christmas at Home,” one can only imagine that the line referring to a tavern “where the Champaign’s on tap” refers to The Homy Inn, where Cold Duck has flowed like an unbreakable urine stream for as long as I remember. You can check out the mp3 file here, or go to their Myspace page.

— Did you realize that the Grammy nominations were announced last Thursday? Does anyone care anymore? Glancing at the list, I can see reason for apathy. Just take a look at that “Album of the Year” category: Dixie Chicks (will win), Gnarls Barkley (should win), John Mayer, Red Hot Chili Peppers (someone, please, put these guys out of the misery), and Justin Timberlake — uninspiring to say the least, but what else is new? In the “Best Alternative Music Album” category you got Arctic Monkeys (flash in the pans), The Flaming Lips (getting old, real old), Gnarls Barkley (hipster favorites), Yeah Yeah Yeahs (weak followup to their debut), and Thom Yorke (*yawn*). What are these supposed to be alternatives to? Remember when The Grammy’s meant something to someone other than music retailers?

— What else? Lots of shows the rest of the week, starting tomorrow with Little Brazil, then Bright Eyes, two Terminals performances and two Faint concerts. I should be exhausted by Monday. Look here tomorrow for this week’s column, where courageous singer-songwriter Adam Weaver asks: “What does it mean to locally ‘make it’ in the Omaha music scene?” Oh boy…

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Catching up with the weekend, a few over 50 were on hand for 4th of July/Danny Pound Band at The Saddle Creek Bar Saturday night. 4th of July, a 6-piece who, along with DPB, are from Lawrence, played a ballsy set of roots rock that reminded me of The Reivers (sort of). They’ll be opening for The Faint Sunday night along with Tilly & the Wall, which should be an interesting clash of styles. The band includes Adrianne Verhoeven of Art Bell (Orenda Fink’s new band… connect the dots), though I was surprised that she mostly sang harmonies, leaving the vocal heavy lifting to frontman Brendan Hangauer. Danny Pound announced from stage that it was his 33rd birthday (after midnight) and was treated to shots and beers and a nice round of applause. DPB is a straight-forward roots rock band (is that what we call alt country these days?) with distinctive indie overtones fueled by Pound’s muscular songwriting chops. Clever lyrics, clever melodies, laid-back style, very cool indeed. Unfortunately, there was no reprise of early Vitreous Humor material — I guess Danny didn’t read the article! (just kidding). The always-changing sound system at SCB continues to improve. Whatever problems they had with the vocals in the PA seem to be fixed — no more tinty hollow sound. Regardless, owner Mike Coldeway says he and his sound guy will continue to tweak the system, adding some new equipment before the big Good Life show there Dec. 21. Bottom line — no matter what they do there’s going to be someone who complains about their sound, just like there have been complaints about The 49’r and O’Leaver’s PAs for as long as I can remember. Only Sokol Underground goes unscathed (and deservedly so).

Speaking of The Faint, both shows this weekend are now sold out, according to the One Percent Productions website. Scanning through the Internweb, I found this here review of their Dec. 2 show at The Showbox in Seattle. I had no idea that the tour was being sponsored by Camel cigarettes. From the review: “It’s Saturday night at the Showbox and the whole place has been turned into a showroom for Camel cigarettes. They missed the memo about the smoking ban and have redecorated with glowing backlit signs, stand-up displays with freebies, and projections on the wall complete with requisite warnings from the Surgeon General. In the upstairs bar, the seating area has been transformed to a V.I.P. lounge with walls of LCD televisions broadcasting sexy scenes of the joys of smoking.” Wonder if we’ll get the same treatment at Sokol Auditorium. In addition to The Faint’s usual sexy aerobics soundtrack, expect to hear at least four new songs from their upcoming follow-up to 2004’s Wet from Birth, including “The Geeks Were Right,” a performance of which has found its way onto YouTube (check it out here).

