If it had been anyone other than Sufjan Stevens who tried to pull off the schtick that he did Tuesday night, they probably would have been railroaded out of the Sokol Underground and deposited on the other side of the state border faster than you can say “upper peninsula”. We’re talking matching cheerleading outfits, dance routines, cheers and sing-alongs (and snap-alongs!), flag-waving, audience participation, and freaking spirit fingers. And yet the crowd ate it up entirely.

Case in point: Sufjan and his merry Illinoisemakers—get over the pun, people!—kicked off their set with the “50 States Medley”, a song that—you guessed it—treks through every state in the union. It’s full of clever wordplay, and of course, a good way to get on the good side of the crowd. But it’s not supposed to work with cynical indie types, right?!? But sure enough, the whole crowd cheered when Nebraska was mentioned. For a brief second, I thought I was at Memorial Stadium amidst a sea of Husker red, not a smoke-filled hall full of indie-hipster kids. What gives?

To be quite honest, I really didn’t know what to expect going into the show. I’ve literally been waiting years to see the man in concert. And given how much of a spiritual impact his music has had on my life—I still remember breaking down in my car the first time I finally caught the meaning behind “For The Widows In Paradise, For The Fatherless In Ypsilanti”—I was half-expecting to have a huge, emotional experience that would leave me sobbing like a child halfway through the set. Something, perhaps, akin to what happens every time I saw Pedro The Lion perform “Secret Of The Easy Yoke”. But instead, I get the exact opposite—cheerleaders, audience participation, and those silly spirit fingers.

In all honesty, I don’t think I would’ve had it any other way.

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One of the more memorable Cornerstone experiences I’ve had was when I saw mewithoutYou several years ago. They were one of the first bands to play during the so-called “Tooth & Nail Day”, and even though it was “early” show, it was absolutely sweltering beneath the big yellow and white tent. Nevertheless, the band had dressed themselves to the nines, wearing thick wool turtlenecks, suede jackets, and the like, looking like quite the dandies.

Those of us in shorts and t-shirts were absolutely drenched, so I can only imagine how uncomfortable it was for the band. However, the discomfort they must have been under seemed only to fuel their performance, and they delivered an absolutely blistering set. So blistering, in fact, that as soon as the last song was over, the drummer jumped off the stage, tore off his clothing, and collapsed as people poured ice and cold water on him.

That sort of “all or nothing” intensity, while perhaps coming off as a little gimmicky and foolhardy (seriously, who would wear a wool turtleneck in July?), is part of what makes mewithoutYou’s music so captivating for me. I picked up their latest album, Catch For Us The Foxes about a month ago or so, and it’s been in almost constant rotation since. Their music goes right for the throat, sonically and lyrically, and seeing as how it’d been too long since I’d been to good “in your face” concert, I was hoping that mewithoutYou’s intensity would once again come across live.

On disc, mewithoutYou’s music is the very definition of “confined chaos”. There’s always a sense that the band’s songs could burst apart at the seams at any second. And yet they somehow stay together - perhaps because the band tears through their songs at such a clip that they don’t have time to fall apart. Live, there is no such restraint. That abandon that is barely checked, but completely reckless. A lot of this is due to frontman Aaron Weiss. Decked out like a homeless version of Huck Finn, Weiss spent most of his time flailing across the stage, whirling like a dervish and coming dangerously close to knocking over bandmates, mic stands, and drumkits.

Normally, this sort of thing rubs me the wrong way. It did so with Make Believe, who opened the night with a similar shtick. Only in Make Believe’s case, it felt exactly like that - a shtick, and a phoned in one at that. However, in mewithoutYou’s case, such a performance felt entirely appropriate. There is a certain desperate abandon at the core of their music, and so it makes sense when Weiss throws himself all over the stage, works himself up into a lather, and at times, can barely bring himself to string together a coherent string of lyrics.

Most of their set consisted of material from Catch For Us The Foxes, with a handful of songs from their debut, [A—>B] Life. Which was fine with me. As much as I liked their debut, songs like “Carousels” and “My Exit, Unfair” are an entirely different beast. In concert, these songs become absolute maelstroms, as the band handily moves past their punk comparisons and launches right into the stratosphere with ear-shredding noise.

