Weak draw last night for Ester Drang. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. With a weekend full of shows, people have to pick and choose carefully, and something has to lose. So there I was with about 30 people watching one of the better sets I’ve seen down at Sokol in quite a while. Ester Drang managed to do something that few bands do well. They used electronics to replicate the strings and horns on their CD in a way that didn’t sound cheesy or made-up. The mix blended the prerecorded orchestra tracks via Powerbook seamlessly with the live musicians, which included one guy who switched between keyboards and guitar throughout songs without missing a beat. The result was a lush, earthy, atmospheric sound that would make any Radiohead, Coldplay or Roxy Music fan nod in appreciation. The other thing they pulled off was effectively using AV equipment. How many times have you seen bands project video on a whitescreen during their performance only to distract or confuse the audience? Not with these guys, probably because a band with this much cinematic flair in their music has to live, eat and breathe the movies. Their footage appeared to be entirely drawn from film — not digitally created on the Mac. All black-and-white, the images subtly supported every nuance heard on stage. The genius moment was when they used footage from High Noon — cropped scenes of a self-conscious Gary Cooper looking stern and unafraid — to enhance their spiraling, dustbowl epic “Hooker with a Heart of Gold.” Inspired. Though they sounded remarkable, the four-piece didn’t look like they were having a very good time up there, never once cracking a smile. Or maybe that’s just their style.

Tonight: Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins at The Scottish Rite Hall. This is a sold-out, general admission “sit-down” show, and I’m told that if you, in fact, want to get a seat you better get there relatively early or else you’ll be forced to stand in a small area in front of the stage (which, to be honest with you, sounds like the place I’d want to be anyway). Parking could be a challenge as the Omaha Press Club is having their annual grid-iron show at The Rose tonight. There should be a parking garage open nearby if you can’t find a place to park on the street. The hall is located at 202 S. 20th St. (20th & Douglas). The show starts at 8 p.m. and is sold out. So for those who didn’t get tickets, keep driving south to Sokol Underground where Criteria is playing tonight with Thunderbirds Are Now! and Rahim. $7. And I forgot to mention yesterday that there’s also a show at O’Leaver’s tonight: The Terminals and The Blind Shake. For whatever reason, the O’Leaver’s myspace site says this one starts at 8 p.m. (The usual start time is 9:30).

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I’ve heard they’re all the rage down in Lawrence. I was told last night that a certain Omaha record label had looked long and hard at them a year or so ago, but missed out to Jagjaguwar. I can see why they’d be interested. To me, The Minus Story sounded like a slightly more indie version of Now It’s Overhead, probably because vocalist Jordan Geiger has the same nasal high-end delivery as Andy LeMaster. Their opening song was a bit of a dud, but they only got better as their set went on. I’m a bit reticent about saying more because I wasn’t really in the mood for their style of dreamy/indie/pseudo-psychedelic rock, or maybe I’m just getting tired of the drone. They’re probably better than I give them credit for (Hey, Jagjaguwar doesn’t sign slouches).

Oakland’s The Heavenly States, an upbeat 4-piece ensemble that prominently features violin on most songs, were unbelievably entertaining. If pushed for comparisons, Spoon or Dismemberment Plan comes to mind, but neither really fits. Leader Ted Nesseth plays a left-handed guitar and sports a wicked phrase (for whatever reason, his vocal phrasing sometimes reminded me of Phil Lynott). His between-song patter is also some of the funniest stuff I’ve ever heard on stage. The motor behind their sound, however, is their rhythm section anchored by Jeremy Gagon on drums, a veritable dynamo that keeps it simple and keeps it moving. Violinist/keyboardist Genevieve Gagon blew me away as well. I picked up a copy of their new CD, Black Comet, and while the songs were just as good, the mix sounded muddy and unfocused — it just didn’t pop from my speakers the way this band popped from the stage.

Column 67: My New Laugh
The Protoculture are back

It was 1997 or ’98, I don’t remember which, but it was definitely one of those times when Omaha’s music scene was curving downward oh so slightly. A number of good bands had broken up or simply quit. Nothing interesting seemed on the horizon. Not yet.

