The Burning Hotels at The Waiting Room, May 27, 2010.

Here’s my report from last night’s Thunder Power album release show at The Waiting Room:

Of the three bands, the opener, Ft. Worth’s The Burning Hotels, was the most professional, the tightest, the hardest rocking and, songwise, the least interesting. Their publicity compared them to The Stills, French Kicks, The Strokes, The Killers and Hot Hot Heat, among others. Someone in the crowd compared them to The Walkmen.

That list hits pretty close to the mark, reflecting the shiny-penny quality of the just-past-indie-headed-toward-Chrysler-commercial rock the young four-piece captured on a stage lit only by four naked fluorescent shop lights stood on end, casting enough white-blue glare to make out their silhouettes, but not enough to really see who they were. It was a convenient metaphor for their formulaic music; all of it played at the same quick-step pace and sung with the same lilting champaign vocals by either of the two frontmen/guitarists. Their songs had melodies — you could hear them outlined in the hyper-aggressive powerchords — but you couldn’t quite make out the details, and certainly weren’t going to remember them after the show. It was perfect background music for lifestyle TV commercials selling products to gullible youth that still think life’s “winners” are the ones with the perfect abs who drink low-carb beers.

There were about 50 people there for The Burning Hotels, who played to a lonely, empty floor while patrons sat and drank cocktails and waited for the next band. The crowd doubled for The Mynabirds, whose popularity is finally beginning to catch hold around town, and for good reason as their debut album is as good as Pitchfork — that online indie-rock kingmaker — would lead us to believe (a respectable 8.0 rating).

Laura Burhenn and Co. played their usual solid set of bluey, alt-country ballads that would become classics if they could just catch the ear of a savvy radio and/or television programmer.  It was a flawless performance. Still, there is something just out of reach about The Mynabirds. It’s as if they’re performing under glass, always separated from the audience by an invisible barrier. I’ve only seen them on the best stages in town — all of them elevated high enough to keep Burhenn standing like a china doll in a curio cabinet. I’d like to see them at a dirty, cramped venue like O’Leaver’s or The Barley Street Tavern or even The 49’r (or Bushwacker’s), someplace where there’s no room to build a glass wall, where the audience could walk up and hug Laura after she brings them to tears with the lonely chords of “Right Place,” or hand guitarist Ben Brodin a shot after the ghostly slide on “Good Heart.”

Thunder Power at The Waiting Room, May 27, 2010.

Finally, there was the headliners celebrating that rock ‘n’ roll victory lap we call The Album Release Party. Thunder Power has evolved from an ironically named, quaint under-the-radar act (Who remembers when there were three exclamation points after their name???) to a perfectly functional indie band built in the shadow of Belle and Sebastian and Yo La Tengo. Singer/guitarist and music critic Will Simons has come into his own as the shy, slightly awkward frontman just confident enough to be heard above the band. He has a good voice with a range that goes from a high-end Ben Gibbard croon down to a throaty Conor (listen again, Oberst really does have a (sort of) low voice). The best part about Simon’s vocals is that they’re completely unadorned with frills or gimmicky flourishes — he sings as straightforward as he talks, as uncostumed as his blue jeans and untucked-shirt.

On the other hand there’s bassist/vocalist Kacynna Tompsett, whose vocal style is so affected, it’s distracting. She has a gorgeous, low, throaty voice reminiscent of Chan Marshall or Ricky Lee Jones, but it’s presented in such a chopped, alien dialect that it sounds like she’s singing in a language consisting of half-words and odd vowel sounds. That singing style is captured perfectly on “Your Pantry,” a song off the band’s 2008 EP Love Yourself, with the catchy opening lines: “Ar-ee op-bop whep bep bay / Op bet tee.” Take me to your leader, Kacynna. Her singing is only slightly clearer on the new EP. When Simon and Tompsett shared some back-and-forth on stage, the duet sounded like a conversation between Charlie Brown and E.T. The Extraterrestrial.

Some of the best vocalists in rock history couldn’t enunciate their way out of a Customs queue at Heathrow. People have sat through entire (recent) Bob Dylan concerts without understanding a single word he sang. Unfortunately, Thunder Power’s music is so laid-back and fey that it demands understandable lyrics to make a connection with the audience. Without them, it becomes sophisticated, well-played background music.

* * *

Tonight looks like another night at The Brothers Lounge, as gig-wise nothing is showing up on my radar. Tomorrow night Landing on the Moon plays at The Sydney with Brave Captain (fIREHOSE tribute band) and The Ground Tyrants.  $5, 9 p.m.