Case in point: rather than try to emulate the middle-eastern textures and drones that occasionally color their albums, the band opted for a completely instrumental route. Weiss sat out, catching a breath after dancing and gamboling about the stage, whilse the guitarists set about conjuring up a sloppy, chaotic wave of sound that was nigh-painful for anyone unlucky enough to be standing next to one of the cabinets (like your’s truly). And soon enough, it came collapsing down with a shout as Weiss leapt back up to the mic, his anguished voice trying to be heard above the onslaught (though the fact that it didn’t was probably a result of the poor sound more than anything else).

My only complaint? That the band didn’t perform “The Soviet”, one of my fave tracks from the new album. Or perhaps they did, and I was just too overwhelmed (and deaf) to notice. Ah well… the end result was still a cathartic and exhilirating set.

I have to admit, it did feel a bit odd seeing mewithoutYou in Omaha, and not Bushnell. In that regard, the show was something of a bittersweet experience, bringning back a wave of nostalgia for my Cornerstone-attending years. However, it was a relief for me that, despite being a oft-jaded 29-year-old, mewithoutYou’s music was still powerful enough to compel me to do some flailing about of my own, still overwhelming enough to cause a surge of tears during the “Carousel”‘s crescendoes.

I’ve uploaded a set of photos from the show to my Flickr account. Take a gander here.

If you’ve read my review of The Arcade Fire’s Funeral, you’re probably well aware that it’s next to impossible for me to discuss The Arcade Fire’s music in terms that aren’t, well, nigh-religious. And I’m afraid that after seeing them last night, I probably won’t stop doing so anytime soon. You see, it’s one thing to see a band put on an intense show. It’s quite another to see a band take the stage as if their lives, and perhaps even their very souls, depended on it.

Looking at both the crowd and the band as they performed—from Win Butler’s wild-eyed, sweat-drenched face to Regine Chassagne’s Pippi Longstocking-esque hair bouncing around as she prowled and skipped across the stage—I could understand why parents and authorities have always been concerned by rock n’ roll’s power over the young ‘uns. A good concert gets your body a-movin’, but a great show has a decidedly spiritual aspect to it—and there is something distinctly spiritual about this band and their music.

The anthemic group shouts and frenzied manner in which the 6 bandmembers flung themselves headlong into their maelstrom like people possessed. The wall of sound that made up the transition from “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)” into “Rebellion (Lies)”. The opening bass thrums and Motown breakdown of “Wake Up” (the band’s call to arms). The lyrics that call the listener to wake up and live life to the fullest (“The power’s out in the heart of man/Take it from your heart put in your hand”).

Experiencing these things live felt like nothing less than a baptism by fire, and at times, I was moving, shouting, and hitting the wall in ways that would have raised a more than a few charismatic eyebrows.

Most of The Arcade Fire’s set consisted of material from Funeral, plus a couple of songs from the band’s 2003 self-released EP (a recording that only hints at Funeral’s potential). And, thankfully, they played their cover of The Talking Heads’ “This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)”, a song that has become increasingly important to me over the months. Pitchfork be damned, but I think The Arcade Fire’s version is quite brilliant - Butler’s yelping, stilted vocals fill David Byrne’s shoes quite nicely, and frankly, who really cares if they use steel drums?

I can’t help but wonder about the legacy that this first Omaha performance will leave behind. In a simpler, less cynical time, a performance like this would be sending ripples throughout the community. Bands would be convicted into laying down their instruments, having just been shown how it’s done. And just as many bands would be inspired to reach for something bigger and better. I hope we haven’t grow so cynical and blinded that music this pure, this impassioned, this (ahem) spiritual doesn’t have some sort of impact, and isn’t simply forgotten about by the time next week’s “big” show rolls around.

Opening up the night was Kite Pilot, a local band that I’ve been meaning to see for awhile. They proved well worth the wait—they sounded phenomenal and were a perfect opener for The Arcade Fire. I suppose at this stage in the game, it’s impossible for any Omaha-based indie band to escape the shadow of Saddle Creek. Which, unfortunately, is probably something that Kite Pilot has been subjected to frequently.

