From a pure concert standpoint, this is one of the best weekends of the year… if you live in Lincoln. Tonight it’s Nine Inch Nails and Moving Units at Pershing; tomorrow night it’s the sold-out Jeff Tweedy show at The Rococo while The Elected and Cocoon (The Todd Fink side project) are at Duffy’s.

The pickin’s aren’t so bad for the rest of us stuck in this iceball called Omaha, except for tonight maybe. The only show worth mentioning is former M.I.J. frontman Jeff Hanson at Sokol Underground with Southerly and Tim Perkins. Hanson’s solo debut, released on Kill Rockstars, was produced by the Mogis Brothers at Presto! And yes, for those of you who remember M.I.J., Hanson’s that guy that sounds like a girl. In fact, his new album sounds like a girl singing Elliott Smith songs. Southerly also keeps with the acoustic, earnest, emo theme. $7, 9 p.m.

Tomorrow night is the bonanza night. At The 49’r you have the No Blood Orphan CD release show, which also features Jake Bellows (Neva Dinova), Microphone Jones, Lee Meyerpeter (Bad Luck Charm) and a number of “surprise special guests.” I suspect this will be a madhouse, as all 49’r shows are. The problem with The 49’r, as I’ve written a million times before, is that there is no place to stand in the venue without being in someone’s way, which makes for one pain-in-the-ass evening. Someone needs to rethink the venue’s set-up for live shows. $3 (or $5, I’m not complete sure), 9:30 p.m.

Meanwhile, just a few blocks away, Outlaw Con Bandana is hosting its album-release show at Don Carmelo’s on 35th and Farnam. How they’ll pull this off in the pizza joint is anyone’s guess, though frontman Brendan Hagberg said it’ll be something to see. Opening the show is none other than Omaha icon Bill Hoover. And you can’t beat the price — it’s free.

Look for a live review or two right here this weekend.

Column 64: Scars for All the Hear
Outlaw Con Bandana has nothing to hide.

Funny thing about the liner notes tucked inside the new Outlaw Con Bandana 12-inch, Life Without Outlaw. The Xerox paper containing the lyrics has been haphazardly trimmed — either accidentally or intentionally — so that some of the words are missing, forcing you to either listen more closely or fill in the blanks yourself.

This column has the same sort of requirements. There are a lot of missing pieces in this story of Outlaw singer-songwriter Brendan Hagberg that are left out mostly on purpose by the request of Hagberg himself, who gave me the details on a background-basis only. Unfortunately, those missing pieces make up the central theme that inspired his new album. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

A chain-smoking Hagberg, along with girlfriend and Outlaw member Pearl Lovejoy Boyd, met me at an almost-empty 49’r Tavern last Sunday afternoon to tell not only the story behind the record, but the story behind this sad-faced, curly-haired son of Woody Guthrie.

It starts at Hagberg’s youth. Growing up in Minneapolis and Omaha, Hagberg joined a class of musicians that includes Conor Oberst, Simon Joyner and Bill Hoover who got their start at the now legendary Kilgore’s on 32nd and California St. (now the Shelterbelt Theater). Hagberg’s debut came at the tender age of 15 as the result of some prodding by Antiquarium records store owner and Omaha music scene patriarch Dave Sink. Hanging with that group of musicians gave Hagberg the big idea that he, too, could be a troubadour.

Music wasn’t his first love. Baseball was. Hagberg had dreams of playing baseball in college, but growing up in a broken home killed the idea. “My dad’s career failed, his marriage failed, and me and my sisters were left without a stable home,” Halberg said. “I wasn’t going to sink, so I headed out on my own, infatuated with beat poets.”

He dropped out of school at age 15 and hit the road on a series of trips that took him to New Orleans, San Francisco, Seattle and points in between, learning about Woody Guthrie and Robert Johnson by busking on the streets in front of St. Peter’s Cathedral. “That’s the music you play if you’re a singer down there,” he said of New Orleans. “I’ve lived there three times over the years. I generally go for about four months before I burn out. It’s a real tough place to stick around.”

