Of the three bands on the bill the night of the Aloha show a week from tomorrow, Aloha is clearly the smallest, the least known and the least successful. The reason I went after Aloha will be obvious when you read the story’s lead (in fact, read the whole thing here). It’s not the first time I blew a review, and it won’t be the last.

Though they’ve been around for years, a tour with Sparta is still quite a catch for Aloha. “Both bands are much bigger than us,” said frontman Tony Cavallario. “Their crowds will not have heard our music. We don’t want to win everyone over, just a few.” Could be a tough crowd.

A few other things that Tony said that didn’t make it into the story:

— Cavallario isn’t exactly enamored with his own voice. “Singing isn’t like playing an instrument at all,” he said, “especially for your average indie rock singer who isn’t the most gifted. It’s never been easy for me. Figuring out the melodies is easy, but it takes a lot of work before I’m satisfied.”

He made it sound like his voice is pure shit, when in fact it’s one of the better voices in indie rock. I mentioned this, along with the fact that there are a ton of mediocre vocalists out there that are hugely successful.

“I’m proud of the stuff I’m able to do, but there’s a quality to my voice that I wouldn’t recommend for the job that I have, which is being a singer in a band,” he said. “I never listen to a band and say, ‘The singer of this band bothers me.’ There’s a certain discomfort you have with your own voice unless you’re born with killer pipes. Anyone who writes a good song has a voice people will want to listen to. There’s a lot of bad singing out there that’s great music. People who are really in touch with music aren’t looking for a good voice, they’re looking for a good song writer.”

We talked about lazy critics’ habit of drawing comparisons to bands. “Well, you have to start somewhere,” Cavallario said. “It gets even more difficult when you’re dealing with a specific readership. People who are into alternative and indie rock will name any band and assume the audience knows that band. But every day I deal with people who don’t read Pitchfork, and I wish they did so I wouldn’t have to say, ‘We sound kind of like Genesis or Simon and Garfunkel or the Beatles.'”

What about comparisons to Karate? “People may hear us and think of Karate, which is fine, because that’s where we came from. Karate played house shows at Neal House in Columbus. They were the indie undercurrent in the punk scene. That’s what turned us on to playing music. You didn’t have to sound like punk to be a punk band.”

Anyway, read the whole story here.

Tomorrow’s column is a piece on Terrence Moore, the man behind Dirt Cheap Records in Lincoln and Omaha, and the new challenge he’s facing.

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It was a fun night at Sokol Underground Saturday. Interesting in that none of the bands on the bill had a speck of merch for sale. Nothing. And yet, these bands have been around for quite awhile. In the case of Third Men and Virgasound, for over a year.

The Third Men are trying to make up for that lack of merch by releasing a full-length on Speed! Nebraska this year. I can never quite put my finger on what these guys (and gal) sound like. One minute I’m thinking summer of love, the next, ’90s college/indie followed by ’70s cock rock. They seem dead-set on bringing back the guitar solo, and that alone separates them from the herd of local indie bands. I think I’ve seen these guys at least a half-dozen times, and every time I end up comparing them to Matthew Sweet. A more accurate comparison might be to ’80s-’90s college band The dBs, another act that seems clearly influenced by Big Star and The Kinks, and that also had a similar dependence on upbeat hooks. Bottom line: The Third Men are the kind of band that would play in the background of a Jonathan Demme film — the scene where the protagonist is looking for his girlfriend at the club — that’s The Third Men up there on stage playing the role of the house band — cool and unobtrusive, but with enough umph to make you wait through the film’s closing credits to find out who the hell they were. They finished their set with a serviceable cover of Mott the Hoople’s/David Bowie’s “All the Young Dudes,” complete with one of the most recognizable intro guitar solos in the history of rock, supplied this time by Matt Rutledge.

Virgasound has turned into a showcase for drummer Jeff Heater. He is impossible not to watch during the set, fiercely flailing in his throaty, muscular style — no one in town plays with quite the same intensity, except for maybe Cursive’s Clint Schnase or The Box Elders’ Dave Goldberg. No, Heater is in a league of his own, and has been for the past decade. The rest of Virgasound is good, too, but Heater is the guy that takes them to the next level.