Sunday night is the return of Millions of Dead Cops to Nebraska, this time at The Hole. They’ve been coming to town since ’87, as this column

attests. Playing with MDC are Reviver, Cordial Spew, Wooden Coat, Eastern Turkish and Youth & Tear Gas. $10, 7 p.m. All ages (No Booze). Wear your Doc Martins.

Also Sunday night Girl Drink Drunk is doing Shithook-style karaoke at O’Leaver’s, which I think will be a completely different animal than what I’ve seen at The Waiting Room, mainly because O’Leaver’s has a higher percentage of drunks who don’t give a shit about what anybody thinks. I don’t see a price tag attached to this one, and the O’Leaver’s Facebook page is giving a time of 6 p.m. Don’t bet on it.

Our Fox at The Barley Street Tavern, May 21, 2010.

Here’s a recap of the past weekend, starting at The Barley Street Tavern Friday night.

The best part about opening duo Love of Everything: Their songs were short, and no, that’s not a shot at them. I actually enjoyed their simple tunes with simple choruses played by the simple duo of vocalist/guitarist Bobby Burg and wife/drummer Elisse. Burg gave their sound depth using an effects pedal that allows guitarists to record samples of a guitar line or phrase and play it back repeatedly, allowing for another guitar line (and another) and so on. This worked best on  “I Love All You Guys,” a song where Burg seemed to be playing random feedback squawks, until those squawks started to repeat themselves as part of the song — small, sharp shocks of sound that pushed through the guitar and vocals at strangely opportune times. And before you got tired of the whole thing, the song quickly ended.

The Barley Street’s small room packed up (but not claustrophobic-ly so) for Our Fox, who could be the next best thing on Saddle Creek Records (if Creek would take them) — and it wouldn’t be a surprise if they did, with personnel that includes frontman Ryan Fox (The Good Life) and second guitarist Jake Bellows. On the most basic level, their music fits  the slacker/indie-rock category but with an intensity of early Crazy Horse (Stephen Malkmus and Crazy Horse?). Fox has one of those shaky, unstable croons that sounds like a less-nasal version of Simon Joyner. Actually, he probably has more in common with someone like Malkmus vocally, and that shakiness is less apparent on the few demo recordings on their Myspace page. I thought the first few songs sounded like Good Life out-takes, and I could have imagined Tim Kasher singing them (with great aplomb). I like their music better when they leave Kasherville and head toward Foxland, where the citizens aren’t afraid to let it all hang out on songs that aren’t afraid to go on and on and blissfully on. This is a band that could create the indie equivalent of “Cowgirl in the Sand” or “Down by the River” — long, drawn-out jams that you never want to end thanks to Bellows’ and Fox’s clever, inventive and sometimes raw guitar work backed by a solid rhythm section.

Saturday night was a Saddle Creek Records reunion showcase with the return of both Ladyfinger and Criteria at The Waiting Room. Though not a sell-out, the place was appropriately packed. Ladyfinger played first (after opener Masses’ set). It was the first time I’ve seen the new line-up with Dan Brennan on bass replacing Ethan  Jones, and Megan Morgan (Landing on the Moon) on backing vocals (on about half the songs). Ladyfinger is a different band with Brennan, both style- and performance-wise. You cannot ignore him on stage; he gets locked in and doesn’t let go. It’s fun to see that level of pure enthusiasm from a band that’s pretty much known for just standing around on stage and playing. Their performance was the usual dead-on excursion into serious mind-fuck rock; too bad the sound mix was so bad. From where I stood almost dead center and 20 feet from the stage, everything was flat, without dynamics. Some guitar lines got lost in the fog along with the vocals (especially Morgan’s, who only rarely broke through the surface).

The sound mix problems continued with Criteria. The usual soaring guitars and vocals — the highlight of any Criteria performance — seemed buried in the rumble. A number of soundmen in the audience gave me their arm-chair quarterback diagnosis, telling me that there wasn’t enough being driven through “the mains.” All’s I know is that Aaron Druery’s guitar was tough to make out at times, and A.J. Mogis’ microphone might as well have been unplugged. Despite that, you couldn’t tell that this band hadn’t been on a stage in almost two years. It all sounded tight, including Stephen Pedersen’s high-flyin’ vocals that still have that pop. They all looked like they were having the time of their lives, and so did an audience that greeted old favorites with raised fists. The band also rolled out some new material that, to me, was a departure from the usual militant rattle-and-hum toward something more, well, groovy —  there was something slightly vintage about the new riffs. I’m not sure what it’s about, but I liked it. Too bad we probably won’t be seeing these guys again until 2012.