He moved back to Omaha in ’98 after having a child with a girlfriend and took on the job of running a baseball club — the Omaha Haymakers. Though only a summer league for college students and washed up big leaguers, it was a chance to stay involved in baseball when he wasn’t out wandering. Finally, after returning from a stint in Europe, Hagberg formed Outlaw Con Bandana with upright bass player Matt Rooney. “Through all that time, I never stopped songwriting,” Hagberg said.

Which brings us to the part of the story that I can’t talk about. The part that inspired Life Without Outlaw. I will say that it’s a story of desperation and futility, harrowing and grim. “I wrote almost all of this record in February of last year,” Hagberg said. “I was writing songs trying to work though (the situation). It’s better than having a rage directed at the people that hurt me.”

So desperate was Hagberg’s circumstances that he said he considered suicide. It’s only very recently that the matter finally came to a conclusion. “I didn’t think I would fall in love or make a record again,” he said. “These things are really surprising. There are some people looking out for me.”

Among them, Ted Stevens of Mayday and Cursive fame, who heard the demos for Life Without Outlaw and signed on to produce the album after Joseph Tingley of Grotto Records agreed to release it. The album, which also features Chris Fischer on drums and a slew of guest performers including Stevens, Dan McCarthy, Pat Oakes and Pete Weimerauner, is one of the best traditional folk recordings to come out of Omaha, driven by gritty lyrics that cut to the heart and bone.

Do you still want to know what happened to Hagberg? Just check out the record, available at the Antiquarium. Or better yet, hear the band perform it at the record release show Feb. 18, 9:30, at Don Carmelo’s on 35th and Farnam. It’s free.

Or just ask Hagberg yourself. He’ll tell you.

“Sometimes you get a scar from a really troubling time,” he said. “This one just happens to be right across my face. It’s not on my belly or somewhere covered up. It’s important to interpret that experience. Letting other people in on it will cast some light on some of the unmentioned tragedies. There’s not a lot on the front page of the paper about recovering deadbeat alcoholics and the falsely accused. I just want a chance to explain what happened. Hopefully people will give me a listen, as opposed to deciding on hearsay.”

One of the ways I originally wanted to approach this feature on No Blood Orphan (read it here) was to talk about the nature of guitar-playing with frontman/guitarist Mike Saklar, a living legend among local musicians. The problem, of course, was that Saklar is way, way too humble to talk about his skills. I commented that he was one of the most versatile ax-wielders in the scene today and he just sort of quietly, shyly said “Thanks” and indicated non-verbally that it was time to move on, that there’s nothing to see here. It’s sort of what I expected. As long as I can remember, Saklar always has deflected any attention to himself, preferring to let his guitar speak for him, and speak well it does.

What Mike was willing to talk about (beyond what’s in the story) was the nature of digital and analog recording. He recorded Your Ship Sales the Seven Seas with NBO guitarist Steve Bartolomei and mastered it at Ant Studios, the name of Saklar’s home studio in Ralston. “The studio is my whole house,” he said. “It’s like a rehearsal studio, we basically practice down there and I try to keep everything miked up all the time. I generally record every practice and we go back and fix things that sound weird.”

For the actual recording sessions, however, Saklar unplugs the computer and plugs in an 8-track tape recorder. “The album was recorded entirely on analog equipment,” he said. “Everything went to tape. I’ve been recording stuff since ’96; actually I started recording albums in ’89 or ’90. If nothing else, I’ve learned the ropes a little bit.”

Why analog? “It just sound better,” he said. “Me and Steve (Bartolomei) talk about this every day. There’s a richness and level of harmonics you can perceive when you compare digital to analog. It’s just different. Seems like a lot of digital recordings can punch you. With analog, you get a cushy low end; everything sounds better.”

“It’s like putting a layer of varnish on the recording,” added keyboardist Chris Esterbrooks. “You’re also hearing the sound of the tape itself.”

