Tonight, after voting (Get out there, people!), I intend to drag myself down to Sokol Underground to see Omaha band An Iris Pattern when they open for headliner Koufax, along with Drag the River and Cordero.

I know nothing about the three touring acts. I have heard An Iris Pattern’s tracks on their myspace account and loved them, especially the dreamy “Sentenced to Each Other.” From what I can glean from their site, the band is driven by Ben Zinn and mysterious frontman Greg Loftis. Who is this Loftis fellow whose name has been whispered on the periphery of the Omaha music scene? Loftis, who has been described as both a genius and a shady character by those who know him. According to their bio, An Iris Pattern’s recordings have involved Tim Kasher, A.J. Mogis, Kyle Harvey, Reagan Roeder, Wade Hacklar, Landon Hedges, Dave Collins, Oliver Morgan and Jenna Morrison, along with James McMann and Lars Gallagher. Quite a line-up. I’m also told An Iris Pattern has performed on stage before, but only as a solo acoustic deal. First I hear the band is the next big thing and that I should check them out, next I’m told it’s in Limbo and that Loftis is cooling his heels in Spain or Greece or Amsterdam. Will he be there tonight? Find out. $8, 9 p.m. sharp.

Along with a review of the show (if I go), look for an interview with Gomez, online at Lazy-i tomorrow.

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Some thoughts on Saturday night’s Kite Pilot CD release show, a few days after the fact… I got there toward the end of Eagle*Seagulls’ usual superb set, more evidence that these guys are positioned to take over the world, if they so choose. Frontman Eli Mardock has even taken the drastic step of shaving his once-shaggy head — an unmistakable fashion statement (unless, of course, spring fleas had something to do with the shearing). I recognized songs from their debut that I’ve heard two or three other times on stage. They’ve never sounded so big, but I had to wonder what’s next for these guys. They started off as Lincoln’s version of The Arcade Fire mixed with Interpol, they morphed into a sublime version of Wolf Parade and now have come out on the other side wholly on their own, with no one left to compare them to.

Next came Kite Pilot featuring two additional trumpet players and Spring Gun guitarist Nate Mickish helping out on a few numbers. Like Eagle*Seagull, the band has never sounded better. I credit the Sokol Underground’s sound system and the dozens of family and friends in the crowd lending their support (Among them, two members of The Protoculture, who told me they have an O’Leaver’s gig scheduled in the coming weeks).

Things started off with a bang when keyboardist/trumpeter Todd Hanton threw a dozen or so plush teddy bears into the crowd. One got lodged on the lighting equipment, which resulted in some guy putting his bottle of beer on the ground while his buddy hoisted him up to get it. He missed, dropped backward and landed on the bottle, which exploded beneath his feet. Someone else got the teddy, eventually.

The bears were a cute touch, and cuteness is exactly what this band doesn’t need any more of, especially with darling frontwoman Erica Hanton sounding more and more like Bjork on songs that are already sweet sweet sweet… but not as sweet as the tunes heard on the band’s debut EP. Kite Pilot’s new album is something of a tough sell — a more serious recording that doesn’t easily invite dancing. Unlike the EP, which is a pop gem.

One of the night’s standouts was drummer Jeremy Stanosheck, who came into his own providing the tightest, strongest performance I’ve ever seen from him with any band — an accomplishment, considering the sometimes intricate arrangements on the proggy new songs which made up most of set. The band finished with “a new one” that was the best tune of the night. The sound wasn’t a new direction as much as a welcome return to the pop style heard on their EP, complete with some wicked group singing. This new direction — or return direction — is where I’d like to hear this band go next. Judging from the crowd response, I’m not alone.

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You get two bands in one form or another two nights in a row! What more could you ask for? Tonight at O’Leaver’s Kite Pilot’s Austin Britton is doing a solo set with Eagle*Seagull’s Eli Murdock and Spring Gun’s Nate Mickish, who’s also playing with Kite Pilot these days. $5, 9:30 p.m. Then tomorrow night at Sokol Underground, it’s Kite Pilot’s CD release show with Eagle*Seagull and Spring Gun. Weird, in’it? That show is $7, 9 p.m.

Those who read the OWH daily might wonder why I overlooked that little nugget in Niz’ Kite Pilot story — the one about Austin moving to San Diego to attend seminary… Well, they talked about it at our interview, but I was asked to keep it out of the story. I guess the cat’s out of the bag now. Will the band survive? Sure, said the Hantons. The line-up will change, but Kite Pilot will go on some way, some how. That said, the band will likely record some new material before Austin heads to Cali, including a new song that will be unveiled Saturday that they say has received the biggest reaction of anything they’ve played before. Can’t wait to hear it.

