Tonight is one of the busiest music nights of the year, but before we get to that, a brief recap of last night’s show at O’Leaver’s. I tapped out four notes on my iPhone during Dim Light’s set: “whiskey swagger,” “swing/waltz,” “Mark Lanegan (Gutter Twins),” “peeling black paint on metal pipes.” “Whiskey swagger” was how someone sitting next to me at the bar (Brady) described Dim Light’s dirty, bluesy, just-rolled-out-of-bed-with-a-hangover rock. It’s tired and anxious but ultimately carefree (or care less). Their brutal sound has a natural swing, which swings even farther when married to a waltz-time rhythm (as it was on a few numbers). Frontman Cooper Moon’s stature and tone reminded me of Mark Lanegan singing dead-end rock songs that conjure visions of broken factories and industrial blight. With Boz Hicks on drums (Domestica) and Rhodes on bass, it all works with a gut-stabbing efficiency. I saw these guys at The Waiting Room in January and thought they sounded like sludge-core (but the headache I had that night might have had something to do with that). Last night, they were much more refined, and even (dare I say it) downright catchy. This is a band to watch out for.

Voodoo Organist, who has played at O’Leaver’s — what, 100 times? — was exactly what I expected: A guy playing an organ (and Theremin) handling vocals backed by a guy on drums. It was loung-y, kitschy, horror-billy rock. Good for what it was. Not something I’d seek out a second time, but judging by the crowd reaction, I’d say most of the 20 or so on hand would (and have).

* * *

There are a lot of shows going on tonight, most of them simultaneously. The early show is David Byrne at The Holland. Judging by the set list, this is the closest you’re going to get to hearing a Talking Heads concert until their next reunion (which may never happen). It is not sold out, and at that price point ($48-$78) probably won’t be. Starts at 8 sharp with no opening act, so get there on time.

The late shows are many. Two of them I mentioned yesterday — Ladyfinger at Slowdown with Mountain High and Techlepathy ($7, 9 p.m.), and Little Brazil at The Waiting Room with Crooked Fingers and Uglysuit ($10, 9 p.m.). You’ll find me downtown, as I just saw LB a month or so ago.

Also tonight, Tomato a Day is slated to play at The Saddle Creek Bar & Grill with Boy and It’s True. 9 p.m., no idea on the price.

At The Barley Street, Darren Keen plays along with Talkin’ Mountain, Physics of Meaning and Western Electric. $4, 9 p.m.

And finally, at PS Collective, Midwest Dilemma kicks off its fall tour that will take them to New York City and back, finishing up Nov. 2 in Des Moines. No idea who or how many will be tagging along in the van(s). Opening is Anniversaire, Tim Wildsmith and Kyle Harvey. $5, 10 p.m.

Saturday is dominated by the SLAM Omaha benefit show at The Waiting Room featuring the reunion of The Movies, as well as Sarah Benck & The Robbers, Bloodcow, Filter Kings, Icares, Ground Tyrants, Two Drag Club, Kill Bosby and Brad Hoshaw, all for a $10 donation. Show starts at 6:30.

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Here are a couple newsy bits received from my e-mail…

Ethan Jones wrote to say that Ladyfinger‘s show at Slowdown tomorrow night will feature mostly new songs from their new album, which is slated for release in February on Saddle Creek Records. “We recorded in July/August with Matt Bayles (the guy that recorded Heavy Hands) at his studio in Seattle,” Jones said. Bayles, as most of you know, also produced albums by Mastodon, Isis, Russian Circles and Minus the Bear, among others. Jones said Friday’s show is Ladyfinger’s “first real Omaha show since April.” Also on the bill is Philly band Mountain High and Techlepathy.

* * *

Little Brazil guitarist Greg Edds informed the media yesterday that his band currently is bunkered down at ARC Studios with engineer/producer AJ Mogis. “Our third full-length record, tentatively titled, Son, is due to be released in early 2009,” Edds said. “We’re also proud to announce that our new album will be released on Anodyne Records (Kansas City, MO). Anodyne is the home to many acts that we admire, including The Architects, Roman Numerals, The Valley Arena, Meat Puppets and Shiner.”