* * *

I know it’s already 7 p.m. but I figure I might as well give you this late reminder about the MAHA showcase tonight at Slowdown. The four bands vying for a slot on the MAHA Festival’s small stage are Betsy Wells, Dim Light, Flight Metaphor, and Noah’s Ark Was A Spaceship. Voting will take place during the show, and the whole thing is free, so you don’t have anything to lose. It also starts early — 8 p.m.

Also playing tonight over at O’Leaver’s are Street Lethal (covering The Ramones), Stoned at Heart and Flamboyant Gods. $5, 9 p.m.

The promotional e-mail from The Reader says that the printed column only contains 20 of the 25 micro-reviews below, which means the editors had to cut for space. I have no idea which five didn’t “make the cut.” You and I will have to pick up a paper tomorrow to find out.

Second Quarter Report

25, from best to the rest…

by Tim McMahan

You can’t go wrong with any of these, but some are better than others. Hence, they appear below in order from best to the rest.

1. Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings, I Learned the Hard Way (Daptone) — Everything you’ve heard is true — as pure a throwback as you’re ever going to find — a modern-day Etta, Aretha, Gladys and Marva all rolled into one, backed by a band that James Brown would be proud to shimmy to.

2. Local Natives, Gorilla Manor (Frenchkiss) — What you expected from MGMT’s follow-up to Oracular instead of that unlistenable shitstorm that is Congratulations. Infectious, deep-rhythm indie pop.

3. Frightened Rabbit, The Winter of Mixed Drinks (Fat Cat) — They continue to hone their indie-rock anthems, cutting the melodies with just enough brogue to remind you they’re Scots who grew up listening to Arab Strap. This is the one that breaks them big.

4. Zeus, Say Us (Arts & Crafts) — Power pop nirvana by way of Canada that has more in common with Big Star than the Beatles. Goes from hick struttin’ (“River by the Garden”) to filthy, organ-fueled garage grunt (“You Gotta Teller”). What more do you want?

5. Titus Andronicus, The Monitor (XL) — Forget about that new Hold Steady album, which you (*yawn*) have heard before. If it’s gritty, anthemic (more like epic) punk you’re looking for, you’ll find no better.

6. Javelin, No Mas (Luaka Bop) — Electronic dance abstractions by a couple Brooklyn boys who are smarter than us (and funnier). Keyboards, beatbox, samples and a groove — Who needs LCD? “Let’s do the monkey foot” indeed.

7. Hot Chip, One Life Stand (EMI) — They want to be the new Depeche Mode or Pet Shop Boys, but have more in common with Erasure or Röyskopp (and is feyer than any of them). At their best (the title track, “Hand Me Down Your Love”) they’ll get your ass shaking like the pros they are.

8. Holy Fuck, Latin (Young Turks/XL) — Jittery instrumental electronic dance music propelled by bass and charisma. High BPM equates to a fine aerobic workout and leaner, meaner abs.

9. The Mynabirds, What We Lose in the Fire We Gain in the Flood (Saddle Creek) — A hodge-podge of styles made popular by some very familiar female artists (Mazzy Star, Bonnie Raitt, Jenny Lewis, Chan Marshall, Maria Taylor, Orenda Fink and so on). But I’m still not quite sure I know who Laura Burhenn really sounds like. Creek’s best release since Mama, I’m Swollen.

10. Sally Seltmann, Heart That’s Pounding (Arts & Crafts) — Gorgeous and catchy, it stands among the best female-led pop rock records since Sam Phillips was around. PS: She co-wrote Feist’s iPod commercial (“1234”) — Don’t hold it against her.

11. Serena-Maneesh, S-M 2: Abyss in B Minor (4AD) — Oslo shoegaze comes close to noise, but it’s too poppy for that. Is it any coincidence that I’ve been listening to a lot of My Bloody Valentine lately? I blame this record.

12. The New Pornographers, Together (Matador) — The first album by this band that I’ve actually liked, thanks to their willingness to break out of the Belle & Sebastian mold for something more inspiring (and funky. See opening track “Moves” for evidence).

13. A Weather, Everyday Balloons (Team Love) — Laidback, moody piano/guitar folk sung underneath blankets by breathy youth in love with Simon & Garfunkel, Fleetwood Mac and Roxy Music. The best record from Conor’s label since Jenny Lewis.

14. The Whigs, In the Dark (ATO) — Heavy guitars, heavy hooks, heavy alt rock by a band that probably hangs out with The Killers or Franz Ferdinand (if they weren’t from Athens); something tells me they’ll be selling cars soon (on TV).

15. Teenage Fanclub, Shadows (Merge) — This quieter, gentler Fanclub lacks the punch of earlier, better albums, but still has all the hooks you want (and expect), though you’ll have to stay awake to hear them.