So I made my usual trek down to the Antiquarium to see Dave Sink. I could always count on Dave to load me up with hope in the form of amazing records that I wouldn’t have heard otherwise. It was Dave that introduced me to Mousetrap. It was Dave that explained Simon Joyner. It was Dave that slid a copy of his Frontier Trust 7-inch into my record pile.

Things were different this time around, though. Dave didn’t have much to recommend. “It all sounds like crap to me,” he said, clearly uninspired by the latest efforts, be they from Omaha or points far away. “Except for this.”

He handed me a 7-inch with a black and white sleeve by a band called The Protoculture. “You may want to check these guys out,” he said. And so, I took the record home and played it. And played it and played it.

The single, “Driving a Stolen Car on a Borrowed Road” b/w “My New Laugh” was a revelation. The sound combined the ominous detached pop of early Talking Heads with the tense, post-hardcore posture of Fugazi and the volatile dissonance of Polvo. At the chorus (if you can call it that) three angry voices screamed “My new laugh will kill your smile.” Pure genius.

I was writing about music for one publication or other at the time, and realized I’d found the next band that I wanted to write about. So I called Dave, asking how I could get in touch with The Protoculture. “You’re too late,” he said. “They’re done.”

I never got to see them play live. And from the sound of it, not too many others did, either. But that’s about to change. The original line-up of Clayton Petersen, guitars/vocals; little sister Erica Petersen, bass/vocals, and Koly Walter, drums/vocals, are at it again. Last weekend I finally got my interview with the band over coffee at The Blue Line. I had my copy of the 7-inch in hand, and told them what a poppy, angsty, angular masterpiece it was. They just smiled.

One of the reasons The Protoculture called it quits in the summer of ’98 was that they weren’t feeling the love, from anyone. “We never realized people actually liked us,” Walter said. “We had shows at The Cog Factory and we played with The Faint at Sokol, and no one showed up, maybe because when we moved to Omaha, we didn’t know anyone.”

The band formed in ’96 in Kearney, where all three attended college. They moved to Omaha a year later and tried to establish themselves playing with bands like Bright Eyes, Opium Taylor and Simon Joyner. In the end, though, they never drew a following. A year later, and it was over. Clayton got married and wound up working as a financial analyst at First National Bank, where he is today. Walter said after the breakup he spent months in solitude, working at M.J. Java and reading Russian novels until he landed a gig at McMillan Magnet school doing what he still does today — teaching 7th Grade World Cultures. Erica also fell into seclusion. Turning down an offer to join The Faint, she focused on playing guitar and performing music solo. She eventually joined Son, Ambulance, and later, formed Kite Pilot with the guy who would become her husband, Todd Hanton.

And that would have been the end of the story, except that in the middle of their brief two-year history The Protoculture got together with A.J. Mogis at Whoop Ass Studio in Lincoln and recorded five songs. Two would end up on that single I bought from Dave Sink, followed a few months later by another self-released single, “Cloud Named Girl” b/w “Condescendence.”

A copy of the first single found its way on Clayton’s kids’ Fisher-Price record player. “The kids would play the record and sing along to ‘My New Laugh,’ and I started thinking about those old songs and how we needed to write the final chapter,” he said. “I figured we’re all here in Omaha. Why not?”

Erica had the same idea, and the two began bombarding Walter with emails at McMillan. Last November they began practicing in Erica’s basement. “It all came back with surprising ease,” Clayton said.

So did the songwriting. In January, the band recorded three new songs in Erica’s basement with husband Todd behind the board. The plan calls for releasing the new material, along with tracks from the two singles and the fifth unreleased song from the Whoop Ass sessions.

And on March 19 at O’Leaver’s, after waiting for eight years, I’ll finally get to see The Protoculture perform live. I won’t be alone. In their absence, the band has become something of a legend among local music followers. I tell them this and can see by the look on their faces that they’re not buying it. “At least our parents will be there,” Clayton said, “and my wife.”

