Column 168: Minor Threat
Arguing for all-ages venues.

At issue is an ordinance introduced by City Councilman Jim Suttle a couple weeks ago that would create a new category of businesses called “music venues.” The ordinance would allow these designated bars to admit minors as long as the bars followed security measures, including having wristbands for those 21 and older and serving alcoholic and nonalcoholic drinks in different glasses.

The ordinance was discussed at a City Council meeting two weeks ago. Among those speaking in favor were Matt Oberst (Conor Oberst’s father), David Jacobson (the father of Film Stream’s Rachel Jacobson, who also is an attorney representing Slowdown and the Waiting Room in the matter), Jason Kulbel (Saddle Creek Records executive and co-owner of Slowdown) and Marc Leibowitz (co-owner of One Percent Productions and The Waiting Room).

Their arguments are obvious to local music fans: Omaha’s world-renowned music scene was created by a bunch of kids who grew up watching bands perform at all-ages shows. To prevent the next generation from seeing these shows because they take place in bars (rather than halls) would be a tragic blow to the continued growth of the local arts and music scene.

Among those speaking against the ordinance were members of Project Extra Mile (PEM), a group formed to fight underage drinking. Their chief concern: What would stop an adult from pouring alcohol into a minor’s cup at one of these bars? That, and the notion that it would be wrong to allow minors to mingle with adults drinking in public.

At this point, the councilmen already have made up their minds. They either see the ordinance’s obvious benefits, or see it as another wrong-headed opportunity for bars to get their hooks into the innocent minds of our youth. As one of the councilmen put it, surely if this music is as good as the proponents say it is, it can survive at venues that don’t serve alcohol, right?

Councilman Suttle knew that the ordinance wouldn’t pass in its original form, so he moved the vote — originally slated for last Tuesday — to this Tuesday in hopes of reaching a compromise that more councilmen could support. Maybe it’s a change from “all ages” to 16- or 18-and-older. According to the Omaha World-Herald, Councilman Franklin Thompson “is concerned with how the city can keep businesses that aren’t serious about music from qualifying under the new ordinance as a way to get minors in the door.” In other words he’s “worried that unscrupulous bar owners will attempt to turn their businesses into music venues as a way to skirt the existing law,” the story said.

This is where we indie music fans are guilty of wearing blinders. We only think of Slowdown, The Waiting Room and Sokol when we think of this ordinance. We forget that it would apply to all the bars in Omaha, not just the ones we frequent. We know that the folks who run “our” bars are honest, trustworthy, ethical people who will enforce the ordinance’s restrictions with an iron fist. In fact, we’ve already seen it. These bars have been hosting all-ages shows since they opened a year ago and have never been ticketed. For anyone who knows them, the idea of these owners allowing minors to drink in their establishments is, to say the least, amusing. Have you ever met a more paranoid bunch of people? I haven’t.

Although I don’t have any children (that I know of), I can say with confidence that I’m comfortable with any of my underage nieces and nephews seeing shows at these bars, and could recommend them to my friends and co-workers who have underage kids.

But, ironically, the bars that are pushing for the ordinance aren’t the ones in question.

How would bars like Glacier, The Arena or Chrome Lounge be classified? They host live music in the form of cover bands on weekends, but are known more as pick-up joints than music venues. Suddenly parents wouldn’t be as concerned about their underage daughters getting drunk as much as their daughters getting hit on by a 21-year-old horn-dog.

Still, I can’t imagine a place like Glacier ever wanting to admit anyone under 21. Minors are bad for the bar business, even if they pay extra at the door. They don’t get drunk, and bars make money off drunks.

The only solution to Thompson’s concern would be for the City Council to grant “music venue” status on a case-by-case basis, similar to how they grant liquor licenses. I’m not sure how that would work.

Anyway, this is the part in the column where I tell you to Google “Omaha City Council” for the contact information and write your councilman and make your voice heard. Will it make a difference? It can’t hurt.

You may want to point out that the current ordinance allows kids to go bowling or to hockey games at Qwest or Royals games at Rosenblatt — all places that serve booze in the presence of minors in a far less restricted fashion than the new ordinance allows.

But they already know that.