Saklar is also becoming a go-to guy when it comes to mastering, having recently handled the mastering chores on new albums by Life After Laserdisque and Landing On the Moon, among others. “I’ve been mastering since Ravine,” Saklar said. “I mastered all my records and a little bit of Ritual Device. It makes sense to me since I feel really close to the music as the engineer.”

Saturday’s No Blood Orphan CD release show at The Niner falls on a busy weekend for shows. The Jeff Tweedy show is the same night in Lincoln, indie band MAE is down at Sokol and Outlaw Con Bandana’s album release show will be going on at Don Carmelo’s on Farnam. More on that band tomorrow.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Sorry about not updating the site yesterday, but I was waist-deep writing a profile on No Blood Orphan (online tomorrow) and a column about Outlaw Con Bandana’s Brendan Hagberg (online Thursday). Lots of interviews last weekend. Not enough shows. I missed Shelley Short and Dan McCarthy. And despite the fact that we’re midway through February, there are still very few mid-week shows on the ol’ rock calendar (not that Valentine’s Day was ever considered a good night for shows anyway). That won’t change until we reach March. Anyway, here are a few newsy things:

— The SXSW website updated their “confirmed band list” last Monday. Still the same Omaha bands as before listed: Criteria, Tilly and the Wall, Broken Spindles, and Neva Dinova. Criteria and Tilly, along with Two Gallants, are part of the combined Saddle Creek/Barsuk Showcase March 16 at the Parish Room. Creek press materials don’t list Neva and Tilly at their showcase but I wouldn’t be surprised if they made a guest appearance. Why Neva? Because Creek finally confirmed to me last week the news that everyone already knows — the label is indeed putting out the next Neva Dinova album. Congrats and welcome to Saddle Creek, fellers.

— MusicOMH has a 4-star review of Two Gallants’ What the Toll Tells. “It’s not really an easy listen, but it is an exciting one, even if the math-rock element seems, as it tends to, a little cold.” Math rock element? Huh? I have yet to hear this, so I can’t comment (where’s my copy, Saddle Creek?). The release date is next Tuesday.

— There’s an item in PopMatters about a new Wrens documentary. The filmmakers apparently tagged along with the band for a year and recorded more than 100 hours of live concert footage and interviews, including with Cursive’s Tim Kasher and Head of Femur’s Ben Armstrong. The time-frame isn’t given, but I don’t remember seeing a film crew at the March 14, 2004, Wrens show at Sokol Underground.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

It was one of the funniest, weirdest moments in O’Leaver’s brief history. Outlaw Con Bandana came on at around 10:45, performing as a trio with frontman Brendan Hagberg, Matthew Rooney on upright bass and Pearl Lovejoy Boyd providing additional vocals. Chris Fischer, who’s listed as a band member on the band’s just-released 12-inch, was curiously absent. The absolutely packed crowd was respectful as Hagberg and Co. launched into a rich acoustic set of rural, turn-of-the-(last)-century-flavored folk ditties. Hagberg has a buttery croon that accentuates his Kerouac-meets-Guthrie road images. More on Outlaw in the near future…

Then came Mi and L’au. Looking like a pair of strung-out Western European refugees, the duo took a seat on stage with Laurent Leclère (the L’au part) quietly plucking his guitar. When I say “quietly,” I mean he was barely touching the strings. O’Leaver’s fell into a silence suitable for funerals and libraries as Mira Romantschuk (the MI part) leaned forward and whispered into the microphone. That’s when the reverence turned into the absurd. Everyone began looking around, startled by the level of silence. So quiet was it that you could hear someone whisper-hiss to Chris the Bartender “Shot of Jaeger please.” The absurdity turned to hilarity when an unassuming couple walked in and said “What’s the cover?” and was met with SHHHH!!! followed by lots of restrained laughter. That’s when everyone in the back of the bar realized how ridiculous the moment had become. We were in frickin’ O’Leaver’s, for God’s sake. The phone of the guy standing next to me suddenly came alive. He fumbled to get it out of his pocket when Chris hissed “Turn that thing off!” The guy answered the cell in normal tone “What’s up dog?” and everyone around breath-hissed in restrained laughter. Remember when you were in church as a kid and your brother or sister got you started laughing and trying to stop only made you laugh harder?