Oh my, are they in for a surprise….

Online here now, a new interview with Ester Drang’s James McAlister (read it here). James talks about the band’s lush, orchestrated sound, being on Jade Tree, the band’s near-fatal van accident, and the live show they’re bringing to Sokol Underground this Friday night. There was little from the interview left out of the story. Interestingly, Ester Drang is constantly touted for being from Oklahoma, even by the band itself — they still call themselves a Tulsa band — when in fact they’ve lived in Seattle for a while now. McAlister said there’s probably more of a San Francisco influence to their new album than Tulsa considering most of it was recorded there at Tiny Telephone studios. The Oklahoma thing, he said, is a reporter’s hook… sound familiar? I will be surprised if the band can pull off their lush sound live as well as McAlister says they will.

The same can be said for the 7-piece Anathallo, which plays tonight at O’Leaver’s. I’m listening to Floating World, their latest on Nettwerk, as I type this — it’s big, with tons of keyboards and horns, very theatrical, reminds me a bit of Sufjan Stevens what with its hand claps, foot stomps and multiple harmonies. This could be a very cool show. Get there early. The beautiful acoustic splendor of Lincoln’s Tie These Hands (here’s their myspace) is opening. $5, 9:30 p.m.

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Sorry for the lack of an update yesterday, I was busy writing an interview with Ester Drang, that’ll be online tomorrow, and a column on The Protoculture, that’ll be online Thursday. On top of that, I also got a nasty head cold. And on top of that, I have jury duty this week. What other disasters can befall me? I probably wouldn’t have written an update yesterday anyway since I didn’t have anything to write about. With The Crud slowly creeping over me, I didn’t go to any shows last weekend. I hope to god this pestilence has passed by later this week, when we’ll all be swallowed up in a tidal wave of shows. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with a judge… I sure hope they let me listen to my iPod in there…

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The hand-scribbled message on the paper lying next to the cash register said it all: SOLD OUT. As in the room was at capacity. As in as soon as I said my hellos and turned the counter I was met with a wall of humanity. I didn’t realize how popular these bands were. I guess a lot of people watch The O.C. Let me start by throwing some roses before I pick up a turd. Rogue Wave was impressive, much better than when I saw them back in January of ’05, back when they were just another one of those bands riding the retro tip along with The Shins and New Pornographers and the various Elephant Six projects. They don’t sound anything like that anymore (I confess to not having heard their most recent album). They seemed to have evolved into Death Cab for Cutie, but with denser, more haunting (and more interesting) arrangements, not at all what I was expecting.

And maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t been down to Sokol in a long time — my ears seemingly having adjusted to the meager PA at O’Leaver’s — but the sound last night was just plain terrific, as good as I’ve ever heard in that smokey basement. Give credit to the sound guy, but give credit to the bands whose performances were clearly were honed and ready to make the most out of what they had (Christ, the drums from both bands were thunderous). Between sets the roadies set up large parabolic mirrors on stage — five of them — just like the ones used in grocery stores and convenient marts to keep an eye on shoplifters. The huge round mirrors mounted on stands were pointed at the crowd and made for an interesting visual (What is it about mirrors that make a room look bigger?). And so, with the stage set and after a prolonged (20 minutes?) break between bands, on came Nada Surf, and what can I say? They sounded good, I guess, but ultimately, well, kind of boring. I like The Weight Is a Gift, their new album, but live, for whatever reason (maybe I just wasn’t in the mood; maybe it lacked the record’s earnest dynamics), it felt flat. All’s I could think of was how much they reminded me of those bands I remembered from the ’90s — bands like Goo Goo Dolls and Soul Asylum and Trip Shakespeare and Matchbox Twenty and maybe, most of all, Gin Blossoms. Don’t get me wrong, they were doing what they do as well as they could (though the guitar parts seemed empty, evidence of the overdubs they must have used on their albums to compensate), I just got the feeling I’d heard it before, probably on the radio circa 1995, or on a television commercial circa now.