I’ve been hearing about Anodyne for what seems like forever. Sounds like the band finally inked the contract a few weeks ago. In another departure for Little Brazil, early word is that Son will be a concept album. Three tracks from the record already are online at daytrotter.com (complete with comments/explanations about the lyrics). Or you can hear them performed live tomorrow night at The Waiting Room when Little Brazil opens for Crooked Fingers and The Ugly Suit. The show kicks off a two-week tour that will take Little Brazil to Ohio, Illinois and Minnesota before heading back home for a gig at Slowdown on Halloween.

Too bad these two shows (Ladyfinger and Little Brazil) will be competing with each other on the same night, but these things happen…

* * *

Tonight, Voodoo Organist , the favorite band of my slacker Lazy-i intern Brendan Greene-Walsh, plays at O’Leaver’s with Dim Light. $5, 9:30 p.m. Where are all those CD reviews, Brendan?

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There appears to be plenty of seats available for David Byrne Friday night, ranging from $48 to $78. Score your tix here. Should be a blast. I’m also told that Byrne has Thursday off, so keep your eyes peeled for him and his entourage around town…

Column 194: Thinking Outside the Head
Byrne-ing Down the Holland

David Byrne is a genius. Or at least he seems like one to me.

I remember reading a cover story about him 20 years ago — I can’t remember if it was in Time or Newsweek — but the blurb said it all: “Rock’s Renaissance Man.” On the cover were multiple headshots of Byrne brought together as an art collage in a Warholian sort of way — the message: Byrne was the new Andy Warhol. The story talked about his background as a member of Talking Heads and his performance art projects. But by the late 1980s, he’d already grown well past his Heads identity, having launched his own world-beat record label — Luaka Bop (where I was first introduced to Brazilian and Cuban dance music). Byrne was becoming known as much for his creative vision as his cool, cooing vocals.

Today, Google “David Byrne” and you’ll find as many websites describing his art as his latest album. When I mentioned to a couple friends that I was thinking of writing a column about him, they quickly sent me their favorite Byrnian links. One went to a page at davidbyrne.com that described his bike rack project for the New York Department of Transportation and PaceWildenstein art gallery. Fabricated from metal, the nine bike racks installed throughout Manhattan and Brooklyn resembled everyday icons — a mudflap girl, a dollar sign, a woman’s high-heel shoe, a dog. The art looked so cool in the photos that I couldn’t imagine chaining my Bianchi to one, and then I wondered if this functional art project would encourage cyclers to begin chaining bikes to other art never intended to be used as anchors to stave off thieves.

Then there was “Playing the Building,” an installation at Färgfabriken, Stockholm, in 2005 where Byrne taught an old factory how to sing. He did it by figuring out ways to make sounds using the building’s structural elements. “Everyone is familiar with the fact that if you rap on a metal column, for example, you will hear a ping or a clang, but I wondered if the pipes could be turned into giant flutes, and if a machine could make some of the girders vibrate and produce tones,” Byrne says on his website. “After thinking about how girders vibrate when a truck or a train goes over a metal bridge, it seemed just a matter of working out the mechanics of playing a building.”

Hook it all up to an old church organ and you’ve created a building-sized musical instrument suited for the largest compositions. Before this tour began, Byrne applied the same concept to the Battery Maritime Building in Lower Manhattan. Even Andy never thought of anything like that.

And there’s more, like how he made dull business software PowerPoint into an art medium, or his series of self-portrait dolls, one of which wound up on the cover of 1997 album Feelings. Had I been given a chance to interview Byrne, I would have asked how he manages to do everything he does. I’m sure he would have given the same answer that Omaha artist/poet/philosopher Bill Farmer gave when interviewed shortly before his death: The question wasn’t when he had time to do art, but how he could possibly not do art. Every moment of his life was dedicated to some form of creative expression, because that was who he was. In that way, Byrne reminds me of Bill.

Like all good artists, Byrne invents new ways of seeing and using everyday objects. And he does it with a natural ease, without an ounce of pretension or angst — unless you’re talking about psycho killers or the sound of gunfire in the distance.

Oh that’s right, Byrne’s also a songwriter and musician. Sure, folks may know about his art, but the reason they’re headed to the Holland Performing Arts Center Friday night has more to do with giant suits, celebratory dancing and music.