Also Saturday night, Someday Never is hosting a show at O’Leaver’s featuring Lincoln’s The Killigans and Super Virgin. I’m told The Killigans do Irish-style punk rock in the vein of Flogging Molly. $5, 9 p.m.

Sunday sports two One Percent shows. Downtown at Sokol Underground it’s a death-metal bash featuring A Life Once Lost and Cephalic Carnage. Also on the five-band bill is Omaha’s Precious Metal. $8, 9 p.m. Meanwhile, over at O’Leaver’s, its Cougars with The Stay Awake. Cougars are often compared to The Jesus Lizard, which is pretty much on the mark, at least from what I’ve heard off their Go Kart release, Pillow Talk. Big and loud, with the occasional horn part slipped in here and there (according to AMG, they formed out of the remains of a Chicago ska band, a bit of information they should try to keep under their hat).

Column 75: Success Hasn’t Spoiled Them Yet
Kite Pilot defines it on their own terms.

It was all the way back in August of ’05 when the first copies of Kite Pilot’s new full-length, Mercy Will Close Its Doors, began surfacing ’round town.

Fifty hand-crafted CDR copies of the disc were distributed to press (including yours truly), record labels and friends of the band with hopes of generating some national indie label interest.

Eight months later and Kite Pilot is releasing Mercy… themselves. Some might consider that a failure, but not for a band who defines success on their own terms.

“We did get a label offer,” said Austin Britton, who was joined last Saturday by fellow band members Erica Hanton and husband, Todd Hanton, in the couple’s mid-town living room. Missing was drummer Jeremy Stanosheck, while new guitarist Nate Mickish (ex-Golden Age) showed up later.

No one was willing to say who the label was, only that differences — artistic, business, personal and otherwise — kept them from signing on the dotted line.

“The label just didn’t seem to support what we wanted,” Todd said. “There was a lot of talk about them being ‘a big family’ and allowing us to put out what we wanted, but their track record didn’t support that. We wanted artistic control, and that’s something you don’t get anymore.”

“There’s this ‘friendship model’ out there now, where the labels want to be friends with you first,” Britton said. “We’re more interested in having them support the art first. They want to be bro’s. That can come later, after the record is out.”

Sound brutal? Britton and Hanton said it ain’t personal, they just want the art to prevail. In fact, they want it the way it was in the ’60s and ’70s, back when major labels nurtured bands. “They signed you with the goal of helping develop your sound,” Britton said. “Major labels were household names. You knew what a Motown artist was. Nobody knows or cares what label Britney Spears is on.”

That said, the band also admitted that they weren’t willing to make the personal sacrifices demanded by labels — specifically, to tour extensively on a low budget.

“None of us are willing to quit our jobs to go on tour,” Britton said. “In Kite Pilot, the band is subservient to the individuals; the individuals aren’t subservient to the band. We won’t sacrifice life and limb, and we don’t want music to be our sole livelihood.”

Uh, hold on a minute. The Hantons disagreed, saying they would be willing to make music a full-time career, but “we still want to live comfortably,” Erica said. “We don’t want to be obsessive about it.”

That would take all the fun out of it, Todd said. And fun is what it all comes down to for this band, both in the studio and on stage where night-to-night, anything goes.

Kite Pilot defined their fun-loving style back in 2004 with a self-released debut EP that is a pop masterpiece. It effortlessly combines bouncing indie-pop with complex multi-instrument arrangements that lean on Todd Hanton and Britton’s jazz backgrounds along with Erica’s history as part of the classic post-punk band The Protoculture. Songs like the trumpet-fueled “Tree Caught the Kite” and dance anthem “On My Lips” can be heard nightly on O’Leaver’s jukebox.

Things get more complicated on Mercy Will Close Its Doors. While the pop is still there, the arrangements are more complex and challenging — which is a fancy way of saying the band wasn’t afraid to take risks. For example, during one of Todd’s airy trumpet solos on “Tiny Portraits (Of Miniature People),” Britton abruptly screams as if in agony. It’s even more startling when heard performed live.

“There’s no ‘Kite Pilot sound,'” Britton said. “It’s whatever the song needs, whether it’s classical or jazz elements, or screaming. I listen to a lot of hardcore music. Screaming has a place as a musical tool.”

“The first time he did it, we were shocked,” Todd said. “There’s a lot of personal experimentation going on.”

Especially during their live set. Kite Pilot has garnered a reputation as one of those bands where, on any given night, you never know what you’re in for. The results can be transcendent or downright disorienting.