16. The Kissaway Trail, Sleep Mountain (Bella Union) — So close to Arcade Fire you’ll think you’re listening to outtakes from Funeral. So close to Arcade Fire, you’ll laugh bitterly at the vocals on “Don’t Wake Up” and the keyboard line on “Beat Your Heartbeat.” Still, it’s better than Neon Bible.

17. Broken Social Scene, Forgiveness Rock Record (Arts & Crafts) — A model in extremes: “Chase Scene” is the worst song they’ve ever recorded, while “Texico Bitches” may be their catchiest. Weed out half the tracks and you’ve got a winner instead of a whiner.

18. The National, High Violet (4AD) — The question is: How much does it differ than the last National album? The answer: Not much. If you liked that one, stand by for more of the same low-voiced drama that can’t seem to get to the point.

19. High Places, High Places Vs. Mankind (Thrill Jockey) — This is the moody electronic dance-floor album that Kate Bush never made but Blondie should have. Demoted for too many tracks that could be confused for trance.

20. Quasi, American Gong (Kill Rock Stars) — It lacks the playfulness of their earlier albums (i.e., Featuring “Birds,” which came out a staggering 12 years ago and remains their masterpiece) and as such, is too heavy handed to call fun.

21. Broken Bells, self-titled (Columbia) — Don’t know why I expected more from this A-list combo (Danger Mouse and The Shins), whose middle-of-the-road blend is blander than its individual parts.

22. Delorean, Subiza (True Panther Sounds) — Dance-floor indie dream pop built on a thump-thump-thump foundation borrowed from DM circa 1988. The thumping is present on every track, and like disco, quickly goes from cute to kitsch.

23. Owen Pallett, Heartland (Domino) — Pitchfork heart throbs, I, too, fell for the hype, and while there is some epic songcraft here, he’s no Sufjan Stevens.

24. She and Him, Volume Two (Merge) — Zooey and Matt continue to create modernized, soulless Sam Cooke-era balladry merged (get it?) with TV jingle melodies. No worse than Volume One, and no better.

25. Emanuel and The Fear, Listen (Paper Garden) — More Of Montreal than Sufjan and not as good as either despite the 11-piece “orchestra.” It’s ambitious, which is what we say when we respect the effort, and not much else.

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Matt Pond PA at Slowdown Jr., May 11, 2010

About two songs into last night’s laid-back set by Matt Pond PA at Slowdown Jr., Mr. Pond said he was struggling with his between-song patter. His reticence to chat with the crowd likely had something to do with the fact that a couple stooges stole product from his merch table the night before in Milwaukee during one of his humorous monologues, which Pond said resulted in him giving chase followed by general mayhem. There was none of that last night as the (surprisingly large) crowd of around 120 soaked in every earthy note from Pond and his band (three guitars (including his) bass and drums). While Leslie Sisson provided some barely heard backing vocals/harmonies (turn it up, Leslie), Pond’s secret weapon was Chris Hansen, who I remember also being a standout at the SXSW performance. His guitar-work was subtle and amazing, never got in the way, but added necessary depth to the music. I can see why Pond has made him an integral part of his band and his sound. All that said, this was a more restrained band than I heard in Austin in March — they seemed a bit tired, though Pond was once again in amazing voice. You could argue (as one person did) that his music is too middle-of-the-road and somewhat samey-samey, but to me, it’s the tone and style that matter. Matt Pond’s music is easy on the ears, and some nights (like last night) that’s all I want.

Opener Bobby Long played a fine solo-acoustic set that broke out of the traditional singer/songwriter mold with its intensity and intricate guitar arrangements. He said from the stage that he’s got an album coming out on ATO, so I have a feeling we’ll be hearing a lot from this talented Brit in the near future.

Well-Aimed Arrows at O'Leaver's, May 7, 2010.

Friday night at O’Leaver’s. The usual crowd.

I was told by one of my network of spies that The Prairies are part of a new clique/cult of bands whose members hang out at The Antiquarium and who all have a deep-seated love for Times New Viking. The TNV influence is very real, but not definitive, not for these guys. TNV plays blown-out post-wave punk that’s low-fi, brutally primitive and yet, strangely catchy. Prairies have a lot of those same characteristics, but sprinkle in bits and pieces of fun-loving garage rock flavor. The result is a band that sounds like a combination of early, noisy Pavement cross-bred with Box Elders. I dug it, and so did the 12 people in O’Leaver’s Friday night, thanks in part to their giggly (i.e. drunk?) stage banter that pitched back and forth whenever the line-up changed instruments — everyone played drums at some point in the set, actually everyone seemed to play everything once, and sing. Impressive, especially considering that they’d played a set just an hour earlier down at Slowdown.