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

There’s one thing to be said about arena concerts. They’re punctual. The Pretenders started right at the stroke of 7:30, just like it said on the ticket. We shouldered our way through the crowd trying to find our seats as The Pretenders dug in with opener “The Wait.” I really need to learn how to buy tickets to Qwest shows. I thought we would be sitting along the edge of the first balcony, plenty high over the crowd, looking down over the stage. Instead, the 75-year-old usher pointed us to the very bottom row, essentially a step up from the floor seats. I hate floor seats because people stand up the entire time, which means you have to stand up, too. And since our seats were basically floor seats, that meant we’d have to stand up all night, or at least for The Who portion of the show.

No one stood up during The Pretenders set even though Chrissie Hynde and her band probably sounded no different then they did during their ’80s heyday. Wearing a crazy top-hat, elbow gloves and leg warmers, the 55-year-old Hynde tore through a set of the usual oldies, songs whose names I don’t know because I was never much of a Pretenders fan. The only time the crowd got into it was during “My City Was Gone,” where a few folks did a modified bump-and-grind in their seats. Thankfully, it was hard to see with the lights out, the only thing illuminating the arena was the stage and a giant “Pirate Radio” skull-and-crossbones logo that hung over the stage.

The Prentenders played for just under an hour and did no encore. When the lights came up I finally got a look at the crowd. Just about every seat was filled (the upper tier had been curtained off), and I realized I was in the presence of the hippy culture. Not the lazy slobs and college kids who drive around the country following Phish or Widespread Panic — these were real hippies, the original hippies, the pot-baked, acid-caked youth of the ’60s who remember listening to “I Can See for Miles” while driving to a commune in a peace-sign-festooned VW Microbus. Those peace signs are long gone now, replaced with tacky yellow ribbon car magnets; the microbuses replaced with Lexi. The hippies have been transformed into bankers and principals and aging soccer coaches that would look just as home at a Bluejays home game. Sure, there were a few of them who had kept up their hippy charisma, but somewhere along the way, hippy chic had turned into biker chic, complete with leather vests and Sturgis T-shirts. Then there was the infirm. This might be the first concert I’ve been to where paramedics rushed an aged fan away in a wheel chair while an old lady with an eye-patch looked on, concerned. Unlike the typical indie show, we were easily among the youngest 20 percent of the audience. Nice!

And so, at around 8, The Who finally took the stage — and what an elaborate stage it was. Like any typical arena show these days, huge screens were placed above the stage to allow fans in the back to get a good look at Roger Daltrey’s bloated, sweaty face. Roger struggled the entire evening. After the first song, my partner in crime turned to me and said, “He sounds horrible,” but I knew he hadn’t lost his pipes because he sounded fine on their new record (though they can do wonders in the studio these days). It was after the fourth song that Pete Townshend told the crowd that Roger was suffering with a horrible cold, but “would do his best to get through it.”

“It’ll better as we go,” Roger said.

But it never really did. You could hear the layers of mucus in Daltrey’s throat bubble up in a hoarse cackle during the first line of every song. High notes were completely out of the question, as were Daltrey’s signature screams (though he managed to pull one off during the peak of “Baba O’Riley”). Meanwhile, Townshend never looked, sounded or performed better. He may be one of the more under-appreciated guitarists in rock history, especially considering what I saw last night — just some amazing stuff, complete with his trademark windmill riffing.

It’s no surprise that the crowd preferred hearing the old classics vs. songs off Endless Wire. The band knew this, though they played just about every song off the record, including a rushed, medley version of “Wire & Glass,” the CD’s “mini-opera.” The crowd was respectful, if patient, often sitting down during unfamiliar songs, only to stand up again when they heard the chiming opening chords of another classic. It’s easy to forget just how big The Who’s repertoire is until you consider the songs that they didn’t play over the course of the two-hour concert. Among the missing were “Squeeze Box,” “Magic Bus,” “Long Live Rock,” and “I Can See for Miles.” But all the really big ones were there, “My Generation,” “Behind Blue Eyes,” “You Better You Bet,” “Eminence Front,” “Who Are You,” “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” “My Generation,” and opener “I Can’t Explain.” Throughout the set, five large movable screens presented a variety of edgy support graphics. Sometimes they were set up in an unbroken chain end-to-end to providing pano-like images. Other times they were broken up, each showing a different image, while the large screens above the stage focused on Daltrey or Townshend or the rest of the band, which, by the way, was pretty good. I’m sure die-hard fans think Entwhistle is irreplaceable, but Pino Palladino did just fine. The drummer, Ringo Starr’s son Zak Starkey, however, was no Keith Moon, (though he wore a striped T-shirt just like Keith’s). And though Who concerts are legendary for being ultra LOUD, this one wasn’t. Ear plugs seemed unnecessary. Maybe the band (and especially Townscend) realize that the crowd has out-grown teeth-rattling performances.