“We let the songs do what they want to do live,” Britton said. “If something’s lacking, we’ll change the part and do some improvisation.”

The bottom line: They do whatever they want. Which is also how they define their success. Certainly not based on a record contract.

“I’ve known bands that live or die because of a record deal,” Britton said. “They decide they don’t need to do it anymore because they can’t get signed.”

“So many bands get hooked on the industry’s definition of success.” Hanton added. “If they don’t fit that model, they’ve failed. No one ever said, ‘You guys are successful because you didn’t destroy yourselves doing what you love.'”

Kite Pilot hosts a CD release show with Eagle*Seagull and Spring Gun, Saturday, May 6, at Sokol Underground, 13th & Martha. Showtime is 9 p.m. Admission is $7.

Well, Pretty Girls didn’t get Omaha’d. At least not much. Only a handful of the 130 or so on hand at Sokol Underground last night left after Giant Drag finished their set. Giant Drag, by the way, were pretty good. Little frontwoman Annie Hardy came off like a female version of Emo Phillips doing wonky schtick between songs, saying things like “I need more vocals in my monitors,” to the soundguy, then “I like more vocals in my monitors just like Micah likes more cocks in his… monitors.” She needled drummer Calabrese with these little comments all night. I felt like I was watching a husband and wife act in the Catskills circa 1969. Hardy was a tiny little thing, waifish. She looked like she weighed all of 75 pounds with that big ol’ guitar slung over her shoulders. They made the most out of their two-person combo, with Calabrese playing drums and keyboards at the same time — it was quite a feat. With the tiny keyboard somehow strapped to his drumset, he poked out small but potent counter melodies between swings of his drum stick. Talk about leveraging personnel costs. Hardy’s voice was thin as a reed, but enough to push these minimal songs along in a Breeders/Blake Babies/Madder Rose sort of way. Her peep along with her broad guitar tone were enough to fuel a grungy cover of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game.” Nice. When will this parade of two-piece bands come to an end?

Pretty Girls Make Graves came on shortly afterward and only a few people walked out before their set. With their bigger-than-life frontwoman they come off with sort of an arena rock vibe, even though their songs lack whopping-big central hooks. Frontwoman Andrea Zollo is like an indie version of Pat Benatar — less glamorous but just as pouty. The bass was way high in the mix, and after about three songs, I Omaha’d the set, having to get up early this morning.

* * *

Where’s this week’s feature? It’s been incorporated into this week’s column in an effort to give the writer more real estate to work with. Look for it tomorrow, featuring the fine folks in Kite Pilot.

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Pretty Girls Make Graves tonight at Sokol Underground. I’ve spent the last week or so listening to the new Giant Drag CD, Hearts and Unicorns, which came out on Kickball last September. A duo consisting of hot-chick frontwoman Annie Hardy and drummer Micah Calabrese, they most-often are compared to My Bloody Valentine and Jesus and Mary Chain, which doesn’t quite fit the bill for me. I liken them more to NYC’s Madder Rose, a woefully overlooked band who produced some of the more grinding yet introspective music of the early and mid-’90s on Seed/Atlantic (and were amazing live, having played at The Howard St. Tavern during that era). On the slower numbers, Giant Drag sounds like Mazzy Star, with Hardy doing a spot-on Hope Sandoval ape. Should be interesting to see how they pull it off live if, in fact, they perform only as a duo. Hopefully the other opener, The Joggers, will be first up (if you know what I mean). Lets do what we can to ensure that Pretty Girls doesn’t get Omaha’d tonight (though I do have to work tomorrow morning…). $10, 9 p.m.

It’s a busy Tuesday, with O’Leaver’s hosting a hip-hop show tonight as well that includes non hip-hop opener Life After Laserdisque.

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A brief summary of the weekend’s activities:

Friday night at O’Leaver’s, I showed up just in time to catch the last three or four songs by Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin, and was impressed. The buzz around the room was that the band had a song featured on The OC last week, which, of course, means instant status/love/future. What’s the value of a catchy band name? Maybe everything. They may be on their own label now, but they’ll be on someone else’s before the end of summer. One of those change-up bands, they switched positions throughout the set, but no matter the configuration, they came off Weezer-esque (back when Weezer was good, and interesting, and no, I’m not talking about Pinkerton). Next time, probably Sokol Underground. Who knows after that.