Finally, there was The Filter Kings, a new group headed by former Cactus Nerve Thang and current Bad Luck Charm frontman Lee Meyerpeter. They bill themselves as sort of a country band, but I don’t think you’ll ever see them invited over to Bushwackers for a weekend gig. While there’ s a distinctive twang to their trot, don’t let the cowboy hats fool ya — they’re pure rock. Look under the sleeves of those western-cut shirts and you’ll find plenty of tats. More than country, there’s a punk aesthetic to what they’re doing. Whenever Lee was singing up front, I was reminded of Social Distortion, maybe because his voice and vocal mannerisms so closely resemble Mike Ness’. Add a groovy stand-up bass, some shit-kicker drums and songs about drinking and women, and you’ve got yourself a comfortable hybrid of punk and western swing. About a third of the 60 or so on hand were doing some sort of improvised punk/country dancing. All were a-grinnin’ and all were throwing down the booze — this is drinking music pure and simple. Like how The Jazzwholes are the house band at Shag on Sunday nights, the One Percent guys may want to consider making The Filter Kings their weekly house band at The Waiting Room. It’s just smart business.

Finally, unlike the smarter among you who didn’t, I did sit through The Grammy’s last night. My take on this year’s awards: Today’s pop music industry (radio music industry?) has become obsessed with performers – not artists, not songwriters, not musicians — probably because every last ounce of creativity has been leached out of their Hollywood high rise offices. When American Idol is your farm team — when even AI losers are honored as genius — there’s something gainfully wrong with your industry. So addicted have they become to AI, this year’s awards show even incorporated its own version of the lame talent search, selecting a faceless nobody to sing alongside Justin Timberlake (and you, the viewer at home, got to pick who it was!). One assumes that the “winner” had a recording contract by the time she left the stage, and we’ll be graced by her cookie-cutter vocal stylings for years to come.

It’s pretty sad when the evening’s highlight is a performance of a song that’s almost 30 years old by a band that’s decided to cash in with a reunion tour. Oh, The Police looked and sounded great, but after attending The Who concert, I’ll probably skip this retro tour when it comes to The Qwest unless they release some new material. Been there. Done that.

I’m not sure I understand the obsession with John Mayer – a mediocre vocalist who apes all of Clapton’s easiest guitar licks. As a lyricist, he blows. But then again, all the lyricists honored last night blew. The most relevant lyricists were probably the Dixie Chicks, whose totality of message is “quit picking on us for hating Bush.” Trite? You make the call. At least Mayer didn’t win Best Rock Album. That honor went to one of the most over-congratulated, least-talented, over-exposed bands in the history of rock music. It is unfortunate when the winner of the Best Rock Album category is a band that peaked 16 years ago — and even back then, wasn’t very good. They’ve managed to make a career out of rehashing the same two or three songs over and over again. Someday your children will go online and view some of RHCP’s live performances and ask, “Did you guys know back then that the naked guy can’t sing?” Yes, dear, we did.

Last night’s big winner, if you didn’t already know, was the Dixie Chicks. What the media seems to be missing in the story is how their current success was propelled by one of the better music documentaries I’ve seen since that Metallica flick a few years ago — Shut Up and Sing. I didn’t give two shits about them before I saw the flick a few months ago. Afterward I became a reluctant fan. The other part of their story that everyone seems to be missing is how Dan Wilson, formerly of Semisonic and Trip Shakespeare, helped them redefine their songwriting style. His influence on the band is much more obvious than Rick Rubin’s.

Missing, of course, was any mention of indie music. A couple indie bands did win Grammy’s (they just weren’t televised). OK Go’s “Here It Goes Again,” won for best shortform video, while The Flaming Lips’ won for best engineered album (nonclassical), and best rock instrumental performance (waitaminit, the Lips aren’t indie anymore, are they?). Maybe next year, eh? Not likely.

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I do this only because nothing else is going on this week, except this avalanche of Saddle Creek news. It will continue with this week’s column (online tomorrow), which is about illegally downloading a copy of Bright Eyes Four Winds EP (and webboards and Creek and a one-paragraph review of the EP that includes a comparison to Matt Whipkey).