On one level, I was proud of O’Leaver’s and the usually rowdy patrons for showing so much restraint. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but wonder what MI and L’au were thinking playing a bar that only moments early was blaring Van Halen over its jukebox. Laurent knows that their music is a hard-sell in clubs, and says it’s he and Mi’s responsibility to keep the crowd focused. And they did for about two more songs, then people began to talk quietly among themselves again. It got louder but never really to normal O’Leaver’s sound levels. Frankly, it couldn’t or you would not be able to hear a note they were playing up there huddled over their microphones. Their music, which is somewhat monotone and tuneless in the first place, became even more uninteresting by a performance that wasn’t as much restrained as it was just plain strained. It could have been pretty if the music were played and sung with just a little more umph. Instead the duo sounded like they just took an overdose of sleeping pills and decided to slowly pass away together playing their music, not alone but instead surrounded by a roomful of people who didn’t understand what they were singing.

Tonight. Shelley Short with McCarthy Trenching and Steve Bartolomei as Mal Madrigal, though I’m told Steve will be performing solo. At O’Leavers, 9:30 p.m., $5. Leave your earplugs at home.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Gee, I wonder if there’s any interest in Cursive’s new album?

Judging by the enormous amount of traffic to my site yesterday, I’d say that there very well might be. Double the usual hits? Triple? You’re in the ball park. I received an e-mail from O’Leaver’s soundman yesterday afternoon saying that there was to be a repeat “secret” performance last night. I haven’t confirmed this, but I wouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t go, having already heard the set and knowing that I’m going to be spending tonight and tomorrow night at O’Leaver’s. There is such thing as too much of a good thing.

One last comment about Wednesday’s Cursive performance that I forgot to mention yesterday: It didn’t dawn on me until I was in bed with my ears still ringing that Gretta Cohn wasn’t there. Unlike their two-night stand at Sokol Underground last November when the effect of Cohn’s absence was a topic of fervent conversation at the venue that night, Cohn was never mentioned Wednesday, and wasn’t missed in the band’s arrangements. I don’t think having a cello in the middle of these more traditional, more rockin’ songs would have made sense. Plus, there wouldn’t have been enough room on O’Leaver’s dainty stage.

I can almost guarantee that there won’t be any secret Cursive performances at O’Leaver’s tonight. The venue resumes regular programming with the quiet, romantic acoustic music of Mi and L’au and the coffee shop folk of Outlaw Con Bandana. $5, 9:30 p.m. Meanwhile, there’s more folk going on over at Mick’s with Caron Easley and the Gentiles (consisting of Austin Britton and Adam Weaver), along with Brad Hoshaw and Adam Weaver and the Ghosts. If not for Mi and L’au I would be at this show drawn by the sheer attraction of Easley’s myspace tunage — I like her voice and the simplicity of her songs. Maybe if O’Leaver’s ends early I’ll be able to catch it. $5, 9 p.m.

Saturday night at O’Leaver’s it’s Shelley Short w/ McCarthy Trenching and Mal Madrigal. When Chicago singer-songwriter Shelley Short entered the studio to record her latest LP, Captain Wild Horse Rides the Heart of Tomorrow (Hush Records), she brought a few talented friends with her. Among them violinist Tiffany Kowalski (Bright Eyes, Mayday, M Ward), Rachel Blumberg (Decemberists, M Ward), and Andy Rader (Pinetop Seven). The result is a record that switches from shimmering, Tonya Donelly-style haunters to simple Patsy-colored waltzes, all perfectly suited for some fancy two-steppin’. It’s a shame O’Leaver’s doesn’t have a dance floor. $5, 9:30 p.m.

Look for live reviews here in the blog all weekend.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

“We’re going to play 14 songs from our new album.”