However, for every moment that I may have been reminded of Bright Eyes and Co., I heard stray bits of the Elephant Six collective, and even a few post-rocky bits and pieces a la Do Make Say Think. Much of this had to do with Todd Hanton, whose keys, theremin, and gorgeous trumpet really fleshed out the band’s sound in a lovely way. As I said, well worth the wait.

I’ve also posted photos from last night’s show. Click here to see The Arcade Fire and here to see Kite Pilot. I feel I should apologize for the flash on the Arcade Fire photos. Normally, I dislike using the flash, but the lights were turned down pretty low during the show and I had to do something.

Also, I wish I’d videotaped at least part of the show, if only so you’d have an idea of what it was like. However, just head on over to Bradley’s Almanac and download the live MP3s.

According to post-rock lore, a accompanied the live tape that got Explosions In The Sky signed to Temporary Residence, a note that said “This totally fucking destroys”.  And after having seen them for the second time last night, I have to once again agree. Sure, the whole instrumental, quiet/loud, apocalyptic thing has been done to death by countless bands (my own included). But Explosions In The Sky can revive and breathe new life into that tired formula with just one guitar swell, one wall of feedback, one fiery climax - and do so again and again and again.

There’s something about this music—when done well—that I find cleansing. The pure walls of noise, slathered in guitar effects, that become so loud and piercing as to become an actual physical force. The climaxes that you can see coming from a mile away, and yet when they arrive, still do so with enough force to leave your head ringing. I can’t explain the sense of anticipation I felt when, all of a sudden, I realized that the shuddering cacophony the band was generating was going to be the lead-in to “Greet Death”. And when the song finally hit… I was all smiles, pure and simple.

Opening up the night was Lincoln’s own Mr. 1986, whose praises I’ve sung on the site many times before. Suffice to say, they did the hometown proud and brought some heavy thunder, including some new material that should available on Mr. 1986 soon.

As much as I enjoyed the other bands, the real surprise and delight of the evening was Adem. Although I’m not a huge fan of Fridge, I greatly enjoyed Four Tet’s last album, and my love affair with Fridge side-projects seems to continue with Adem Ilhan’s solo project.

Whereas Kieran Hebden employs all manner of laptop muckery in his work as Four Tet, Adem’s music is considerably more acoustic, employing all manner of instruments ranging from autoharps, glockenspiels, harmoniums, finger pianos, and all manner of percussion and bells. There was a delightfully relaxed vibe to Adem’s set, as if we were watching four friends get together for an impromptu jam session with everything and the kitchen sink while producing mellow, wide-eyed music that was simple and gorgeous in its naivete and innocence.

There wasn’t a whit of self-awareness or pretension in any of Adem’s set… just pure, wholesome music made for the joy of making music. Normally, when a band sings songs about morning lullabies, or have giant, rousing singalongs to close out their set, my cynicism just starts racing. But Adem’s music was quite disarming in that respect, such that I simply gave into its simple charms without much of a struggle.

Between this and the Viva Voce show a few weeks back, I’m having a great concertgoing month. Let’s hope the string continues.

For all of you chumps who went to the Pixies show like a bunch of suckers, the real show on October 2 was at Knickerbockers. I’d never seen Viva Voce live before, though my friends had always caught them at Cornerstone and raved about them. And although I thought their last full-length, 2003’s Lovers, Lead The Way was pretty decent, it did little to prepare me for the show on Saturday night.

Granted, it’d been awhile since I’d been to a show, so maybe that was part of the experience—it’d been awhile since my ears had been ringing that much—but Viva Voce, quite simply, rocked. Anita Robinson is easily one of the finest guitarists, female or otherwise, I’ve ever seen, literally ripping and shredding through each and every song, be it on the double-necked guitar or lap steel.

I never had an inkling as to just how powerful a guitarist she was, as Lovers, Lead The Way was quite densely layered and arranged. However, in concert the music is much rawer and more stripped down, and her talent is very obvious.

And her husband, Kevin, was equally amazing on drums (and guitar, keys, and backing vocals). Again, this may be due to it having been a long time since I’d been to a show, but I’d forgotten just how invigorating it can be to feel the whoomp of a kick drum pummel your chest - something I got to feel quite a bit during an amazing live version of “Fashionably Lonely” (one of my fave tracks from Lovers, Lead The Way).