Billed as a collaboration between David Byrne and Brian Eno, his latest album Everything that Happens Will Happen Today isn’t a huge departure from Byrne’s other solo outings. If you like those, you’ll probably like this, too. Byrne calls it “folk-electronic-gospel,” but doesn’t that describe just about everything he’s done with Eno over the years?

For me, the album’s high points don’t happen until the second half. Trotting out on a disco riff, “Strange Overtones” is the peak — my favorite Byrne song since the salsa-flavored, horn-heaven track “Make Believe Mambo” from 1989’s Rei Momo. There’s nothing similar about the two songs really, except both own remarkable melodies and are irresistible dance-floor fodder. Too bad there’s no room to dance in the Holland, because trippy groove-scape “Poor Boy” is laser targeted at getting your hind-side shaking. And it won’t be the only song that’ll make you want to move, judging by the set list from the first night of the tour, which included Heads’ classics “I Zimbra” “Houses in Motion” “Once in a Lifetime” and “Crosseyed and Painless,” all taken from albums produced by Eno (the entire evening is dedicated exclusively to Byrne/Eno collaborations, though Eno won’t be there).

Expect a spectacle, and get there early — there’s no opening act. Who needs one when you’ve got a 7-member back-up band, a small dance troupe and all the visual magic we’ve come to expect from an artist who once taught a building to sing. Friday night he’s going to teach a building to dance.

Tonight, everyone’s favorite indie rapper, Murs, is playing at The Waiting Room with Kidz in the Hall and Isaiah. $12, 9 p.m. At Slowdown it’s Mountain Goats and Kaki King. Note that the show time on the Slowdown site is 8 p.m. — that’s to facilitate the debate-watching party. Kaki King won’t go on until afterward (9:30) $15.

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A couple people have pointed out that the bass player in Techlepathy whose name I didn’t know (see yesterday’s blog entry) was none other than John Kestner, a former member of Sound of Rails and Fullblown along with drummer Eric Ernst (though Kestner played guitar in those bands). In fact, it was Mike Tulis, also a former member of Fullblown, who told me Saturday night who Ernst was. I should have asked about Kestner. And that’s more information than you ever wanted to know. Go see Techlepathy Friday.

Tonight at The Slowdown it’s the Omaha debut of Saddle Creek Record’s most recent signing, Land of Talk. Their new album, Some Are Lakes, is a shimmery, mid-tempo indie rock collection that feels influenced by ’70s-era Fleetwood Mac thanks to its rock-solid well-grounded rhythm section. That said, frontwoman Elizabeth Powell sounds more like one of the Azure Ray women or Carol van Dyk (Bettie Serveert) than Stevie or Christine. It’s pleasant-going until “Give Me Back My Heart Attack” breaks through the monotony, only to shift back into mid-tempo gear with “It’s Okay,” a song whose bass-drum combination makes it the perfect prom dance ballad (think Foreigner or Journey, I’m not entirely kidding). There is a distinctively middle-of-the-road quality to Land of Talk. I’m told they caught the attention of Creek-folk after making a big splash at SXSW two years ago. As one person who was there told me, “You couldn’t go anywhere in Austin without hearing something about Land of Talk.” Will the hype continue? Well, Pitchfork gave Some Are Lakes a 6.9 (just a tenth of a point away from breaking through that 7.0 glass ceiling that holds back most Creek artists). I like the album, though I don’t think Land of Talk will get to the same level as Creek’s big swingers (Tokyo Police Club, on the other hand, probably will).

Land of Talk is opening tonight for Canadian supergroup Broken Social Scene, who played a secret show here almost a year ago. Wonder who will be playing with Drew and Canning in this version. Tickets are still available for $20. Show starts at 9.

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Lots of aimless driving Saturday night; lots of lost opportunities. After seeing Elegy at The Dundee, I high-tailed it over to The Waiting Room hoping to catch Coffin Killers. No luck. For whatever reason, they were the first band up, and had left the stage by the time I arrived. I didn’t bother to go in. Instead, I drove down to The Saddle Creek Bar. Omaha’s punk authority and information hub (Mean Dean) had let me know via e-mail the day before that The Dinks canceled — something to do with their drummer being unavailable. Still, I wanted to see what was going on; if anyone even showed up. Damn few — maybe 18 — were there. I hung out in front while The Lepers and their soundman tried to figure things out. Having just caught their set last week, I drove to O’Leaver’s thinking I might get lucky and catch Techlepathy. And for once my timing was right.