Well-Aimed Arrows just keep getting better. As I said the last time I saw them, the band has the Protoculture

‘s same dissonant song structures driven by punchy rhythms and frontman/drummer Koly Walter’s flat, barking voice. Michelle Petersen provides a slightly atonal counter vocal that borders on harmony (or necessary dissonance). Clayton Petersen continues with his trademark jitter-rhythm, angular guitar. Why it works so well? The rhythm section, balanced out by free-wheelin’ hat-wearin’ bass player Brian Byrd; and arrangements that call for hands-off-the-instruments repeated choruses that sound more like angry punk chants than songs. Just think how high those songs will fly once the crowd learns the words (or learns how to Pogo).

Digital Leather at The Waiting Room, May 6, 2010. Photo by John Shartrand.

Not that it matters, but last night’s Digital Leather show at The Waiting Room was what I was looking for when I wrote this column a few weeks ago. As a stripped-down three-piece, I could hear the songs closer to the way they sound on the recordings, but with a different spin that comes from a live performance. That’s not to say the band shouldn’t perform as a five piece. They just need to balance things so that everything can come through, which hasn’t been the case. Last night I could hear the keyboards, I could hear the guitar, I could hear the drums, I could hear frontman Shawn Foree, and nothing was overpowering except for the songs, which as I said, are some of the best things going on in Omaha (or anywhere). I realized while I was watching that it would probably be the only time that I’d hear the music this way, as the five-piece will be back in action next time, and Digital Leather will likely once again transform into just another garage band. I did talk to one person who said that while he enjoyed the performance, he preferred the noisier garage version of the band. No doubt he’s not alone.

Speaking of “just another garage band,” Matador Records act Harlem came on next and filled that role nicely. Stoned or drunk or just plain having fun, the trio ripped through a set of the usual garage rock fodder with nods to The Zombies, Them, The Yardbirds, surf music, low-fi indie, the usual shtick. They were at their best when all three were belting out harmonies. After about six songs with the same tempo and same crash-bash dynamics, I got the drift.

* * *

Busy, busy weekend…

Tonight (Friday)

At sexy, sassy O’Leaver’s it’s Well-Aimed Arrows (ex-Protoculture) with Lincoln band Husbands and The Prairies. $5, 9:30 p.m.

Down at Slowdown Jr., Capgun Coup, Landing on the Moon and The Praries play with Lawrence band Rooftop Vigilantes. $7, 9 p.m.

And at Harrah’s Stir Casino, Brad Hoshaw and the Seven Deadlies roll out a 3-hour set, where I’m told the center portion will feature an hour of new music that will likely appear on the new album. $5, 9 p.m.

Saturday

Lincoln’s Ideal Cleaners headlines a show with Baby Tears and The New Loud at O’Leaver’s. $5, 9:30 p.m.

Over at The Sydney, Eli Mardock of Eagle Seagull takes the stage along with Pharmacy Spirits and Thunder Power. $5, 9 p.m.

The Waiting Room is hosting a reunion of ’90s band Janglepop, along with a short set by The Filter Kings, and full sets by Surfer Rosa (Pixies tribute band) and Brave Captain (fIREHOSE tribute band). $5, 8 p.m.

Sunday

The weekend is capped off with the Community Bike Project benefit  at Slowdown, featuring UUVVWWZ, Talking Mountain, Flowers Forever and the Nebraska Bike Ensebow. $5, 9 p.m.

And finally, Lincolnites will get a chance to see the guy who I’ve been talking about (here) for the past few weeks — Jeremy Messersmith plays at Duffy’s Tavern. According to Duffy’s online calendar, Messersmith plays a super-early set — 6 p.m.! As always, call ahead for confirmed times (and price).

First, an apology. Last night’s Locksley/Butch Walker show at The Waiting Room started at 8 p.m., not 9 p.m. as I stated in yesterday’s blog. When it comes to details, like the times shows begin, you can generally count on me, but occasionally I forget to double-check, like yesterday. So, sorry to anyone who missed the opener… like I did.

Luckily, pro writer (and pro surfer?) Steve Gates was smart enough to double-check the start times. He graciously provides this review of the Locksley portion of the show:

A Blind Date With Locksley (a special report to Lazy-i correspondent Steve Gates).

I first became aware of Locksley about six months ago from some regular play of a few of their songs on the XM/Sirius station Little Steven’s Underground Garage.  A few of their tracks we’re even named “Little Steven’s Coolest Song in the World this Week”…so that has to count for some garage rock cred…right?

In all fairness as a reviewer of their show Tuesday night at the Waiting Room, I was immediately hooked on their stuff the second I heard it last fall.  The last band I can honestly say that about is The Ramones, so that is some of the highest praise I can offer.