Unfortunately, due to the Pixies show and the football game, the venue was pretty much empty (I think only 20 or so people came out), but the duo were quite gracious and took it all in stride. I did pick up their new album, The Heat Can Melt Your Brain, which is quite the fuzzy, psych-pop masterpiece, as well as a live recording they did on KEXP, and chatted with them for a few minutes - good folks all around. They’re on tour through the middle of November, so do go check them out if they come to your area.

Click here to check out some photos from the show.

Saturday, March 13, 2004, was a record night. According to David Ellis, the owner of The Revelation Room in Canton, TX, they had the largest crowd ever for Saturday’s rock show. 315 people came out to see Copeland, The Lonely Hearts, The Connotations, and Lukas Hollow. The largest crowd they had before that was for a Thousand Foot Krutch concert, and I’m quite pleased that Copeland dethroned them from holding The Rev. Room’s attendance record. I personally had been looking forward to seeing this show for a long time.

Around 7:30pm the show began. Lukas Hollow opened the concert and started off their set with a cover of “God Bless Texas”. Many members of the audience sang the chorus right along with the lead singer. I’m not sure I felt blessed to be standing there witnessing the Texas pride of most everyone in the audience, but it felt good to know that within the evening I was going to see The Connotations and Copeland play their excellent brand of rock n’ roll.

Lukas Hollow’s set was competent musically and fairly entertaining. Musically, they reminded me of Thursday and could easily be classified as light screamo. The bassist/lead singer’s singing vocals were a little weak, but the two talented guitar players and drummer made up for whatever the vocalist/bassist lacked in the singing department. In the middle of their set, the drummer played a solo—which was very rock n’ roll, but I don’t really want to hear a drum solo unless I’m at a jazz show or I’m watching Dream Theatre, Rush, <insert favorite prog-rock band>.  Lukas Hollow had many rowdy fans in the crowd and will continue to win many more if they continue to play rock shows.

Next, The Connotations took the stage. In every way possible, Taylor Muse, The Connotations’ primary songwriter/lead singer/guitarist, posed as a lithe rock god. Yet again, Taylor proved to me he owns any stage he steps on. The entire set he was caressing the mic, pounding his guitar, and wheeling his body around like it was the last time he was going to play rock n’ roll. Nick Davis (aka Beardo), the lead guitarist, also stood out with his excellent playing.

The most surprising band personnel issue to me was their old keyboardist playing bass. He did a great job filling the bottom end and was more than competent on his instrument. Midway through the set, they played a new song which borrowed heavily from Radiohead. The song began with a loop and Taylor sang beautifully. The song built in intensity and ended in classic Connotations rock style. They ended the set with “We Are Trouble By The Truckloads”, a song you may have heard on the Mono vs. Stereo compilation, and nearly rocked the place out of control. Any day I get to see The Connotations play is a good day.

After The Connotations show, The Lonely Hearts played some tunes. The Lonely Hearts used to be called Holland. I have to be honest, I never liked Holland, and I always thought their lead guitarist did his best to sound like The Edge, and all their songs sounded the same. Don’t get me wrong, I think the lead singer has a great voice, and they are all really good musicians. I just think the music is a little boring.

For me, the high point of The Lonely Hearts set came when the lead singer put down his electric guitar, and for the last three songs, played new material on acoustic. I think the idea for The Lonely Hearts is to play acoustic-based rock music a la Wilco.  As I stated before, Holland always bored me. But at the end of the set, I saw a glimmer of change for The Lonely Hearts. And change for these guys, in my opinion, is a good thing.

Then the moment I had been waiting for all night came. Copeland took the stage. The song they opened the set with was… curses! I forgot to write the set list down!  Oh well. I can at least tell you the songs I remembered most.

The highlights for me were “When Paula Sparks” and “When Finally Set Free”. They ended the normal portion of the rock show with a reworked, electric version of “California”. The reworked version of “California” was amazing. Most of my friends and I were in awe. They also played a new song in the middle of the set that nearly rocked my face off. The bass player said something about a motorcycle and then they roared into the song. The new song was riff-driven and the few lines I remembered from the song were (I’m kind of paraphrasing here): “When all she wants is your money, and all he wants is your body.” Those are the lyrics I remember…

Aaron, the lead singer/guitarist, played the whole set with his shaggy, blonde hair in his face and his beautiful nose ring glimmering in the lights. The only negative thing about a Copeland show is that, if you are up close to the stage, Aaron may spit on you while he is singing. Some of you may not mind being spit on, but I think I would.  But despite the spit, Aaron sang with a deep intensity that echoed the personal nature of the songs.