Anyway, yesterday’s “big news” (released presumably by his publicist) is that Bright Eyes has let loose the flock of doves that is the track listing for Cassadaga, from which eager BE fans will excitedly try to glean the true meaning of the album, which ain’t available until April. Press is supposed to get review copies in mid-March. That said, like Rolling Stone last month, Billboard got a sneak listen to the disc, which they wrote about here. Comments include references to swelling orchestras, Phil Spector and The Pogues, summed up with “The album leans heavily toward country-rock territory…” Big wow. Their comments aren’t much different than the RS “preview” that went online on Jan. 12, where the gushing writer said “Oberst seems to have solved the split personality problem by layering all of it – the optimistic strings and the gritty, impassioned vocals – together on track after spine-tingling track.” Spine tingling!

How did RS get special access to the recording before everyone else? I assume Conor is angling for the cover, and why not? If they can put lame-o acts like Panic at the Disco on the cover, why not feature the guy who they declared was the next Bob Dylan? It will happen. I know that SPIN also is working on a big Conor story. I got an e-mail from the magazine’s photo department a couple days ago asking for the source of the photos I used in my ’98 Oberst interview. I told them to contact Saddle Creek. This isn’t the first time that SPIN has bothered me for photos. Same thing happened last year when they were putting together a story on DCFC and found my blurry, out of focus, poorly lit photos of The Postal Service show from 2003. They wanted everything I shot. I told them, sure, but they suck, they’re low-res, they’re too dark, they’re unusable in your magazine. Just credit Lazy-i. I sent them and of course they weren’t used.

Anyway… Like everyone else, I’ll be sending in my request for a copy of Cassadaga and an interview with Conor. I’ll keep you posted on how well that goes this time.

What other news? Well, I noticed a few days ago that One Percent Productions has begun listing shows for The Waiting Room on their website, and today’s One Percent e-mail update also talks about the new venue. Glancing at the schedule, the first show listed at the new club is The Killigans March 16, which is followed by Murphy’s Law March 18, Dirty on Purpose March 28, and finally a band that I’ve heard before, Sondre Lerche with Willy Mason March 29. The prices are $8, $8, $6 and $12 respectively. Will there be a huge, unannounced Grand Opening performance? If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.

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In Saddle Creek Records news, CMJ reports that Range Life Records — home of such acts as White Flight (ex-Anniversary), 1,000,000 Light Years and Fourth of July (again, ex-Anniversary) — has signed a distro deal with Saddle Creek. The label’s first release will be White Flight’s debut full-length March 6. Like just about anything involving Saddle Creek, half the fun is figuring out the “six degrees of separation” that underscores the deal: Among the members of Fourth of July is Adrianne Verhoeven, who also happens to be a member of Art in Manila (formerly Art Bell), whose front woman is Orenda Fink, who’s solo record (and Azure Ray records) were released on Saddle Creek (along with the records by her husband’s band, The Faint). I’m sure there’s more to it than that, I’m just saying…

In addition to distributing their own products and now Range Life’s, Saddle Creek also distributes Team Love products (all of which, are in turn, distributed by ADA). In fact, if you go to the Saddle Creek online store, you’ll already find a link to the Range Life store. Now that’s fast. In the process of clicking around while researching this tidbit, I noticed the upcoming release schedule for Team Love includes the debut by Omaha’s own McCarthy Trenching (out March 20) as well as Candylion by Gruff Rhys (out March 6), and a 7-inch by Portland band A Weather. Nice.

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The bitter cold kept me indoors this weekend, missing that Frank’s Hotel show and Oxford Collapse and all the other fun things that happened throughout the city. If you went to any, fancy us with a review, would you (here)? The cold isn’t about to let up — it is winter, after all. A quick glance at the various and sundry show calendars tells me that there isn’t much to miss until Thursday, when Earl Greyhound is at Sokol.