But, seeing a band live for the first time that you love via the Internet and satellite radio is the equivalent of trying to meet a soul mate on Match.com.  Sure everything seems perfect from a distance, but how will this new-found admiration translate to the first meeting in person?  As it turns, this blind date with Locksley had me go from hoping I would not be disappointed at the end of the night to thinking I could marry them on the spot (OK, enough with the analogies).

How do you sum up their music?  If you read their press materials, they consider themselves doo-wop punk…now there’s a first.  As I stood right next to the stage watching the show, several generations of music instantly popped into my head.  Locksley brings the tight vocal harmonies of the Four Seasons, the musical sense of the Raspberries, the 10,000 rpm drive of The Knack, and the geek chic look and feel of Wheezer. Not to mention that singer Jesse Laz has, by far, the best on-key scream since John Lennon.

For more than 60 minutes, they never took their foot off the throttle as they blew though some of their best songs (all of which I highly recommend checking out if you get the chance), including “Darling It’s True,” “Don’t Make Me Wait,” “All Over Again” and crowd pleaser “The Whip.”

What impressed me most in watching the set is how band members — including Laz’s brother Jordan and other Locksley frontman Kai Kennedy — all have pitch-perfect rock voices and share the lead vocal duties.  Any of these guys easily could be the only lead singer in the band. But then add in flawless musicianship, plus a machine of a drummer in Sam Bair, and you have one of the most accomplished bands I’ve ever seen play live.  And unlike an entire generation of bands who stand on stage barely moving, Locksley is all over the stage in Tasmanian Devil-like fashion.

In talking with another Locksley fan after the show, I presented him with the question: “How do you sum up the show in one word?” His answer was “unclassifiable.”  While I had a hard time disagreeing with the sentiment, I thought that Tim would get mad at me for sending him a one word review…even though the comment was right on the money.

Locksley might be the Best Unsigned Band in the World.  Ultimately, when you have the musical ability to turn a song from the 1950s (the Del Rios’ “There’s a Love”) into something that would have sounded like a perfect fit in any decade over the last 50 years…you just might be unclassifiable.  Or, maybe you’re just Locksley. — Steve Gates

My, my… Sorry I missed it. As for Butch Walker…

He went on stage at around 9:15 to an (estimated) crowd of 200 crazy, suburban fans. That’s right, I said fans, which brings up the unsolved mystery of the evening: Where did all these people hear Butch Walker’s music? Certainly not on the radio. While Walker is a genius at creating FM-safe ’80s-style rock ballads, to the best of my knowledge he’s never had a hit. So how did a sizable portion of the crowd know the words well enough to sing along throughout most of his set? I’m not kidding — it was the largest sing-along crowd I’ve seen at TWR in a long time. Who were these people; where did they come from?

As for Walker, the pencil-mustachioed Bryan Adams look-alike played nearly two hours of swashbuckling power ballads backed by a five-piece band of very seasoned musicians. After watching more than my share of lifeless, slumped-shouldered, arthritic-looking indie bands mumble through their sets, it was refreshing to see someone who knew how to perform on stage. Perform, as in he’s an ENTERTAINER. Walker’s ’90s arena-rock flamboyance translates into a Vegas act when confined to a club environment, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It meant he was into the audience, doing everything he could to get them to connect with his rock persona, and from what I saw, he succeeded despite the fact that I only recognized one song from his catalog (“Bethamphetamine (Pretty, Pretty)” from The Rise and Fall…), while a majority of the songs strangely resembled more familiar hits from other artists (One song was the spitting image of “All the Young Dudes.” When asked by a fellow patron if he knew the name of the song, wingman Steve Gates quipped, “It’s an old Mott the Hoople track, or at least it might as well be”).

It is a testament to his vocal prowess that after playing well over an hour, Walker could pull out a cover of Hall & Oates’ “Rich Girl” and sing it flawlessly — no easy task. His knack for writing and producing power ballads is legendary, but despite that — and the fact that he really is a first-rate performer — I doubt that he’ll ever break through to a wider audience. His style of music appeals to those of us who grew up listening FM Rock on Z-92 blaring from our Spark-o-Matic car stereos with the 6×9’s mounted on the hatchback deck. We remember it, and we like it. But time has moved on, despite everything Walker is doing to hold it back. To a younger generation that has moved on to hip-hop, to electronic, to indie, to death metal, to modern Americana, his style of pre-cellphone, pre-iPod music will always sound dated and alien, even if it’s better than whatever it is they’re listening to now. As for Walker, as long as he has crowds like he had last night, he could care less.  For the final song, he turned on the house lights and dived into a sing-along ballad (that I, again, didn’t recognize) and turned the floor in front of the stage into his own private choir, directing the audience as it sang a repeated chorus long after the rest of the band had headed to the green room, slowly bringing it down, down, down to a whisper before saying goodnight.