After about an hour and a half, the band left the stage, only to return for an encore that included a medley of songs from Tommy, Daltrey gasping to get through “Pinball Wizard,” while Townshend absolutely shined on a raucous version of “Underture” that was the night’s highlight. It was definitely worth the price of admission, though I couldn’t help but wonder how much better it would have been had Daltrey been in better shape…

* * *

The weekend’s looking this way:

— Tonight at O’Leaver’s, Darren Keen takes the stage with Talkin Mountain and Family Unit. $5, 9:30 p.m.

— Saturday night is Danny Pound Band with 4th of July at The Saddle Creek Bar. $5, 9 p.m. Meanwhile, down at O’Leaver’s its Outlaw Con Bandana with Black Squirrels and Kickass Tarantulas.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Less Humor Per Pound
Danny Pound’s brief glance at Vitreous Humor.

You can’t blame Danny Pound for not being eager to talk about his old band, Vitreous Humor.

After all, they haven’t been around for over a decade, and his new band, aptly called The Danny Pound Band, sounds nothing like them. Still, there’s more than a few followers of Omaha’s mid-’90s punk-rock golden age that remembers Vitreous Humor and their grungy, post-punk sound heard on the classic 1993 7-inch, Harbor. The three-song single featured a teen-aged Pound warbling the words to “Bu-Dah,” the single’s catchy B-side that went “In the shithole where we live / Something’s living in the cellar / Keeps us all awake at night / Smells like cooking blood.” Remember it now? Probably not. Still, the song managed to make it onto a lot of mix tapes from that era.

Pound appreciates the memory, but said few people recall his former band around his hometown of Lawrence, Kansas. “Some younger kids look up to Vitreous Humor as one of the old-timey, classic Lawrence rock bands,” he said, “but no one ever comes up and asks about it.”

The story of Vitreous Humor is a rather short one. The Harbor single was followed two years later by a 7-song self-titled EP. Posthumous, a collection of unreleased tracks, outtakes and live cuts, was released on Crank! Records in ’98, well after the band already had called it quits and moved onto Pound’s next project, The Regrets.

A decade later and Pound has left Vitreous Humor’s jangle-grunge behind in favor of a more grown-up, sophisticated sound born out of his fondness for mid-20th century folk and blues.

“After The Regrets broke up, I discovered Harry Smith’s Smithsonian Folkways recordings, began listening a lot of blues and pulled out The Basement Tapes,” Pound said.

The result was The Danny Pound Band’s 2005 debut on Lawrence label Remedy Records, Surer Days, a collection of tuneful alt-country rockers that sounded like a cross between Centro-Matic and The Silos.

But even that style was short-lived. Since its release, Pound and his band — bassist Jeremy Sidener (ex-Zoom — another classic ’90s Lawrence band), guitarist David Swenson, and drummer Ken Pingleton (who replaced former drummer Dan Benson, who also was in Vitreous Humor) — have moved in a whole different direction, creating music that recalls ’70s-era So Cal groove rock. The band’s as-yet-unnamed follow-up to Surer Days was recorded at Black Lodge Studios in Eudora, Kansas, and is slated for release on Remedy Records sometime in the near future.

“You couldn’t call our new record rootsy. It’s more of an electric rock record,” Pound said. “I get bored quickly. I’m always trying to find new things to do.”