Techlepathy is a trio that includes über-guitarist Lincoln Dickison and drummer Eric Ernst. I don’t know the bass player’s name, but he was good, too. Their style is post-punk noise rock in the same vein as Fromanhole and The Stay Awake. Dickison doesn’t so much play guitar as do weird things that look like he’s giving it a massage — strange upper fretboard fingertip hocus-pocus. Vocalwise, Lincoln screams more than sings — quite a contrast to his solo acoustic balladry, where he croons like an angel. Here he’s chasing out demons or other frustrations over intricate time changes, key changes, mood changes. Like all good bands that play this style of music, after the initial install it becomes strangely hypnotic. Techlepathy’s trick, however, is a willingness to blend the unexpected tonal melody amidst the din, coming in and out at the most fractious moments. The contrast will make you say out loud, “Wow, that’s pretty.” It doesn’t happen too often, but when it does, it feels like a headache going away. That said, the overall Techlepathy experience is brutal and bruising. Find out for yourself Friday night when they open for Ladyfinger at Slowdown.

So Deerhoof’s tonight on The Slowdown main stage, and I’m tempted to go even though it means a painful Tuesday morning, and it looks like it’s going to rain all night (which means no hanging out on the patio between sets). Opening is Experimental Dental School & Au (They should have had UUVVWWZ open) and tickets are a mere $10. Maybe I’ll see you there? Also tonight at O’Leaver’s it’s The Lepers with Minneapolis AmRep band Heroine Sheiks. $5, 9:30 p.m.

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This one has been flying under the radar, probably because it’s not a 1% show, but Tegan and Sara are playing tonight at Sokol Auditorium. Just more proof of how out-of-touch I am. I wasn’t even aware they had a new album out (Do they?). I also didn’t realize that their fanbase had grown enough to warrant booking this show upstairs at Sokol — a 1,400-capacity room — and to demand a $25 ticket. Ah, I still remember the last time I tried to interview these fine young ladies, and the fallout that ensued. I have a feeling they won’t be dedicating another set to me, nor that they even remember who I am. Opening is City and Color and Girl in a Coma. $25, 7 p.m.

Also tonight at The Waiting Room, McCarthy Trenching celebrates the release of their new CD, Calamity Drenching released on Team Love Records. Joining them are Neva Dinova and Ted Stevens (of Mayday and Cursive). Only $7. 9 p.m. This one will be a hoot.

Tomorrow night Ben Kweller plays at Slowdown with Whitley. I know a lot of people headed to this show. I’ve never been a Kweller fan, however. $15 today, $17 tomorrow, 9 p.m.

As mentioned in this week’s columns, The Dinks are playing Saturday night at The Saddle Creek Bar with the incomparable Perry H. Matthews and The Lepers. 9 p.m., $5.

Meanwhile, over at The Waiting Room Saturday Night , the Coffin Killers open for School of Arms, Paria and The Matador. Coffin Killers, for those who may not know, is the punk project by Filter Kings‘ frontman Lee Meyerpeter. Leave your cowboy hat at home. $7, 9 p.m.

Also Saturday, Dereck Higgins Band plays a set at The Goofy Foot with Agronomo and Paper Owls. $3, 9 p.m.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Missing from the comments below is a review of Box Elders, who were playing before the Shanks at O’Leaver’s. I didn’t get there early enough to hear their entire set; I was outside in the O’Leaver’s “beer garden” when they were on stage and didn’t even recognize them — they sounded like a different band, tighter, more put together then the raucous garage band from a few months ago. I guess touring has had its impact on these guys, or maybe it’s just Jeremiah’s new haircut.

Column 193: Out of Control
Punk in the 21st Century

Is it time for another emergence of punk rock?