* * *

Later today: Column 269 — Battle of the Blahs… come back.

by Tim McMahan, Lazy-i.com

It took an associate of mine to remind me that Everest — last night’s opener for Minus the Bear (along with Little Brazil, who I missed) — also was the opener at last year’s Neil Young concert at Qwest. Now here they were, back down on the club circuit. Americana is the new alt country (and has been for a couple years), and the Everest guys looked the part with their untucked western-cut shirts, work boots and hippie beards. Their sound, however, carried a darkness that belies typical alt country. It would be easy to compare them to The Jayhawks or Wilco, especially considering the lead singer Russell Pollard’s vocal resemblance to Tweedy, but they (thankfully) lacked Wilco’s tendency for wonky jam-band noodling. Everest is more… what? Majestic? Grander? Some of their music teetered on the edge of epic (in line with a band like The National), especially when Pollard dropped his guitar and slid behind a second, smaller trap set. Two drummers is almost always a novelty, and almost always fun to watch. Overall, Everest had a great — if not slightly monotonous — sound. It’s one of those bands whose records would require (many) repeated listenings before they grew on you. (more…)

by Tim McMahan, Lazy-i.com

It’s springtime at O’Leaver’s. The volleyball players are back, drunkenly flopping around out in the sand. The smoke hut has been dismantled and put away ’til next year, and there’s new outdoor furniture in the beer garden — handmade, thick, wooden benches and tables surrounding the perimeter, which I’m told have been weatherproofed with multiple layers of marine-quality spar varnish so as to never warp. It’s only a matter of time until those benches have been lovingly carved with dick jokes and badly drawn nude women with over-sized boobs. A topic of discussion last night: Would it be possible for someone to light this new wooden furniture on fire? Conclusion: I suppose, yes. With enough gasoline and time, anything will burn, even weather-treated moisture-sealed wooden planks. And at O’Leaver’s, nothing is fire-proof.

By the time A Weather took the stage last night, the volleyball players and their cars had disappeared, leaving the parking lot partially empty. A small crowd of around 30 was inside to hear the trio play a quiet, slightly withdrawn set that didn’t resemble their new album, but was good in its own way. Live, A Weather deconstructs their lush, dense music with a frontman who sings and (barely) plays an electric guitar, and a rhythm section that includes a bass player and a cute blond girl with a pretty voice that gently tap-tap-tapped on drums. Last night the music was all about bass and voices, together in a minimal setting that reminded me of ’90s band Bedhead. I liked it, but in the end I prefer the sound of their new album (Everyday Balloons), which has an added beauty and depth thanks to its keyboards. The album is a daylight walk through a forest in summer. Last night’s performance was that same walk, but in December with the trees bare — it’s still a beautiful stroll.

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Tonight at Slowdown Jr., Joe Jack Talcum of the Dead Milkmen performs along with Simon Joyner, Samuel Locke Ward and the Boo Hoos (Iowa City), and our very own Yuppies. $7, 9 p.m.

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One more correction — I said yesterday in my column that The Slumber Party showcase Friday night would be held at Slowdown Jr. In fact the showcase will be held on Slowdown’s big stage. All the more reason…

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Read Tim McMahan’s blog daily at Lazy-i.com — an online music magazine that includes feature interviews, reviews and news. The focus is on the national indie music scene with a special emphasis on the best original bands in the Omaha area.

by Tim McMahan, Lazy-i.com

The highlight of last night’s Beach House concert at The Waiting Room: 50 people packed into the venue’s pinball room with 13.6 seconds left in regulation of the NCAA men’s basketball finals. It was like a beer commercial, the booths crammed with fans (mostly guys) glued to the plasma, praying for a miracle while across the cavernous venue on stage roared one of indie’s best dream-pop bands. As the shot tipped off the rim and into a Duke player’s hands, a groan of disgusted frustration drowned out the hall, and within seconds the crowd of sports fans joined the rest of the throng, not thinking of music but of what could have been.

I felt a bit guilty spending the first half of their set watching basketball, but then I figured, hell, I paid for the ticket, I can do what I want. And besides, there wasn’t much to see on stage. Beach House pretty much played in the dark, with just a couple of the spots glowing. The staging consisted of huge silvery diamonds that rotated during their set, lit by ground spots that also made the band glow. Silver streamers were draped from the rafters. Meanwhile, the band’s guitarist and drummer played seated (not on a drum riser) and couldn’t be seen above the crowd. Frontwoman Victoria Legrand stood behind her keyboard in the back of the stage and never moved except to shake her long, flowing hair. Visually, a boring show.