Moving on…

The weekend’s looking a might-bit thin. Tonight, O’Leaver’s has folk-rock outfit Goodbye Sunday and The Pendrakes. $5, 9:30 p.m. (Why not?). And that’s…it. Nothing stands out for Saturday or Sunday. And maybe that’s okay, because next week there are multiple worthy shows every night. Get some sleep, save your money. You’ll need it.

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Plead as they may, Voxtrot couldn’t get them to come on up and dance last night at O’Leaver’s. Had nothing to do with the music, which was certainly made for dancing — poppy and loose, their arrangements were deceptively simple for a five-piece. If you closed your eyes you’d think you were listening to a trio, but there was a second guitarist tucked in the back and a guy that played keyboards here and there. Occasionally bands define themselves by the cover songs they play, or how they play them. Last night Voxtrot covered Talking Heads’ “Heaven,” a laid-back, shimmering, hangover track that throbs with the same hazy angst felt while driving home alone after a late-night party, one of my favorite Heads’ tracks. Voxtrot reinvented it as a peppy back-beat pogo song, kicky and fun-loving house-dance fare. Lite. A perfect analogy for all their music — hopeful love songs with snappy-patter percussion and shuffle rhythm guitar. Lots of smiles. Fun indie pop that means no harm. Simple. Nothing wrong with that.

Kite Pilot opened sounding as good as ever, though I noticed less trumpet during last night’s set. Trumpeter/keyboardist Todd Hanton said that was by design. Fact is, he can’t play keyboards and trumpet at the same time. Regardless, he came through with the brass on the back-half of the set, and the band finished with a new song that pop-pop-popped as well as anything from their records. A new guitar player even joined them on a couple songs. No idea if he’s a permanent addition or not. If you’re kicking yourself for missing them last night, don’t worry. They’re playing at O’Leaver’s again March 19 with The Protoculture (yes, that Protoculture). More on that show in the coming weeks.

Tonight: Nada Surf at Sokol Underground. This should be a good one. NS drummer Ira Elliot said expect to hear most of The Weight Is a Gift as well as songs from their first two albums. “It’s a pretty straight-up rock show,” he said. “It’s been running an hour and a half to two hours long. We cover lots of ground.” Two hours? That’s arena rock-show length. A lot of people will be there just to see their tour mates, Rogue Wave. Other opener Inara George (daughter of Little Feat’s Lowell George) sounds exactly like Suzanne Vega (who I adore). It’s gonna be a long night. $12, 9 p.m.

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Column 66: Being Alone Together
The art of flying solo.

I was trying to put my finger on why I don’t like going to shows at The 49’r and finally figured it out last weekend.

I swung by at around 11 p.m. Saturday night to catch Past Punchy and the Present — the band I wrote about here last week — but they started early and I was too late and I only caught the last couple songs of their set (which I dug, by the way. Seek out this band whenever it pops its head out of its rabbit hole). A few minutes after they finished their set, I turned around and left. Total time at the Niner (after paying $5 cover and $5 for beer (with tip)) — 15 minutes. No, there’s nothing wrong with The Niner per se — in fact, I’m quite fond of the bar. The staff is first-rate, their PA has never sounded better, the vibe is laidback and fun. No, it’s something else, something ridiculous.

Look, I knew when I started listening to indie music 20 years ago that going to shows was going to be a problem. The genre is underground by its very nature. Friends who I grew up with listening to Zeppelin and Floyd aren’t interested in seeing bands they’ve never heard on the radio. And though my girlfriend likes indie music (almost) as much as I do, she’s physically incapable of staying awake past 11 o’clock (especially on school nights), effectively taking her out of the equation since most indie rock shows don’t start until 10. Add it all together and it meant that I had to get used to going to shows alone. It wasn’t easy.