And so began last night’s “secret show” at O’Leaver’s featuring Cursive. How secret was it? I was told by a Saddle Creek Records executive that he didn’t even know about it until a few hours before it went down. I found out via an e-mail yesterday morning from Sean, the guy who runs the venue, and was told “It’s a secret. Nothing, zero, zip.” The gig was originally supposed to happen Thursday night. Then later that afternoon I got another e-mail saying it was happening last night instead.

Obviously the word got out, because it was jammed in O’Leaver’s (though to my knowledge, there was never a line to get into this free show). All the usual suspects were there — most of the Creek staff and tons of local band people — past and present. Everyone seemed to know it was a special occasion — will there ever be another free Cursive show at a venue with a capacity of around 100? Unlikely (but I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened again before their next tour).

The set got rolling at around 10:30 and lasted for about an hour. I don’t know if they played 14 songs or not, but everything was brand new… and different.

About three songs before the end, the Creek executive asked what I thought. “It swings,” I said. He laughed, but I wasn’t kidding. Cursive’s new music has a swagger to it not heard on their previous material. By contrast to the usual straightforward, arch, “angular” sound, the new material has an undeniable bounce, a swing, almost as if the band has been listening to a lot of jazz lately. Some songs were distinctly proggy, with breaks and syncopation and the usual breakneck time-changes. But all of it had a big-shouldered strut that felt more relaxed and, quite frankly, funner than the usual furloughed-brow Cursive stuff.

Perhaps he’s always done this, but Ted Stevens handled more lead vocals than I’ve ever noticed before, and I liked it. Kasher, unfortunately, was strapped with a microphone that sounded like a toy, as if he was singing through one of those steel mikes they used to use at the Burger King front counter (Whopper. No Mayo). Don’t ask me what he and Stevens were singing, you couldn’t make out the lyrics in the din. Regardless, the music was profound, an obvious step in a new direction that looks back to an earlier (’80s?) version of punk. Two or three songs sported huge breaks where Kasher whispered into the mike before the band exploded with the usual response. The last song was fueled by a pounding a riff shared by both guitars and bass. Big and brash.

Was last night’s gig an indication of what we’ll get on the next Cursive album? I hope so, but there’s no telling what we’ll hear when the CD rolls out later this year. I remember hearing an early version of The Good Life’s Blackout CD lent to me by a band member. When the record came out six months later, it was completely different. No doubt the same rules apply when it comes to arranging and mixing this CD, which will clearly be the centerpiece of Saddle Creek’s 2006 releases.

* * *

Which brings us to this week’s feature on Mi and L’au (read it here). The quaint European couple roll into O’Leaver’s this Friday night for a quiet acoustic set. I asked Laurent (he’s the L’au half) what he thought of the sometimes-noisy American audiences. “It’s a part of the game,” he said. “You just change when it happens. You have to grab the mood and make them listen. I don’t mind people talking as long as they’re listening. If they come and just talk, I don’t understand why they came. We play a lot of finger-picking and faster songs, so it’s not just quiet (songs). If the patrons complain about us, they would have to complain about folk singers in general.”

I struggle with accents, by the way. Whenever I travel to Europe, my girlfriend has to translate — even for people who speak English. It’s a lot of me going “Huh? I”m sorry?” And her going (in a loud, slow, deliberate voice): “HE’S ASKING YOU IF YOU WANT SOUP OR SALAD.” It happens in London as much as Paris. Anyway, the point is that it was a tough interview, and I’m sure I missed about half of it because I couldn’t make out what he was saying over his cell phone. To illustrate this, here’s more of Laurent’s replay taken directly from my notes: “It’s like usual life. Happens that day and good day. Play many gigs with silent people and people listening to us and even offer us bed and house to stay. My feeling is the kindness and hospitality of people.” See.