The lead guitar player could have been accused of loitering on stage, except his riffs fleshed the music out wonderfully and made up for his lack of stage presence. The bass player sang great background vocals and was the most active on stage. He moved like a cat, and sang like a bird. These metaphors really suck. I know. I’m just excited, OK? I love this band. The drummer was great, too.  The whole band was so tight I could hardly believe it. Copeland was so good on Saturday—my friend who wears Demon Hunter shirts and loves Living Sacrifice said Copeland rocked!

Also, Copeland got a bona fide encore. They hadn’t planned an encore, but the crowd clapped until they came back on the stage and played another song. At the end of the night, Copeland exceeded all of my expectations with their sincerity and proficiency at playing fabulous rock n’ roll. It’s hard to impress this hardened music snob, and Copeland impressed the crap out of me. So if you get a chance, don’t miss an opportunity to see Copeland live.

Written by Scott Hearne.

As I drove down Washington Avenue in Houston, Texas cars lined both sides of the street and I saw industrial buildings looming in the skyline. As I approached Walter’s on Washington, I knew I had to drive past the club because there was nowhere to park in the small cement lot in front of the venue. I turned around and found a parking spot behind a small green building. Walter’s on Washington didn’t seem to be in a very secure annex of the Houston metropolitan area, and I feared for the safety of my recently parked car. But as I was already late for the show, I couldn’t move to a safer location, and there was no way in Hades I was going to miss seeing Pedro The Lion.

Disregarding my car’s safety, I approached the door to Walter’s on Washington and saw two pieces of paper taped to the door stating “Sold Out” in big black marker. I took a deep breath and thanked the good Lord I had pre-paid for my ticket.

As I opened the door and walked in, the first band was already playing. The band was made up of a bearded, bald man with glasses, a young kid on bass guitar, and a blonde haired woman singing and playing an electric guitar. I couldn’t see the drummer from where I was standing, and I didn’t make much of an effort to get closer to the stage. As I stood at the back of the crowd, I couldn’t remember the name of the band, so I asked a kid standing next to me, “Hey who’s the band playing right now?” He said, “The Reputation”. “Cool,” I replied, and we stood together and listened to their set.

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First off, let me say how refreshing it was to come home from a show and A.) not be sore from standing for 2+ hours, B.) not reek of cigarette smoke, and C.) not be annoyed from having dealt with a crowd of noisy, obnoxious scene kids.  It’s a very rare thing in Omaha, seeing as how most shows are in smoke-filled clubs and bars where people often seem more concerned with being seen than being quiet and attentive to the artist they paid good money to see.

But tonight’s show was in Witherspoon Hall, down in the bowels of Omaha’s Joslyn Art Museum—a lovely theatre that stood in stark contrast to the cold, poor acoustics-ridden dives one would normally attend to see any of the 3 artists (well, 4 really, but more on that later) that graced the stage.  Tonight’s show was labelled a night of “Solo And Collaborative Performances”, and it was truly that, as M. Ward, Jim James (My Morning Jacket), and Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes) wove their music together with the able talents of producer extraordinnaire Mike Mogis backing them up at nearly every turn.

My friends and I actually arrived at the show a little late, and so walked in after M. Ward had already begun his set.  I did manage to catch a snippet of his cover of David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance” (the one song of his I wanted to hear most of all), but unfortunately had to duck out in order to find my other friends and get to our seats (which, instead of being in the second row like we’d thought, were actually in the second row of the balcony—not bad seats, but finding them did make for a bit of awkwardness).  After getting situated, I was finally able to fully enjoy Ward’s set.  I’ve seen Ward several times, but this was the first time I was able to truly hear and absorb his music, and I found it subtly yet completely enthralling.