The reviews matrix finally has been updated with everything received since December (about 64 CDs). I’ve already begun downloading a few of the new batch and creating a nice pile of discs to hand over to the intern for his sterling interpretations. The grand plan is to refocus this site into something that’s more reviews-oriented, retaining the blog (with the usual live reviews, news and gossip) and less-frequent interviews. If you look at the Interviews page you’ll notice that I wrote fewer interviews/features this year than last. That’s the result of fewer assignments from The Reader (thanks to their ever-growing writers ranks) and fewer bands of interest coming through Omaha in ’06. When I started this almost 10 years ago, the plan was to write an interview/feature every other week. That quickly changed to weekly and sometimes two a week. Add writing a weekly column to that and you don’t have a lot of time to do CD reviews. Toward the end of ’06, I went back to an every-other-week schedule, which I hope to maintain this year — that means fewer but more in-depth stories (you’ll notice that they’ve become longer recently) and eventually, more CD reviews, hopefully at least two or three a week (with Brendan’s help).

Finally, you had to feel sorry for Prince last night at Superbowl XLI. Despite the pouring rain, his purpleness put on a pretty good show. I could have done without all the covers, but the goal (I guess) was to please a crowd of millions. The highlight was his gritty guitar playing — something that I figured would have been dangerous in all that rain (shows you what I know about electric guitars). Best commercial: The KFed ad. Yeah, I think the guy is marginally talentless, but I actually dug the beats that he was rhyming on (more proof that a good producer can make anyone sound like a genius), and thought that the overall self-deprecating approach made him look human, and funny. Maybe there’s some talent there after all? Nah…

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One of the biggest shows of the weekend is, in fact, a house party being held tonight at “Frank’s Hotel” across the street from The Brother’s Lounge and starring Cap Gun Coup, Coyote Bones, The Family Radio and Flowers Forever. House parties continue to be a staple of indie music, they’re the most convenient outlet for bands and their underage fans to get together without the added cost of a hall rental. It also turns the tables on the whole age issue. Just like those under 21 can’t get into bars, those over 21 can become somewhat suspect at house shows. Those over 30 become oddities. And those over 30 who don’t know anyone there become the elephant in the room: “Look, someone’s dad is here.” “Sir, please, take my chair, I’m fine standing up.” “How’s it going… cop.” Or, simply, “Who’s the freak in the corner?” I joke, of course. But I have to admit I remember a time when I was in high school and went to house parties (ones where the centers of attention were a keg and a Hal Holbrook party hat*). Whenever you saw an old guy there (say, in his mid-20s) you thought, “Jeeze, I hope I don’t end up like that old guy.” Music transcends age issues (especially indie music), but that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable for those of us with graying temples. It is, as I’ve said before, my problem and no one else’s. I know I wouldn’t be the subject of ridicule (at least not in earshot), but still… Look, if you’re wise and mature enough to not have my hang-ups, don’t miss this show. Coyote Bones is one of those bands that obviously has “it,” and will get signed by a savvy indie label in the very near future. The Family Radio is Nik Fackler’s posse and features arguably the best bass player in Omaha in Dereck Higgins (a guy who has no qualms about his age, nor should he). Cap Gun Coup epitomize the Archers of Loaf/Pavement slacker esthetic with an extra scoop of Omaha tuneful(less)ness thrown in for good measure. And Flowers Forever will be celebrating their debut. More info here.

So what will I be doing this weekend?

There are two other good shows tonight. Sokol Underground gets back into the indie swing of things with Sub Pop recording artist Oxford Collapse, Thunderbirds Are Now! and Latitude, Longitude. 9 p.m., $8.

Meanwhile, down at O’Leaver’s it’s a folk explosion with Iowa City’s Ed Gray. Ed’s worked with John Crawford (Head of Femur, Grey Ghost), violinist Tiffany Kowalski (Lullaby for the Working Class, Mayday, Shelley Short), and producer Alex McManus (The Bruces, Bright Eyes) as well as a ton of other Omaha musicians creatively linked to Simon Joyner. Also on the bill, the rocking Miracles of God, Petit Mal and The Front. $5, 9:30 p.m.

Saturday night looks wide open. If anyone has any ideas, post ’em here.

Finally, in an interview with Conor Oberst posted on MTV.com, the boy wonder talks about a possible Slowdown Virginia or Commander Venus reunion in honor of the grand opening of the Slowdown entertainment facility this summer.