After all, punk has been dead since the ’80s, right? I mean, think about why punk rock existed in the first place. It was a rebellion against the mainstream. It was social economics and booze. Which makes these solemn, teetering-on-the-edge of financial disaster End Days perfect for another fist-rising experiment in anger therapy. There is no better time than today for punk rock to bleed through the culture and take as many drunk, drugged and penniless prisoners as possible. But it can’t sound like the old stuff. It can’t feel like nostalgia or tribute or costume-y deification of days gone by, because no one will believe it. The problem with performing punk is that if done without a sense of honest hostility, it becomes novelty; it turns away from angst and becomes fashion, an entirely different type of desperation than what The Dead Kennedys and Black Flag and originators like The Ramones and The Sex Pistols had in mind.

I like punk as grand anarchistic theater, as an outlet for those who have nothing to lose. Which is why I liked the Shanks so much. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

This weekend I saw a few flavors of the current state of punk in our fair city. Friday night featured two bands at Saddle Creek Bar — The Upsets and Officially Terminated. Fronted by the amazing Jade Rocker, who embodies the hubris of early-day Joan Jett and latter-day Wendy O Williams, The Upsets blow-torched a set of heavy stuff that wasn’t so much punk as guttural garage rock, capping their set with a Black Flag cover.

Between sets, folks stood outside and talked about days gone by, including Omaha hall shows of the ’80s and ’90s that could draw a hundred or so angry, idealistic kids. No chance of that these days, right? I even wondered out loud why no one moshed anymore.

“Because it’s kind of gay,” said one guy wearing a backwards baseball cap. Viewed from the sidelines, there is something sort of gay about a group of young guys, half of them shirtless, purposely slamming into each other, knocking each other down, and pulling themselves back up with sweaty grips to push-shove-rub against each other some more. Rough love. A shared tribal experience that bordered on the homoerotic, even though there was nothing sexual about it. At least there never seemed to be at the very few ’90s punk shows that I attended. I never got into the pit. I was way too old for that sort of thing, and I could never get to that level of exuberance or drunkenness to let myself become part of the fray.

Moshing today — 20 or 25 years after its invention — seems cliché and derivative. Today’s youth appears way too cultured and cool for that sort of thing, and I guess too cool for punk in general.

But just as I thought that, a small mosh pit — maybe 10 people — formed in front of where Officially Terminated was exploding. It was slow-motion mosh, a kinder, gentler version that looked like a friendly shoving match by fans who couldn’t help themselves, driven by the band’s ear-bleeding ferocity.

Featuring guitarist Sam Morris — a vision in teased blond hair and make-up a la Poison — and tiny frenetic frontman Eric Hansen, who looked like he weighed 75 pounds soaking wet, Officially Terminated uncorked a set that bordered on hardcore, with songs like “Martini Time” and a twisted cover of Dr. Hook’s “The Cover of the Rolling Stone.” It was fun. Too fun to be punk, though a million miles removed from pop-punk garbage like Blink 182.

To find what I was looking for, I had to go to O’Leaver’s Saturday night for the last waltz of Omaha’s The Shanks, one of the most lewd, crude, out-of-control bands in recent memory. When The Shanks were on stage, you instinctively kept your head on a swivel alert for flying bottles or fists, never quite certain if what you were watching was rock ‘n’ roll or performance art (or both). The Shanks were guttural. They were angry — with each other, with themselves, with the crowd. Or so it seemed. Maybe it was only an act. We’ll never know. But one thing’s for certain, they did an admirable job trying to hoist the long tradition of punk rock on their t-shirt-clad shoulders.

And they did not disappoint Saturday night. The band erupted in a drunken visceral assault, complete with insults for everyone in the room. Frontman Smutt Rodd Todd looked like a pit-bull, bracing against a choker chain only inches from your face, while drummer Jeff Damage teetered on the verge of attacking either the crowd or fellow band members. By the end of the set, Jeff was balancing on one of O’Leaver’s cheap tables, shirt off, covered in sweat, eventually falling into the drum kit. It was ugly and beautiful, an expression of hopelessness by four guys who could give a shit what you thought. I don’t know if it was punk or not, but it felt right. And now The Shanks are gone forever. Or at least until this weekend, when three of the four members re-emerge at The Saddle Creek Bar as The Dinks.