Ward’s music is deceptively simple.  His laidback playing and lazy singing style—it often sounds like he’s caught in perpetual yawn—are hardly arresting.  Indeed, it often seems like Ward might just nod off in the middle of his set and plop down for a little onstage nap.  And yet he soon has you under his spell, his simple music revealing all sorts of little intricacies and filigrees, not to mention charm.  During one of his last solo songs, Ward began looping his acoustic guitar, adding layer upon layer upon layer of simple-yet-lovely melodies, as Mogis came out to help Ward finish up his set with some gorgeous pedal steel.

As much as I was looking forward to seeing Ward, it was really Jim James who I had come to see.  And the reason is simple—the man can sing.  For my money, James possesses one of the most powerful and beautiful set of pipes in music these days, equal parts Wayne Coyne and Dwight Yoakam (yes, I really do mean that), as smooth as honey and as piercing as whiskey.  Or to put it another way, the man could record an album of him just singing through the phonebook and I’d probably buy it.

I had seen My Morning Jacket back in October, during which James came out and did a short solo set.  It was the memory of that short but sweet performance, and the hope of seeing something like that again, that made me plunk down my money for a ticket to tonight’s concert, and I was not disappointed.  James was easily the best of the three vocalists, and I found it funny that during James’ collaborations with Ward and Oberst, you could hear him restraining his voice so as not to overwhelm them.

Although he performed several songs from the latest My Morning Jacket album, each one graced by a searing vocal performance that found James’ yearning voice filling the entire marble-walled auditorium to bursting, the highlight of his solo set was a performance of “Bermuda Highway”, one of my fave tracks from 2001’s At Dawn.  No matter how many times I hear him sing “Oh, don’t carve me out!/Don’t let your silly dreams/Fall inbetween the crack of the bed and the wall”, the combination of those words and that voice always gets to me.

It’s a safe bet that most of the people there tonight had come to see Conor Oberst.  After all, this was Omaha.  I don’t think I’ve made any secret of my love/hate relationship with Oberst’s music.  At times, I think he can be a powerful and compelling songwriter, capable of some very stirring and poetic imagery.  And at other times, I find it all to be incredibly pretentious and melodramatic, almost bordering on self-parody.

During the first few songs of Oberst’s set, I found myself leaning towards the latter end of the spectrum.  At several points during those early songs, my friend and I looked at eachother and exchanged a skeptical glance or two.  With his stilted, ultra-punctuated vocal delivery and onstage mannerisms, it certainly looked like he was doing his darndest to give himself a nervous breakdown.

However, as Oberst’s set continued, I found myself getting drawn into his music in a way that I never have before, especially during a new track entitled “We Are Nowhere To Be Found And It Is Now” (IIRC).  And, as his set neared it’s end, I actually found myself developing a newfound respect for the guy.  Stripped of much of the orchestral bombast that filled his most recent recordings, there really wasn’t anything for Oberst to hide behind, and the nakedness of it all lent additional weight and depth to his shivering performance.

Not to belittle Oberst’s performance, but I did find it interesting that, whereas Ward and James spent most of their set unaccompanied, all but one or two of Oberst’s songs featured the instrumental skills of Mike Mogis.  Although Oberst obviously gets most of the attention and acclaim whenever Bright Eyes is discussed, one should not rule out Mogis’ importance.  And even tonight, in such a stripped down setting, his contributions (lap steel, mandolin, dobro) added immensely to Oberst’s playing.  In some ways, Mogis was the true hero of the night’s collaborations, fleshing out the performances of all 3 headliners while never claiming any of the spotlight.  Such humility and skill is rare, and should definitely be lauded.

Although all of the artists drifted through eachother’s performances, lending an extra guitar here, a back-up vocal there, the set ended with several songs featuring Ward, James, Oberst, and Mogis all belting out some tunes.  A stellar cover of “You Were Always On My Mind” that featured James on lead vocals notwithstanding, these collaborations were probably some of the night’s weaker moments.  However, given that tonight was the first date of the tour, they still might’ve been getting used to performing with eachother’s voices.

All in all, as good a show as I could’ve asked for.  Great venue (please, please, please let there be more shows there, or places like it, in the future), great atmosphere, and a trio—no, make that quartet—of great musicians.  In some ways, it felt like this was the first time I had heard their music for what it truly was, and that alone made it worth every penny.