Says the article: The opening could feature a performance by erstwhile indie rockers Slowdown Virginia. And Oberst said that while nothing’s been discussed yet, he thinks reuniting his former band, Commander Venus – which disbanded in 1997 after just two years – would make the night even more interesting.

“It would be very funny if that happened,” he said. “I wouldn’t imagine there’s much of a demand for that reunion, but it’s possible. We’re all still around, but I doubt [guitarist] Robb [Nansel] would ever get onstage again.” But Oberst says that reuniting with his other former outfit, Desaparecidos, is “certainly a possibility. I could see that happening at some point down the line.” (Read the whole interview here.)

Conor’s talked about a Desa reunion since before Wide Awake came out, and others close to the project all the way back in March 2005 told me that new Desa music had been recorded and only awaited Oberst to add the vocals — which apparently never happened. As welcome as a reunion would be, I’m not holding my breath on this one. A Commander Venus reunion would be fun, but a Slowdown Virginia reunion would be stellar, and appropriate. Why the original Slowdown CD — Dead Space — hasn’t been reissued by Creek (or someone else) is a mystery to me, since it stands up today (I just listened to “Whipping Stick” again this morning).

*slang for beer bong.

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Quite an evening at O’Leaver’s last night. As expected, the place was packed (but isn’t it always packed at O’Leaver’s these days?). It’s no surprise that everyone was buzzing about the announcement of the new One Percent club, The Waiting Room (see yesterday’s blog entry). The consensus: It should be a homerun. The biggest question mark: Parking. I don’t know my way around Benson, but I have to believe that there are open lots within a few blocks of that venue — it can’t be any worse than Sokol, where most nights I find myself trekking through snow-covered sidewalks three or four blocks away (constantly looking over my shoulder). The other hot question: What will happen with the other venues in town. Everyone agrees that O’Leaver’s size and dirty-basement/vagrant quality make it immune to any threat (other than maybe from the health department).

Back to the show… Dance Me Pregnant was a gloriously sloppy mess of a punk band. As the guy next to me — who has more music knowledge in his pinky than I’ll ever have in my entire thumb — described them: They sound like a messy version of Ritual Device. It doesn’t get any more accurate than that. I like the sheer aggression of their sound, the leveraged anger, the pre-determined, pre-meditated violence of their presentation. I knew that it would be something special when the lead singer was showing off what looked to be a series of purple b-b-gun welts on his stomach prior to the set. Nice. Though I couldn’t see it from where I was in the back of the room, I’m told blood was spilled at some point. If there’s one thing that could push this band over the top, it’s the inclusion of actual rabid violence or perhaps open flames. Without them, you get a sense that they’re holding back. It’s gutter punk bordering on hoodlumism, and it seems genuine, and I like it, as long as the bottle isn’t aimed at my face.

Finally there was Artsy Golfer — the new supergroup consisting of four musicians with ties to Saddle Creek Records bands. The irony is that these guys (and gal) sound nothing like anything that Creek has ever released (much to the label’s detriment). Their style is loud and hazy, throbbing and hypnotic, and 100 percent slacker-approved. Too rural to be considered shoe-gazer, AG gives a nod to the low-fi heavy weights that walked the earth a decade ago, from Sonic Youth to Dinosaur Jr, but without those bands’ furrowed-brow angst. Never has a band been more defined by its choice of cover songs than AG’s sloppy version of Pavement’s “Grounded,” whose opening guitar pings were met with cheers. The set concluded with a droning, brooding, almost druggy trance-rock masterpiece that stumbled forward for at least 10 minutes until its trippy conclusion wobbled to a stop. Expect great things from this band, if its members can find enough time away from their other projects to make a serious go of it.

Tonight at O’Leaver’s, the triumphant return of Matt Whipkey, fresh from his ice-covered tour of the western United States. Also on the bill, Whipkey’s significant other, Sarah Benck with her band, The Robbers, and singer/songwriter Scott Severin’s new band — Scott Severin & The Milton Burlesque. $5, 9:30 p.m.

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