Or you may want to point out that kids who really want to drink, are going to drink. They’ll get their booze from somewhere. The only place they’re likely not going to get it is, well, at Slowdown or The Waiting Room.

But they already know that, too.

Or you may want to point out that not passing the ordinance will take away one more thing for kids to do on a Friday and Saturday night, in a city that is painfully at a loss for things for kids to do.

They don’t want to know that.

SAVE ALL AGES SHOWS IN OMAHA. Email the Omaha City Council and sign our petition by Monday, April 14.
Info available at theslowdown.com. Please tell all your friends. Thanks.

Column 167: New York Minuet
Searching for sound in the city.

I spent last week in New York, and had intended to write a column about the vast, exciting world of music swaddled within the dark nightclubs of a city that never sleeps.

Unfortunately, I never made it to any clubs, which kind of puts a damper on the whole column idea. What happened?

There are dozens and dozens of music venues in New York. The best ones all seem to be located in the once-seedy area called the Lower East Side (LES), just a handful of subway stops below the Empire State Building. When I visited New York a few years ago (on the exact day of the infamous eastern seaboard blackout) I took the 6 train from the glimmering clean streets north of Times Square and south of Central Park down to LES in search of a club called Sin-é.

I emerged from the urine-scented subway surrounded by high-rise housing projects and people angrily pushing shopping carts loaded with empty aluminum cans. The cart pushers glared at me with suspicion as I unfolded a subway map, vainly trying to locate Attorney St., their heads encrusted in dried sweat under wool stocking caps, out of place in the August heat.

I never found Sin-é. I did find the Mercury Lounge and Katz’s Deli before heading back underground to the 6 Train uptown and the embrace of a thousand street vendors selling knock-off Fendi hand bags and Rolex watches.

Five years later and the Lower East Side has changed. The army of bent-over street people has been replaced with sunglasses-wearing urban hipsters, their hair mussed and tussed just so, faces framed by colorful knotted scarves tied over jet-black pea coats. There were urban hipsters on the LES years earlier, but I never really noticed them. Last week’s walk along Houston St. was like a runway show for American Apparel’s fall/winter collection, with all the girls dressed either as tortured ’80s art school punks or Holly Golightly stand-ins. If I looked like a tourist five years ago it was because I was dressed too well in my jeans and hoodie. If I looked like a tourist last week it was because I was dressed too slovenly in my jeans and hoodie.

In an effort to find something musical to write about (this is a music column, after all), I mapped out all the records stores in Manhattan. Other than Virgin and Barnes and Noble, there aren’t many north of 14th St.

But a quick walk through Other Music on 4th St. and I realized there was nothing here that I hadn’t seen in Omaha — bins of CDs and a small selection of used vinyl. There was no way I was going to buy anything and haul it back on the plane, so I looked to see how well Omaha was being stocked in the bins. I found a single copy of Cursive’s Happy Hollow and a copy of The Faint’s Danse Macabre (I didn’t bother looking for Bright Eyes). No Ladyfinger, no Little Brazil, no Tilly and the Wall.

That scene was repeated at a couple other stores, most of them tiny with limited stock. It took me a half-hour to find The Sound Library way down on Orchard St., and when I did, the shop was shuttered on a Friday afternoon.

For music, that left live shows, but a glance through Time Out New York (which along with the Village Voice is the best guide to what’s happening) revealed nothing worth risking a late-night ride alone on a subway. The Heavenly States, a jangly, fun indie band from Oakland, was doing a three-night stand at Pianos on Ludlow St. But the States are slated to play at The Waiting Room in May with Head of Femur.

It reminded me why I don’t go to the South by Southwest Festival in Austin. Every year around March, SXSW comes along, and every year I’m offered a free all-access pass by The Reader. But when I see the list of bands, I’m always compelled to just stay home. All the best acts either have been to Omaha or soon would be. Why spend a thousand dollars in air and lodging to wait in line for bands I can see in the comfort of The Waiting Room or Slowdown, venues with better sound and sight lines, and that are certainly bound to be less crowded?

The same holds true for New York and Lower East Side clubs. I could take a subway and wander the streets with a map looking for the venue (or take a $20 cab to the club) just to see a band that will be in Omaha in a few weeks. After a day of walking, it just didn’t seem worth it.