There are three activities (not including those defined in the bible as “sins”) that just seem strange doing by yourself: Attending movies, eating at fine restaurants, and going to rock shows. Call it the “Loser Syndrome,” most people have deep-seated insecurities about being seen at social events without companionship. No one wants to be thought of as being friendless. But chances are, if you love indie music, indie films or adventurous dining, you’re gonna have to get over it or suffer a future of cheesy cover bands, knife-kill horror flicks and flavorless chain-restaurant dining.

Let’s start with the movies. You want to see “Transamerica” or “The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada” or Film Streams’ indie movie of the week at The Joslyn. Your friends want to see “Date Movie” or “Saw VII” or whatever piece of shit Julia Roberts is starring in this week. It’s a dilemma; because you’re never going to talk them into seeing “your movie.” You either go alone or wait for it to come out on NetFlix. You’re better off just showing up at the theater about five minutes after the start time and taking a seat in the back. If you’ve never gone to the movies by yourself, it’s pretty weird the first time. But once the film starts, you quickly realize that it doesn’t matter if you’re with someone or not — you’re inside the film’s world now. And when the lights come up afterward, you’ll wonder why you ever cared about going alone in the first place.

Movies are easy. Dining alone, well, that’s another story. The Food Channel is creating a culture of “foodies” who want something more than the usual prefabricated pound o’ flesh served at the neighborhood Chili’s or Appleby’s or The Outback (where, for whatever reason, everything must be smothered in cheese). Good luck, however, getting your crew to eat at, say, an Indian restaurant or — god forbid — Thai. Everyone remembers the “Table for One” scene from Steve Martin’s “The Lonely Guy” where, once seated alone, the restaurant falls silent and a spotlight blares on Martin as a team of waiters clears the other three settings off the four-topper. His solution: Pretend to be a food critic on assignment. My solution: Forget about dinner and go to your restaurant-of-choice at lunchtime, when you’ll be surrounded by a sea of one-toppers. An added bonus: Entrées will cost about a third less.

OK, so what about rock shows.

Is there a comfortable way to go see a band by yourself without feeling like a dork? The task is daunting, but it can be done. Sokol Underground is so dark that once you get in and get your beer no one will see you. Most people at O’Leaver’s are so drunk that they can’t see anything at all. And just like at the movies, no one notices anything after the band starts. There’s really nothing to be afraid of.

It’s between sets that can be weird. At Sokol you can hang out in the back; at O’Leaver’s, just turn your attention to whatever game’s on the television sets. But the Niner, well, there’s simply no place to hide. Just like the guy at the party who doesn’t know anyone, no matter what you do you’re gonna feel like a freak as you stand in everyone’s way waiting for the next band to start.

That leaves you with two options: You can do what I did and just turn around and leave like a wuss, or you can just stand there and wait uncomfortably until the next band starts.

Actually, there’s a third choice. You could — god forbid — actually talk to someone — preferably someone else who looks as uncomfortable as you. Suddenly, you know someone else at the show. And then another, and another. And before you know it, you’re a full-fledged scenester!

On second thought, maybe you should just go home.

By contrast, the six-piece Voxtrot was a tight, slightly retro pop-rock explosion. The guy next to me said they sounded like a straight-up Elephant 6 band. I can see that. They reminded me more of fellow Austin band Spoon, what with their handclaps and keyboard, though you could argue that Voxtrot’s music is even poppier. The key to their success is the rhythm section — a ridiculously tight drummer who cracked the whip as well as anyone I’ve heard at O’Leaver’s (and that includes the guy from The Silos). The set was slow out of the gate, with flaccid, overcomplicated songs, but as the night wore on, their music got simpler, and better, creating a tight core between the vocalist, keyboards and rhythm section (by the way, the bassist played a bass that looked exactly like the one Paul McCartney played and everyone seemed to notice — he also had McCartney’s hair circa 1964). Before long, there were about a half-dozen hipsters dancing in front of the band (sizable, when you consider only about 40 were there to begin with). By the end of the night, Voxtrot won over the tiny crowd, and I can see why they’ve been selling out shows on this tour.