Sonically, however, Beach House was nothing less than amazing. The sound couldn’t have been better; every note of their chamber pop echoed and glowed as they played all the songs from Teen Dream. Between numbers, they talked about Malcolm X and the Omaha Beef and 311, dedicating songs to each of them.

The show was a sell-out (finally), and the place was packed. When I got there a little after 9 opening band Bachelorette already was almost done with her one-person lap-top-driven set of dense, plodding electronic dance pop. I was told that Beach House had asked to start the show at 8, which of course wasn’t possible as the tickets were sold for a 9 p.m. show. Regardless, the whole evening was over by 11:15, which was a blessing for those of us who had to go to work the next morning.

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The Omaha World-Herald is reporting that Omaha jazz legend Luigi Waites passed away early this morning at the age of 82. I’d seen him play a few times at the Dundee Dell, but my favorite memory of Luigi was chatting with him after he opened for The Good Life at Sokol Underground back in 2003. We stood next to each other, leaning on a table back by the sound board, and he told me how much he loved playing with Omaha’s “new bands” like the Good Life and The Faint. Those bands and their fans loved him right back. He will be missed.

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Read Tim McMahan’s blog daily at Lazy-i.com — an online music magazine that includes feature interviews, reviews and news. The focus is on the national indie music scene with a special emphasis on the best original bands in the Omaha area.

by Tim McMahan, Lazy-i.com

All jokes aside about looking like an Islamic terrorist, Kyle Harvey and his new beard wowed the crowd of around 50 last night at The Barley Street Tavern, playing a rather slim set of eight songs in support of the release of his new CD. I think I’ve heard him play all the painfully tortured tunes before, many of which I’m told are on that record (instead of buying a copy, I bought one of his iron-on T-shirts that bears an almost-invisible “Kyle Harvey beard” logo). The funny thing is that Kyle is a funny guy on stage in the face of these songs about personal torment, betrayal, extreme drug and alcohol dependency and general heartbreak and self-loathing. He finished each pained melody with a smile and the occasional guitar histrionic (EVH tap technique guitar playing made inaudible on acoustic, behind the back-of-the-neck ax strumming, etc.). The CD is out on Kyle’s very own Slo-Fidelity Records, and hopefully you’ll be able to find it at one of the fine local independent record stores, eventually. If not, contact Kyle through the Slo-Fi myspace page (http://www.myspace.com/slofirecords).

A handful of acoustic singer/songwriters opened the show. The one that stood out the most was Nick Carl, a guy who looks like a young version of Drew Carey that played a handful of really well-written folk songs that you won’t find anywhere because he hasn’t recorded them, yet. Carl told me afterward that he’s planning on doing a record in the near future, which will come out on Slo-Fi.

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This holiday weekend is heavily bottom-loaded. Tonight might be a Brothers night, as the only interesting show that I’m aware of is Satchel Grande at The Waiting Room (with The 9’s). $7, 9 p.m.

Tomorrow night looks busy. Down at Slowdown Jr., Little Dragon is playing with VV Brown. LD is a modern Swedish alt-indie/dance band that plays dense, atmospheric pop that recalls bands like Ladytron, Saint Etienne and Portishead. Trippy and fun and well worth $10. Starts at 9.

Also tomorrow night (Saturday) Pharmacy Spirits has its Omaha CD release show at O’Leaver’s with Talking Mountain and The Yuppies. $5, 9:30.

Three hot shows on Sunday night:

— Down at Slowdown Jr., it’s The Low Anthem with Nathaniel Rateliff and McCarthy Trenching. Providence’s Low Anthem plays quiet, introspective alt-folk. Beautiful stuff, on Nonesuch Records. $12, 9 p.m.

— On the opposite end of the spectrum is Har Mar Superstar, who’s playing a special sexually-charged Easter show at The Sydney that includes an “after-show dance party” with sets by DJ Denver Dalley and Har Mar himself. $5, 9 p.m.

— Last but not least, Deerhunter is playing at Lincoln’s Bourbon Theater Sunday night with It’s True and Ideal Cleaners. Deerhunter is modern-day indie prog rock, a dynamic, artsy band that isn’t afraid to go to thunderous extremes. Tix are $13 now and $15 DOS. 8 p.m.

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Read Tim McMahan’s blog daily at Lazy-i.com — an online music magazine that includes feature interviews, reviews and news. The focus is on the national indie music scene with a special emphasis on the best original bands in the Omaha area.