The Third men took the opportunity to roll out a shitload of new songs, 5 or 6 of them, along with a Richard and Linda Thompson cover (“Wall of Death” off Shoot Out the Lights) that featured keyboardist/tambourine player Dana Rouch on vocals. The next night I told bass player Mike Tulis that I felt a distinct James Gang vibe coming off the first few songs, and he said everyone in the band has a few of those records in their collection. Joe Walsh would be proud. Everything about them — their music, their stage approach — says they’re doing it because they love doing it, and if you want to come along for the ride, hop aboard. I’m there.

Finally, the Pomonas came on at around midnight. With about half the crowd gone (I guess you could say they got Omaha’d) they ripped right into it. This was the third time I’ve seen them, and they just keep getting better. Friday night’s set emphasized the rhythm section, specifically the bass, whose chores were shared between a couple of guys. The sharp, bouncing bass lines had me asking the lead guy after the set if they’re trying to become the next Rapture (especially on a tune they coined “their disco song”). I like the shared vocals (almost harmonies, almost cheerleading), the consistently great counter guitar lines, and the overall hubris of the whole durn deal. Afterward they gave out copies of their latest CDR to anyone willing to take them. Someone needs to find room for them on their label.

Which brings us to Saturday night and Maria Taylor after having watched The Golden Gloves finals down at the Qwest (the Omaha guy got robbed, by the way). Maria came on at around 11:15 or so, performing in a stripped-down ensemble because of problems with the band’s keyboard. They got it figured out about halfway through the set, which drew heavily from her 11:11 album. Yes, she was in the usual good voice, and the band sounded great, building louder and more intense as the set rolled on, peaking with a “come on stage” version of “Song Beneath the Song” that included accompaniment by none other than Conor Oberst (guess he’s in town now) and members of 13 Ghosts. The 200-plus on hand ate it up.

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A friend of mine has a band that he vehemently denies is alt country even though their twang is undeniable. I bet Spanish for 100 holds that same denial. Though their rhythms are straightforward, mid-tempo fare, the vocals are Wilco-esque and the guitar roar is only missing a pedal steel. In fact, the guitar work here is the most riveting part of the recording. On any given song, the guitar counters the vocals in a preordained sloppy approach, just banging into whatever feels right, off the beat or just behind it. There are a couple songs where the guitars seem to wander off in their own strange angles, pulled (eventually) back into the fold by the rhythm section. The final result is that Spanish has a tightfisted jam band essence about it, especially on “See Now (Live at the Crocodile)” that pulls together all the elements into a crowd-pleasing roar. Go ahead and clap. Produced by the Phil Ek. Rating: Yes.

Column 74: Getting Omaha’d
Don’t let it happen to you…

Here’s something that was left out of my feature on Pretty Girls Makes Graves: Our protagonist, drummer Nick DeWitt, pointed out the following when asked if he’d ever been through Omaha before.

“Oh yeah, we’ve been to Omaha,” he said. “It was at our first show that we played there that we coined a term called ‘getting Omaha’d.’ We played with The Blood Brothers, who insisted on playing before us. They have a way of whipping fans into a frenzy. It’s not much fun following them, and we always made sure that didn’t happen. But that night they insisted that we play last because we were ‘the headliners.’ So the place was full. Then The Blood Brothers played. Then everyone left, and we played to an empty room.”

Translation: They got Omaha’d.

Whether the phrase is catching on (and there’s little evidence that it is), the circumstances it represents are becoming more and more common, especially ’round these parts. Playing last on an evening’s bill often means playing after the band that brought in most of the crowd, and who will likely take that crowd with them when they’re done — to The Brothers for last call.

Marc Leibowitz, half of the dynamic promoting duo known as One Percent Productions along with Jim Johnson, said “getting Omaha’d” isn’t just an Omaha thing. It happens everywhere, mostly to unknown bands that are out on their first tours, like Pretty Girls were when they first blew through town all those years ago. Getting Omaha’d is a rite of passage, a necessary evil that bands must suffer if they ever want to make it to the next level.

Leibs said it rarely happens to bands that target a younger, pre-21 audience — probably because those kids don’t have a bar to go to after their friends’ band finishes their set. Or because they haven’t become jaded scenesters who only go to shows to be seen, to drink, to make contact, to move on.

No band wants to “get Omaha’d.” In fact, bands are now getting wary of playing anywhere but the “sweet spot” of a show — the middle of a three-band bill. Opening spot? Not so good, even though most local shows don’t get rolling until well after 9 p.m. Most people are unwilling or unable to tear themselves away from whatever they had going on earlier in the evening, whether it’s dinner and a movie or their precious “stories” on the glass teat. Playing second is optimum — you get the stragglers, along with those who skate in only to see the headliner, unless of course the headliner was smart enough to take the second spot for themselves, which is becoming more common these days. A show’s band order has become so controversial that at one recent show, a local band refused to play unless they were guaranteed not to play last.