* * *

Oh yeah, and the Grammy’s were on last night. Well, if you were following along, you know that my picks (posted yesterday) went awry thanks to U2 (I did manage to get Clarkson and The White Stripes). It would have been more embarrassing had I gotten more of my picks right. The saddest part of the show beyond the overall lack of talent (as I said throughout the evening — If you spend enough money you can even make a turd shine, at least to the eyes and ears of the academy) was poor Sly Stone. If you haven’t seen it you probably already read about what happened. A bent-over Sly, looking regal in a huge white mohawk, stumbled on stage rather disoriented or maybe disinterested, joining the bands during the tribute number. With one hand wrapped up like a cast, he pounded on a huge Korg keyboard and tried singing along a couple times before waving to the crowd and leaving the stage well before the song was over. Steven Tyler almost looked concerned.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Column 63 — And the Winners Are…
Bright Eyes Honored at The Plug Awards

Ah, the Grammy’s.

By the time you read this (the paper is supposed to be distributed on Wednesday) you’ll already know the winners of the 48th Annual Grammy Awards. Or maybe not. Maybe you won’t be watching the broadcast with pulse-pounding anticipation as I will. Yes, I watch the Grammy’s. In fact, I watch all the major award shows — The Oscars, The Golden Globes, The Tony’s, some years when I’ve had too much to drink, I even catch the People’s Choice Awards (I have, however, sworn off any award shows involving MTV by doctor’s orders).

So like a time traveler, I’m writing this column last Monday morning (at 5 a.m., no less), so confident in my amazing clairvoyant abilities that I’m providing the list of winners two days in advance for your perusal.

And the winners are: Bright Eyes, Clap Your Hands and Say Yeah!, Sufjan Stevens, Dangerdoom, Sleater-Kinney, M83, Iron & Wine, Bloc Party and Sub Pop.

Waitaminit. Those aren’t the winners of the Grammy Awards. As a matter of fact, unless I’m mistaken, none of those artists were even nominated! That’s right, those are actually the winners of the 2006 PLUG Awards.

What is PLUG? Well, according to their website, PLUG is a collection of music lovers — writers, DJs, webmasters, bloggers, artists, filmmakers, managers, indie retailers, and most importantly fans — who gather each year to celebrate “the artists who live and flourish in the margins,” whatever that means.

Part of the gathering is the annual PLUG Independent Music Awards, held Feb. 2 at Webster Hall in good ol’ NYC. I know what you’re thinking — just what we need, another awards show. Well, the difference between this one and all the others is that it actually seeks out and recognizes the best of the indie music world, be it rock, rap or experimental. It’s an idea that I always thought would be cool to host in Omaha. After all — Omaha is the center of the indie music world, isn’t it? Wasn’t it?

Presenters at this year’s Pluggies (or whatever they’re called) included Matisyahu, TV on the Radio, El-P, Laura Cantrell, Rob Crowe, and Gang Gang Dance, while performers included The National, Chad Vangaalen, Celebration, Mr. Lif & Akrobatik (The Perceptionists), and Beans w/ Holy F**k. Not a bad line-up.

But like any good awards show, the centerpiece is the awards themselves, and everyone’s favorite Son of the Plains, Conor Oberst, was the big winner, taking home both Artist of the Year and Song of the Year honors for “When the President Talks to God.” Too bad ol’ Conor wasn’t there to accept his awards.

Other winners included:

Album of the Year: Sufjan Stevens, Illinois
New Artist of the Year: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Female Artist of the Year: Neko Case
Male Artist of the Year: Sufjan Stevens
Hip-Hop Album of the Year: Dangerdoom, The Mouse And The Mask
Punk Album of the Year: Sleater-Kinney, The Woods
Electronic/Dance Album of the Year: M83, Before The Dawn Heals Us
Americana Album of the Year: Iron & Wine/Calexico, In The Reins
Indie Rock Album of the Year: Bloc Party, Silent Alarm

Label of the Year honors went to Sub Pop, who indeed had a very good 2005, while Live Act of the Year went to The Arcade Fire. Other categories in which a Saddle Creek band was nominated included Live Act of the Year (Bright Eyes), Male Artist of the Year (Conor Oberst) and Label of the Year (Saddle Creek). Strangely, neither of Bright Eyes’ full lengths was nominated for Album of the Year.