Maybe it’s too early for punk’s return. Sure, we’re in the midst of economic crisis, but other than the media telling us about it, have we really felt its effects? Not yet, not here. And who knows if we ever will, especially with a change of administration just around the corner. If punk was truly destined to re-emerge in an angry new form, it would have happened at the end of the Bush era, but even then, rock was too fat and happy to find anything worth complaining about.

Tonight at The Waiting Room, personal fave UUVVWWZ is opening for Brooklyn’s A Place to Bury Strangers (They market themselves as “the loudest band in New York.” Really?) and Sian Alice Group. $10, 9 p.m. Meanwhile, down at Slowdown, it’s Philly electronic dance band Lotus (sort of Rapture meets LCD minus the cowbell) and Somasphere. $15, 9 p.m.

Also tonight, according to their Myspace page (so this hasn’t been confirmed with the venue), Chinese Stars (ex Arab On Radar, ex-Six Finger Satellite) plays at The Brothers with Awesome Brothers. Thanks to Kevin in Lincoln for the head’s up.

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The music was turned off when we arrived at The Waiting Room last night at 9:20 to allow for the Obama/McCain debate. Surprisingly, many were glued to the TV sets, as if watching a boxing match… or a trial. The droll spectacle couldn’t put a damper on what was ahead, though. The stage remained dark after the final handshake (or lack of one), and from my vantage point sitting at the bar, as the clock struck 10, I began to wonder what was going on. Then from nowhere came a shrill wave of feedback, and I realized that, of course, Monotonix was set up on the floor. I vaguely remembered hearing about the last time these long-haired Israelis came through town, how their equipment had a way of wandering throughout the club. We were in for the same thing as the band began ripping through its rowdy, punkish garage rock, barked with an accent from in front of the stage, surrounded by 150 grinning fans. You couldn’t see anything from the floor unless you were in the 6’5″ range. I wound up watching from the stage. Frontman Ami Shalev was carried above the fray in a large plastic trashcan, I’m not sure by whom, as the band was having a riot of its own. Ami kept moving the kick drum and the rest of the kit further and further away from the stage, eventually into the main bar area, then the entrance, then finally outside on the sidewalk in front of TWR, frantically waving the crowd to follow him. And they eagerly did — how often these days do they get a chance to watch a live band and smoke at the same time? Outside, drummer Ran Shimoni banged on a snare while Ami climbed a traffic signal pole. Hanging from a piece of the girding he told the crowd to count down from 10 and then count up to four, upon which time he launched into the crowd to surf back to the sidewalk. Never a dull moment.

I’m not sure you can say the same thing about Silver Jews. David Berman and wife Cassie were joined by four other band members including drummer Bob Nastanovich (of Pavement fame). Hanging from Berman’s microphone was a unit of blood that swung to and fro — it was creepy, and disappeared halfway through the set (vampire?). Though this reference will be lost on almost every reader of this blog, Berman looked just like my old communications professor from UNO, Hugh Cowden – he had the same glasses, the same beard, the same shaped face, and probably the same wardrobe — a thrift-store western-cut polyester suit jacket. It was Hugh only 30 years younger, holding a mic.

I’ve been enjoying the Jews’ latest album, which is dotted with touches of western swing. Well, there was no C&W influence heard during last night’s set. The band sounded like well-played though run-of-the-mill indie (Pavement in their final years). Even Berman’s voice sounded different, not so much like Johnny Cash as Kris Kristofferson. A couple people complained about the monotonous, medium-tempo pace of every song as well as Berman’s flat vocal delivery. It didn’t bother me at all, and there were times where it provided a necessary contrast to the more ethereal portions of the set. Though they’re out supporting Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea, they only played maybe three songs from it. No “Party Barge.” No “San Francisco BC.” I assume the rest of the set was older material, which I will be downloading from Lala later this evening. Those kooky Monotonix guys joined the band for the last of the three-song encore — Ami sitting on his drummer’s shoulders. Silver Jews were great, but Monotonix will be the band most people are talking about the day after.

Looks like you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for that weekend-review punk column. I’ll have it online in the morning.

Tonight at The Waiting Room it’s STNNNG (minus the gloves) with Omaha’s current “It Band” Perry H. Matthews, Mother Pile and Child Bite. All four for a mere $7.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

The live review for this past weekend’s shows (Upsets, Officially Terminated, Shanks) will appear tomorrow as this week’s column (which means they’ll also appear in this week’s issue of The Reader). Look for that.

