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.