Is there any relevance to the PLUG award? Not really. It’s nice to see some of the best bands in the land of indie get a pat on the back, but none of them are really in it for that, and certainly winning a PLUG award isn’t going to amount to a hill of beans when it comes to album sales. On the other hand, as any music retailer will tell you, winning a Grammy is worth at least a million additional unit sales — just a blip for Maria but more than the combined sales of the last albums by Bright Eyes, Sufjan Stevens and Clap Your Hands…

These days, The Grammy’s are almost universally disappointing, safe and predictable. So much so, in fact, that I will do as I said I would at the beginning of this column. Here are the winners of the top categories, named with blind firmly folded. If I’m wrong, well, you’re laughing at me right now:

Record of the Year: Kanye West, “Gold Digger”
Album of the Year: Maria Carey, The Emancipation of Mimi
Best New Artist: Fall Out Boy
Best Female Pop Vocal Performance: Kelly Clarkson, “Since U Been Gone”
Best Male Pop Vocal Performance: Paul McCartney, “Fine Line”
And last but not least, Best Alternative Album: The White Stripes, Get Behind Me Satan

Now for my next act, I will pull Rob Thomas right out of my…

Here’s a bit of web trolling:

— I can’t tell if this New York Times review of Sunday night’s Jenny Lewis concert in a converted church on the Lower East Side is a pick or a pan. “Unfortunately, rather than projecting gutsy gospel sass, the Watsons’ intermittent ‘ooohs’ remained mostly a ghostly echo. When Ms. Lewis defaulted to her prettiest mode, as on her cowpoke clomper ‘Happy,’ she too disappeared. Her more upbeat songs fared best, accompanied by Rhodes organ and lap steel guitar, and Johnathan Rice’s second guitar. The pub-friendly “You Are What You Love” showcased her near-tears resilience.” Conor was there, as was M Ward, but they didn’t sing “Handle With Care.” Why not? Probably because that’s what the fans wanted to hear.

— Compare and contrast this review of the same Jenny Lewis concert that appeared in SPIN online (interesting how writers of both reviews are women). “The crowd was silently captivated during the performance except for the lone fan who shouted “Great album!” — a comment the singer bashfully acknowledged.” The Times photo is better. So is their review. Better get your tickets to the March 11 Scottish Rites Hall show ASAP.

— Personal writing mentor/guru Robert Christgau has another in his series of Consumer Guide entries in the latest Village Voice (read it here). He likes The Go Team (A-) and the new Neil Young (A-), gives Andrew Bird the “Dud of the Month” (but it still gets a B) and puts last year’s Low album and the new Neil Diamond on the “Duds” list (I disagree about the Low and Diamond dud-ifications. I have the new Neil D. It’s good, but it’s no Jonathon Livingston Seagull).

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

I’ve got 10 minutes over lunch so I thought I’d mention a couple quick things. I didn’t make to any shows this week, even though Saturday was a great night for shows. I blame general malaise. If anyone saw anything worth mentioning over the weekend, by all means give us a brief comment on the Webboard. Next weekend is shaping up to be a good one as well, with Mi and L’au Friday (look for a feature story on the duo online Wednesday) and Shelley Short Saturday — both playing at O’Leaver’s.

I did watch the Superbowl (The Seahawks got robbed) and caught the Stones at halftime. Say what you will about them being in their 60s and Mick being too old to wear a mid-riff T shirt, but the band sounded pretty good, especially on their new song, which accentuated their strengths — i.e., Keith, Charlie and Ronnie. Mick didn’t sound bad, just a bit froggy… and old.

I also caught Prince on SNL. His guitar work on the first number was (shall I say it?) Hendrix-esque. His vocals also have become Hendrixian in that he sounded more like he was talking than singing. The second song, a duet with a woman I’ve never seen before, sounded sloppy. Much more interesting is Prince’s new single, “Black Sweat,” which may be the best song he’s released since “Sexy MF.” You can see the video here. Wonder if the rest of his upcoming release, 3121, is as good.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—