They didn’t want to get Omaha’d… like Des Moines’ The Autumn Project did last Saturday night.

The instrumental trio had the last spot on a show that included local bands Noah’s Ark was a Spaceship, and Father, a deafening, dread-fueled art-noise project that features among its players Clark Baechle and Dapose from The Faint. Sure enough, the crowd kept rolling in throughout the Noah’s Ark set, and peaked right before Father turned off all the lights, turned on a big-screen projector and let loose with 20 minutes of bludgeoning noise that made me feel slightly nauseous afterward (as I’m sure was the intent).

When the lights came up after Father’s disturbing set, everyone headed to the door. The crowd of more than 100 dwindled to around 20 — mostly the bands that played sets earlier in the evening. It was a shame, too, because The Autumn Project was pretty damn good. But what are they gonna do? They got Omaha’d.

I’m trying to figure out other ways to use the phrase in everyday life, outside of the music scene. For example, you show up late to a party, just as everyone is leaving, and have to help empty ash trays and pick up dead beer bottles.

You got Omaha’d.

Or, you arrive late to help someone move to a new house, after the rest of the crew has gone home, leaving you to lift the washer and dryer out of the basement by yourself.

You got Omaha’d.

It means more than just showing up late, it means being left holding the bag. That was also the case for Pretty Girls Make Graves. After they played to a room full of crickets, they were told by the show’s promoter (and no, it wasn’t One Percent Productions) that there was no money to pay them.

“The promoter tried to screw us,” DeWitt said. “We had to take the guy to an ATM to get our money. So for us, getting Omaha’d meant everyone leaving and getting ripped off… almost.”

Let’s hope things go better when they play Sokol Underground next Tuesday. Say, who’s opening that show, anyway?

Just placed online, an interview with Pretty Girls Make Graves drummer Nick DeWitt. Nick talks about Seattle, working with Colin Stewart instead of Phil Ek on their new record, and dangerous lighting equipment (read it here). Among the stuff that didn’t make the cut was talk about Nick’s “project studio” out on Bainbridge Island. “I don’t like that term — project studio. It sounds like it’s a side project. I make stuff out there.” His “stuff” is another music project called Dutch Dub, which he does with friend Amy (no last name given). They’re putting the finishing touches on a new full-length called Night Canopy that’ll be released on Sound Virus Records some time in the near future. The Dutch Dub self-titled debut LP came out in ’05 on Record Collection. And then, somehow, he’ll tour, presumably around Pretty Girls’ touring schedule, that is if he can get a band together. “Maybe it’ll be a one-man-band kind of thing. I’ll tie a tambourine to my foot. Hopefully, down the road, I’ll be able to find a few people to play with me.”

The other part of Nick’s comments that weren’t in this article surface in tomorrow’s column, focused around the concept of “getting Omaha’d.” Tune back then.

Apologies for not updating yesterday — I’ve had a killer schedule. I intended to put something online last night about Spoon’s recent foray into television commercials. So I’m watching the NBA playoffs this weekend and what should come up during a time-out but a nice, long commercial for the new Jaguar XKE. The music, Spoon’s “I Turn My Camera On.” And it wasn’t just incidental background music — it was produced like a rock video prominently featuring the song and tight, quick cuts of a shiny new Jag. The commercial was replayed again about five minutes later, and I immediately thought, ‘Well, there goes that song.”

Look, I think it’s great if Britt Daniel can earn a little extra scratch from Madison Avenue — no problem there. We all got bills to pay. Hey, didn’t Broken Spindles sell a song to use in a recent Lexus ad? The difference, of course, is that the Broken Spindles tune is somewhat obscure, and he could use the exposure — and it just sounds like piano tinkling anyway. The Spoon track was a “single” from Gimme Fiction, is impossible to miss during the ad, and if the commercial gets a lot of airtime (and it probably will) will now forever be identified with that car. I cannot hear Bob Seger’s “Like a Rock” and not think “Chevy Trucks” or Sheryl Crow’s “Every Day is a Winding Road” without thinking “cheesy car commercial.” U2’s “Vertigo” — iPods. And so on. In those cases it doesn’t really matter because I didn’t like the song to begin with. But this winter Ford began using the Peanuts theme for a sales promotion — I had to turn the TV off every time it came on because I grew up loving that little piano tune as a kid and couldn’t stand the idea of it being bastardized (the family of Vince Guaraldi must be mortified). And I liked “I Turn My Camera On.” Not anymore, not if it becomes the official Jaguar theme. Britt, what were you thinking?

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