But tonight, get your ass to The Waiting Room for The Silver Jews. I can say without restraint that their new record, Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea, is one of the best albums of the year. For those of you who missed it, here’s my Aug. 20 review:

Silver Jews, Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea (Drag City) — The album can be summed up in one perfect song: “San Francisco B.C.,” where drawling frontman David Berman croons a story of a break-up with a “local martyr in the vegan press,” a crime story that finds our hero “in the possession of burglary tools” only to confront the bad-haired murderer who orphaned his true love. Along the way there’s plenty of “fist cuisine” and “insignificant shit” and other tossed-out genius that makes this one song better than Tarantino’s last three films. Musically, it’s laid-back, rolling, countrified slacker rock, with Berman sounding like the second coming of Johnny Cash, and wife, Cassie, providing the June Carter harmonies. Rating: 4.5 stars.

Silver Jews rarely tour, rarely play live. The couple are notoriously private and in years past rarely did interviews (Here’s Chris Aponik’s e-mail interview in the current issue of The Reader). It’s very likely that you will never get another chance to see this band in Omaha. A very good chance. Don’t miss it. $14, 9 p.m. Get there on time to catch the return (since April 2007) of Israeli garage band Monotonix representin’ Tel Aviv.

Tonight is day one of a week filled with amazing shows at The Waiting Room. The STNNNG plays tomorrow night, UUVVWWZ plays Thursday opening for A Place to Bury Strangers, McCarthy Trenching has its CD release show Friday with Neva Dinova and Ted Stevens, Coffin Killers open for School of Arms Saturday, then the place gets burned down Sunday night by Bloodcow and stoner rock kingpins High on Fire. Get the details at The Waiting Room website, and thank Marc and Jim the next time you see them, which better be tonight.

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The band of choice for opening CD release shows has a CD release show of its own tonight at The Waiting Room. The Black Squirrels is self releasing its 12-song sophomore effort, Paying for Your Pleasure, recorded by fellow squirrel Tim Cich at Bassline Studio. Considering all the bands they’ve opened for, I expect there to be a huge crowd for this one. Opening is The Great Atomic Power (with the great Mike Friedman, Anderson, Dunwoody) and Brad Hoshaw and the Seven Deadlies. 9 p.m., $7.

Also tonight, Seattle instrumental outfit Joy Wants Eternity has moved its show from O’Leaver’s to The Saddle Creek Bar. Also on the bill are local punk faves The Upsets and Officially Terminated. No word on the cover. Starts at 9.

Speaking of punk, tomorrow night is the long-awaited final show ever for The Shanks, who will go down in the history of Omaha music as one of the most lewd, crude, out-of-control bands the scene has ever known. When The Shanks were on stage, there was never a dull moment. You instinctively kept your head on a swivel watching for flying bottles or fists, never quite certain if what you were watching was rock and roll or performance art (or both). The Shanks were guttural. They were angry — with each other, with themselves, with the crowd. Or so it seemed. Maybe it was only an act. We’ll never know. But one thing’s for certain, they did an admirable job trying to hoist the long tradition of punk rock on their t-shirt-clad shoulders. They shall be missed.

As part of their farewell, the band is cleaning house. According to Shanks’ Todd:

“All of the remaining 45s will be given away for free. Also, a 7-song CDEP of unreleased songs will be available for free. Only 50 made, any left over from the show will be available at the Antiquarium. Opening the show will be The Intelligence from In The Red Records. They’re from the West Coast and use to be the A-Frames.

Box Elders play second, just returning from Gonerfest in Memphis.

The Shanks play last. May play old stuff, maybe unheard of stuff, maybe all covers from Sesame Street. No one knows ’cause we don’t either. We’re still going thru all our recordings and may release one more 7″ and with everything else, it’s going up online at LastFm and Soundclick for those who IPod and who don’t have turntables.”

$5, 9:30 p.m. Get there early if you want in because this will be a madhouse.

Also Saturday, Talkin’ Mountain, Honeybee and Tim Perkins are playing an afternoon gig (4 p.m.) at Urban Outfitters. It’s free.

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