Instead, I spent last week watching the Knicks at The Garden, “Spring Awakening” at Eugene O’Neill Theatre, “Cool School” at Cinema Village and eating, eating, eating.

There were, however, two musical memories that stood out: The continued deification of Sinatra and swing, heard in almost every bar and restaurant like a desperate attempt to hold onto a stereotype of a city that passed away 50 years ago. And the ubiquitous subway and street buskers playing for your spare change — everything from a small stringed symphony to a guy with a guitar — it’s an ever-present soundtrack trying to be heard above the traffic and train brakes.

I love New York, its streets, parks, buildings and subways, and I’ll be going back again, probably this fall. But not for the music.

First off, thanks to everyone who sent suggestions for my trip to Manhattan last week. Most revolved around dining, and resulted in a trip to Thai Me Up on East 14th St. and the Doughnut Plant at 379 Grand St. in the Lower East Side. I’ll recap the trip tomorrow in this week’s column.

A few newsy notes from my inbox:

There’s a story in today’s OWH about yesterday’s Omaha City Council meeting where a proposed ordinance was introduced by Councilman Jim Suttle that would create a new category of businesses called “music venues.” The ordinance would allow these designated bars to admit minors as long as they followed security measures including having wristbands for those 21 and older and serving alcoholic and nonalcoholic drinks in different glasses, according to the OWH. Among those speaking for the ordinance were Matt Oberst (Mr. Oberst), David Jacobson (Film Stream’s Rachel’s dad), Jason Kulbel (Slowdown) and Marc Leibowitz (The Waiting Room). Speaking against it were members of Project Extra Mile (PEM), a group formed to fight underage drinking.

The story implies that without the ordinance, The Waiting Room and Slowdown wouldn’t be allowed to host all-ages shows. Kulbel said it would be “pretty devastating” if the Slowdown could no longer allow minors in to see bands. “The amount of shows that would come to Omaha would dwindle,” he said in the OWH report. Read the whole story here.

I don’t need to tell anyone who reads this site how important this ordinance is to our music scene. Most of us grew up going to all-ages shows. I understand PEM’s concerns, but these folks need to realize that if their kids want booze, there are easier ways to get it than going to a rock show and risking getting booted and banned from the facility. If anything, TWR and Slowdown are ultra-vigilant about this sort of thing because they don’t want to risk both getting ticketed and getting a reputation among parents as a place where kids can acquire alcohol. You can voice your support of the ordinance by contacting your City Council representative. Do it now. The vote is next Tuesday.

* * *

Interesting new interview with Tim Kasher in The Maneater (here). Kasher talks about the process of making a new Cursive album, his screen-writing efforts and living in L.A. Inspirational quote: “We joked a lot on Happy Hollow about how we were trying to do a new brand of folk metal, but it didn’t turn out. It was brought up at practice the other day that maybe this is getting closer to folk metal. Like, I say that, and it’s not going to sound anything like folk metal.” Sounds like multi-instrumentalist Nate Lepine is a permanent addition to the line-up.

* * *

One of the first reviews of the new Neva Dinova disc landed at Aversion.com (here). They give the disc three stars and compare it to Bright Eyes, for which they say the band is so “closely intertwined,” calling the disc “a little bit predictable for anyone who’d hope the band (would) break free of its Omaha-folk roots.” Somewhat luke-warm. The album comes out next Tuesday.

* * *

Tonight at The Waiting Room it’s Nada Surf, who’s on the road supporting Lucky, their latest album on Barsuk/City Slang (Rough Trade). Opening is LA band Sea Wolf (Dangerbird Records) and Omaha’s own Little Brazil. $14, 9 p.m.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Column 166: More Punk Than You
Omaha’s original punk legends gather again.

The idea of the Omaha ‘My Generation’ Punk Rock Reunion Show (this Saturday night at The Waiting Room) began with a couple former neighbors talking about the good ol’ days.

Those neighbors were Tim Cox, drummer for ’80s-era punk rock band R.A.F., and the girls that lived next door, Dee Shelton and Meghan Smith. They lived in an apartment building that came to be known as The Farnam House, a place notorious for its ad hoc punk rock shows.