This being a pseudo drinking holiday, you’d expect at least a few shows going on tonight. Nada. I guess Omaha started lent a little early this year. The rest of the week is dominated with shows: Voxtrot and Kite Pilot tomorrow; Nada Surf on Thursday (the weekend, on the other hand, is looking a might bit thin).

Those who might be wondering, I did go to the Past Punchy and the Present show Saturday night at The 49’r. My quick exit will be discussed ad nauseum in this week’s column, which will be online either tomorrow or Thursday, depending on the amount of news worth passing on (No feature article this week, drat it). Suffice to say, what little I saw of Past Punchy was revelatory. I missed almost their entire set. Unsure of when the band was supposed to go on, I took a shot in the dark and missed, only catching the last two songs. Thornton Will was seated behind the trap set wearing a New York Yankees stocking cap (apparently it was stocking cap night, as Kyle Harvey and Alex McManus also wore them) while Thornton Bob was right out front in a suit. An apparently exhausted Reagan Roeder played seated on one of the steps. These guys make a big messy noise that is undeniably catchy. In a certain way, the ensemble had the same loose garage-band vibe of Crazy Horse but with punk overtones. I managed to catch the entire final song, an odyssey of dynamics that saw the band rise and fall from verse to verse — loud than quiet than loud — with the audience fooled at least twice into thinking the song was over when it wasn’t. Dynamics and momentum are the lifeblood of this band. Listening to them is like watching them run madly across the surface of a frozen lake only to stop all at once and lean back in their shoes, sliding forward almost to halt before taking off again in an all-out sprint. Something tells me that Bob is the type of guy that likes to gun it then hit the brakes in his car just to see his passengers lurch forward and back in their seats. There was a lot of that going on in the Niner last Saturday night. Here’s hoping they play again in the near future so I can hear their entire set.

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That’s it. I’m not going to post CD reviews the day before a band’s CD release show anymore. Makes me look like an idjit.

Yesterday I said Life After Laserdisque’s new disc reminded me of Blood Sweat and Tears, which it does at times. Then I go see them live and they sound nothing like BS&T. In fact, they sounded nothing like their CD. Good thing nobody reads this blog. LAL just sorta tossed out most of the retro posing and amped up the modern edges at last night’s O’Leaver’s gig. The arrangements were more uptempo than on the record, with brash guitar and keyboard lines glowing at new angles to a sound that bordered on post-punk prog rock. Still, there was plenty of jam-band stuff going on, including probably the first drum solo I’ve seen since my concert-going days at the Civic Auditorium. There was even a blitzed guy in the audience that looked like Trey Anastasio doing a pseudo hurdy-gurdy dance — it doesn’t get more hippie than that. Frontman John Klemmensen looked relaxed belting out his yodel-like vocals all evening, pulling the capacity audience into a fun-loving party stance — yeah, this is one of them “good-time bands.” Xtra-special features included a video reel that played on the plasma TV — a conglomeration of stuff that included a hilarious safety video (Safety Only Takes a Second), an NBA slam-dunk contest, martial arts demonstrations and a long sequence from a cheesy horror flick that just seemed to go on and on and on.

Opener Landing on the Moon played a relaxed set in preparation of a mini-tour that takes them to Denver tonight and Lincoln tomorrow. The evening was also the unveiling of O’Leaver’s upgraded PA. Sure enough, mounted from the ceiling were two big, beefy JBL speakers. The overall sound was indeed better, fuller, etc., but the vocals still sounded somewhat awful. The mikes were an ongoing topic of discussion throughout the evening. Was it the microphones themselves? Some said yes, but almost everyone pointed to how the microphones were wired into the PA. Theories varied. Look, I don’t know anything about the science of sound engineering, all’s I know was that the vocals sounded like they were coming out of a megaphone. Not good, but once they get that figured out, O’Leaver’s sound will have entered the big leagues where it belongs.

Tonight, Past Punchy and the Present at The 49’r with Midwest Dilemma and The Ointments. $5, 9:30 p.m. Expect an over-capacity crowd. Look for me. I’ll be the guy standing in your way.