As for Vitreous Humor, Pound said he doesn’t understand why the memory of that band continues to live on in places like Omaha and Milwaukee — another city with more than its share of that band’s fans. “It must be a Midwest thing,” he said. “We never toured very much. I don’t think we even played in Omaha as Vitreous Humor.”

While he acknowledges that the band could have influenced someone, Pound is hardly proud of those early recordings. “I’m not offended by that era, but it doesn’t give me great pleasure to listen to that music,” he said before immediately correcting himself. “I take that back. Some of it was interesting, if a bit too earnest. I know there are those who liked it, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Column 104: They’re Still The Who
And why they’re still cool after all these years…

This is an actual conversation had, oh, a few months ago down at Sokol Underground while waiting for bands between sets, leaning on the bar, killing time. Use whatever nasal inflection you feel is appropriate to voice me or the “Pretentious Troll.” Perhaps try to act this out with a friend while you wait for your coffee at The Blue Line.

Me: Well I got my tickets to The Who concert Dec. 7. I’m pretty psyched. The Pretenders are opening, too.

Pretentious Troll: Are you fucking stupid? You’re going to The Who? Talk about lame. It’s not even the real Who.

Me: Well, it’s Pete Townsend and Roger Daltrey, right? (I fumble for my receipt to make sure I haven’t been duped into buying tickets to a tribute band called The What or The How).

Pretentious Troll: Man, I saw The Who when Entwhistle was still alive, and even then it wasn’t the real Who. The real Who died with Keith. I wouldn’t go if it was free. Those guys shouldn’t be allowed to perform — they’re too old! As an indie music fan, I’m surprised you’re even going — The Who are sell outs!

I didn’t have an answer for the little putz. He may have even been right, but it didn’t matter.

I want to see The Who. They’ve been on my list, along with Yo La Tengo (who I saw at Sokol in October), Silkworm (who I’ll never get a chance to see now) and Red House Painters for as long as I could remember.

The Who was my first punk-rock band. They were the ultimate outsiders that were allowed inside simply on the strength of their music. The Beatles might be the good-guy geniuses, the Rolling Stones the bad-boy working men, but the Who, well, they never seemed to fit into any category, even after their music was embraced by the masses.

To me, they were weird and different. Even at their height, when Tommy came out (in the theaters of course, I wasn’t old enough to remember when the record was released) The Who were like some sort of super-intelligent alien wunderkind. They were the smartest kids in class who dressed funny and came up with all the interesting ideas that no one “got,” then everyone copied. Their music told a story beyond the same old girlfriend-boyfriend-car-drugs-booze rock drama. They wrote about rebellion years before the snarky Sex Pistols came along and made fun of them.

And as saccharine-flavored as this sounds, some of my fondest memories are of listening to “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” “Behind Blue Eyes” and “Baba O’Riley” on my Spark-o-matic tape deck while roaring along Fort Calhoun’s dirt roads in my rusty piece o’ shit VW. It was years before those same songs became bastardized in car commercials and TV shows like CSI. Back when The Who were still cool.

They’re still cool today. Their new album, Endless Wire, is a serious head-trip. It’s a stereophonic thrill ride that isn’t afraid to take chances. Some of them work. Some of them don’t (yet). But it’s never boring, and sonically, it’s a quantum leap above the usual low-fi made-it-myself indie jangle-pap that I’ve been listening to for the past 20 years. There’s a sense of real craftsmanship to Endless Wire that demands that you listen to it on a proper stereo or with a decent set of headphones and not — god forbid — on your computer.

I don’t know what else to say. The Troll is right. Half the band is dead. But half the band is alive, too. And judging from what I’ve seen and heard, they still know how to pull off an arena concert. And they’re coming to Omaha — something I never thought I’d see or hear. So excited was I when the show was announced, I threw down some cash and joined The Who Fan Club just to get in on the ticket pre-sale. Now it turns out that I probably wasted my money since, as of this writing, the concert is unlikely to sell out.

Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe all those people who usually go to arena shows — the ones who boo when the band plays a new song instead of one of their golden chestnuts, the ones who don’t even like music and are merely trying to relive some unfortunate moment from their youth — will stay home and leave the Qwest Center to the rest of us.

And for all you Pretentious Trolls who are reading this — and laughing — remember that all your cherished indie bands got their ideas somewhere. The more adventurous ones were inspired by bands like The Who, bands that will be here long after the current fads fade away.

Three days after the fact, here are my thoughts on Robot, Creep Closer at The Saddle Creek Bar Friday night: Obviously these guys grew up listening to The Pixies, and conversely to the band famous for ripping off The Pixies, Nirvana (though there weren’t many noticeable Cobain-isms). That means there were a lot of chug-a-lug bass lines ripped to shreds by powerchords, lots of quiet/loud/quiet architecture, and the usual pop-rock touches. Missing was the weirdness that The Pixies brought to everything they did — even listening to their albums, you never knew where they were going next. RCC, on the other hand, is purposely predictable, probably as a product of trying to be a crowd-pleasing punk band. You may win friends that way, but not idiot critics who have heard this sort of thing before. Glancing back, that sentence sounds a bit harsh, and might leave you thinking I didn’t like these guys. I did, they were okay, I just wish they’d go out on the limb a little more, take a few more curious turns, take a few chances. They certainly have the instrumental chops to go wherever they want. They even had a keyboard player, even though you couldn’t tell by listening — she was completely buried in the jangly mix, which is a shame.

And speaking of the sound, the owner of the SCB tells me that he and his sound man continue to tweak the bar’s sound system, doing various tests, making adjustments, etc., etc. I couldn’t really tell, but these bands weren’t exactly a good test, either. A better test will be this Saturday when The Danny Pound Band and 4th of July take the stage.

Tonight’s big show is The Lemonheads with Vietnam and Hymns down at Sokol Underground. This show has yet to sell out, which is something of a surprise considering how big The Lemonheads were in the ’90s. Tickets are $15, show starts at 9.

And finally, here’s an updated pic of the Slowdown construction project (click on the thumbnail to see it big). I know I was supposed to update this weekly, but the weather has been gnarly over the past few weeks. Amazing how much they’ve gotten done. This “pano” shows that they’ve apparently started on the condos on the property’s north side while they slowly begin closing in the theater on the south side. Can they get it buttoned up before the first snow?

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Gad, I hope it warms up. It was too cold and I was too tired to make it out to Black Keys last night. Anyone go?

The cold and fatigue won’t stop me this weekend, though. Here’s the run-down as I see it:

Tonight at The Saddle Creek Bar, Cory Kibler and his band, Robot, Creep Closer, take the stage along with Humland and Gypt. Cory sent a copy of their latest CD, She Beeps, which I’m listening to as I write this. It sounds sorta grungy, sorta Pixies-ish, lots of power chords, very indie. In a nice, handwritten letter, Cory tells me that the band “consider The Pixies, Spoon, Cursive, Modest Mouse and AC/DC as influences.” His letter says the openers tonight are actually Her Flyaway Manner, though that’s counter to the SCB website, unless HFM is really Gypt. Humland, he says, is “Matt Mortinosky & ex-Marianas & ex-Keller Hamilton” — I’m not sure what the last part means. $5, 9 p.m.

Meanwhile, tonight down at Sokol Underground, it’s Bear Country with Cap Gun Coup and The Skull Krushers. An all-local line-up? I don’t know. $7, 9 p.m.

Tomorrow night it’s The Monroes with The Diplomats of Solid Sound at The 49’r — it’s always a fun night when Speed! Nebraska is in the house. $5? Around 10 p.m.

Meanwhile, tomorrow night down at Sokol Underground, the return of Ladyfinger with Back When and Mal Madrigal. If the show follows the One Percent online listing, Back When is the headliner. An all-local lineup? You bet. $7, 9 p.m. Parking warning: There’s a River metal show upstairs that starts at 7.

See you at the show.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—