Here’s the funny part — The Farnam House was located right across the street from The Brothers at 38th and Farnam, a building that today is known as Hotel Frank, home of the best house shows in town hosting bands like Capgun Coup and Baby Walrus.

Somehow, Cox and those neighbor girls got in touch with each other 23 years after the fact. “We got to talking about James Widmark, a local artist who was in the Sleez Kangs who had passed away a few years ago,” said Cox from his current home in a much quieter neighborhood just off West Blondo. “Meghan mentioned we should get everyone together before we all die. We’re all getting older, and we’ve lived wild lives.”

Their small talk spawned the idea of hosting a gathering of survivors of Omaha’s ’80s punk scene at The Brothers. Cox thought that maybe R.A.F. could play a reunion show. After all, everyone else in the band — guitarist Paul Moerke, bassist Dereck Higgins, and vocalist Matt Miller — was still alive.

To help find people they knew from the old scene, Shelton and Smith put together a Myspace page. That’s when things really began to pick up speed.

Through a fluke conversation, Cox discovered that one of his co-workers at Fedex/Kinko’s was related Jack Hawk, a guitarist for peace-punk thrash-core band Cordial Spew along with Kevin McClay. “Kevin’s an insurance salesman now, a big-wig regional guy,” Cox said. Before long, McClay, Hawk and the rest of the original Cordial Spew line-up — frontman Jay Bacon, drummer Conrad Hinz and bassist Bryan Gumm — were added to the reunion show.

So were local punk legends Apathy and Double-You. Cox decided to push the idea even further by including current-day punk bands The Deformities, The Upsets, Pornhuskers and J.J. Pearson (ex Toxic Reasons) and His Weapons of Ass Destruction.

“The show became a chance to show the kids who never got to see us what these original bands were all about, while letting the old-schoolers see the new stuff,” Cox said.

Such a large lineup called for a larger venue. Other than halls and house shows, the only other gathering spot for punk rock in the mid- to late-’80s was The Lift Ticket Lounge (remember, this was years before The Cog Factory). “From ’86 to ’89, The Lift Ticket became a constant place to play,” Cox said. “It was almost a punk club.” Where better to host the reunion show than at the very site where The Lift Ticket used to be?

It all sounded great except for one thing: Remembering how to play all those old songs. Cox said Apathy’s Mike Homan had to buy a bass for the show — he literally hadn’t picked one up since his grad school days.

“We haven’t played together in 20 years,” said Apathy guitarist Jim Homan, who along with vocalist Seth “Deth” Kirshman (Snakey Billy), and drummer Mark Blackman (Bad Luck Charm) — make up Apathy’s original lineup

Cox said no one in Cordial Spew even owned any instruments. “Conrad stopped playing drums 15 years ago,” said Spew vocalist Jay Bacon. “Tim (Cox) gave us a basement for our first practice, and it was awful.”

Fortunately, Jim Homan, who also happens to be one of the city’s best recording engineers at Ware House Studios, made a copy of Spew’s old cassette tapes, which helped Bacon and the band remember the songs.

The show has all the makings of historical event. Fact is, the history of Omaha’s early punk scene and its influence on what came after is impossible to capture in a 900-word column. At its very center is a story of a bunch of misfits who didn’t seem to belong in a Cold War, Reaganomics-driven world spiraling out of control.

“It was a time when everyone hung out together — the straight-edge and party kids, the peace punks and skinheads,” Cox said. “We all got along.”

Eventually, they all grew up, got married, went to college or got jobs. “For a lot of them, the scene was just a phase of life,” Cox said. “But we all still love the music and have fond memories of those days.”

Bacon agreed. “The music and the words still mean a lot to me,” he said. “I think the kids are ready to hear it. They haven’t heard thrash hardcore the way we do it.” For Cordial Spew, the reunion could be the beginning of a second life. The band already is slated to play a River Concert Series gig May 7 and will be distributing copies of a new CD at Saturday’s show.

“We’re all adults with kids and responsibilities,” Bacon said. “We’re not touring; we’re just trying to share the music again.”

He said that while times have changed, the music and its angry message are as relevant as ever. There’s just one problem: “When I’m doing the songs, I feel the anger, but there I am, standing in a room surrounded by people I love. It’s hard to get mad. I have to go to a different place when I sing and remember the things that pissed me off.”