Omaha Kuntz

Have you ever wondered what Sarah Bohling's solo album would sound like? You haven't. You don't care- and why should you? You can't even muster up the strength to care about your girlfriend's day. The reason Sarah Bohling should never, EVER record a solo album is because there would be no dynamic. She's The Killer Babe of Icky Blossoms, with ethereal vocals and half-ass keyboarding. You take out the obnoxious, decadent, self-obsessed boys of IB, and you rob Sarah of the light that makes her shine.

Since there seems to be a rise in neo-feminism (I saw you purchasing that Bikini Kill vinyl at the Saddle Creek Shop, you hipster), let's talk about girls. There is a common misconception that girls just can't rock. Of course they have it in them, but rarely do they have the energy to actually go through with it. Whether you're a die-hard Runaways "bisexual" or a closeted Heart fan, the female race have made it abundantly clear that they can rock, and they can rock for a variety of cliques.

But a good girl band is hard to find! Maha 2012 was a disgrace to all-girl bands. Dum Dum Girls and The Mynabirds are a bunch of lazy floozies that make music like a lonely housewife makes herself a cocktail of anti-depressants on a Tuesday night. Where is the angst, the desperation to prove that women are just as good as men?

There is no place for a battle of the sexes in music. If you've ever seen Whispertown live, and you've seen the way Jake Bellows looks at his wife when they perform, you know this is true. Musicians don't have to be significant others in order to make something beautiful. Look at Blondie, the Pixies, The Cramps... even Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes, that fucking flea-ridden, anything-goes orgy- they can portray beauty in their music. 

When we work together, Kuntz, we succeed.

For those who still doubt that those who menstruate can do anything but, hop on over to Benson tomorrow night- specifically, the Sweatshop. Budding sensations George Glass and Sister Kisser are playing, and our local Saviors, Howard, are making a miraculous comeback. All of these bands feature strong female leads: fearless broads with shadowy male accompanists. They're doing it right, Omaha. You could learn a thing or two.

Oh, how I have yearned for Howard's return! I haven't felt like Anna McClellan's therapist in ages. Will she wow the crowds with new material? Has Corey McDaniel been playing around on his fretboard? Fuck it. This trio is so goddamn beautiful that I don't care if I see anything new.

As for Sister Kisser, it's nice to see you come up and out of the basement. Are you prepared? Can Emma Penrose involve her audience so fiercely when they're more than just inches away from her? (Where will she puke???)

For once, I can actually sit through a set without going out for a smoke- but that's only because SK's sets are so short. Take the hint, we'd actually like to hear MORE from you.

I often find myself haunted by one lingering saying: "Art is not made to be judged." After flip-flopping my view on this for quite some time, I can agree with this sentiment but I just can't bring myself to abide by it. If you have a favorite movie, you have judged art. If you have a painting in your home you have judged art. If you have vowed to make fun of the Insane Clown Posse until your dying breath, you are -more or less- judging "art."

Think of your favorite band. You just judged art.

Art has been ridiculed, critiqued, built up, and shamed throughout the entire history of humanity. Why did Michelangelo get to paint the Sistine Chapel rather than Boracelli, the artist whose name you've never heard of because he didn't paint the Sistine Chapel? J.K. Rowling sent her manuscript to countless publishing companies before she was able to make a dime off of Harry Potter- long before Daniel Radcliffe made millions off of her. And while we're at it, I'm sure Decca Records is kicking themselves for closing their door on the Beatles.

Had we set about to create art, we would have put our names on the blog, and we probably would have used the correct spelling of "cunts." We are not writers, and we are not artists, but neither are you.

The goal of the blog is to critique local art, good and bad: music and lyrics, venues and events. I encourage all of you to do the same thing I am doing. If you're going to rave to your coworkers about the latest Sweatshop show, what is preventing you from telling your best friend that his band sucks? Together we could make the world a better place, on- and off-line. Ke$ha wouldn't have a career and spoiled daughters wouldn't spend their father's paycheck on nose bleed seats to the next One Direction show if it weren't for good reviews written by soulless, spineless kuntz.

1. Why is your grammar so bad?

2. Why are you trash talking our local heroes?

3. What caused this recent outburst?

Answers:

1. 

2.

3.

There's a reason we call ourselves Kuntz, Omaha. We may not be well-educated, soft-spoken, or even civil, but our validity in music critique comes from our narcissism & our notoriety.

We have acted just like every band member in this town in our pursuit of fame, with one difference: we haven't told our friends about us yet. No one has helped us but our fellow Kuntz- you!

Nobody's perfect, and no musicians are human.

WE RAISE OUR GLASSES AND TOAST TO YOU, ONLY YOU. WE HAVE BUT ONE QUESTION: WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO READ NEXT? SEND US AN E-MAIL WITH REQUESTS IF YOU THINK WE'RE OUTING THE WRONG PEOPLE!

One wants to be hipster, one a self-indulged greaser, there's a shirtless drummer and a dancing bassist. You put all this together and you form a shitty mix of gibberish layered in a mix of power chords and pounding drums. We know this as Snake Island! 

There is so much to talk about when it comes to Snake Island! so we will start with the name.  I often ask myself the same question: why the fuck is it Snake Island! rather than just "Snake Island"?  Are we supposed to be excited to see this dick scream bullshit into a fucked up mic while his pet monkey is jumping up and down like a 11 year old girl at a Bieber show, while playing the same three chords as he drowns himself in cheap booze?  The lead vocalist (That is if you have a loose definition of the word vocalist) struts around before his show with a head as big as Kim K’s asshole. Don’t even attempt to speak with him because he only has time for his bra-less lover. (Will someone buy that hippie a damn bra?)  I would be extremely grateful if someone would ask this dude if he is aware that the biggest venue he has played was the Slowdown.

All I am trying to say is stop the whole fucking exclamation point thing, kick Allan out, and maybe just stop making music and you guys might be alright.

1. "Serf's Up" by Worried Mothers

I have always been haunted by the general rule that however one spends his New Year's Eve is how the entire next year will be spent. I counted down to 2012 surrounded by a bunch of fucking strangers in a house I wouldn't recognize if I ever had the chance to return. No one kissed each other, or, everyone was kissing each other; I was puking in the bathroom; I was lying on the driveway.

In other words, I had succumbed to a syndrome known as the Slave Syndrome. I was a slave to my friends, to my ego, and most of all, to this town. I needed change, and I was slave to any anarchist that proposed it. Some things never change, Kuntz. I'm a fucking slave, and so are you. We go forth, we reminisce, we make half-ass art, and we support trash. 

2. "Sorry Wrong Number (He Blew It)" by Places We Slept

I promised myself I needed to get laid last summer, and by George, I tried my hardest to. Upon hearing the notorious tales of my peers' promiscuity, I made the silly assumption that it was easy to get laid- or rather, get laid twice by the same person. Courting is exhausting, because nobody wants to be treated like a lady or told that their eyes twinkle or that their laughter is music. In the general sense, yes, we all want those things, but not from YOU. You're too cool to be sentimental, and I'm too cool to commit. We dissociate ourselves from romance much like the absurd Youtube commenter is immune to the consequences of ripping Rachel Black a new asshole. (OmahaKuntz & thisbandsucks- need I say more?)

If you're getting laid consistently, congratulations. If you're with the same bird every night, you're set for life.

3. "Banana Now" by Yuppies

This song goes out to all of those shitty basement shows that took place at Hotel Frank/Middle Haus/West Wing/whathaveyou this summer. The shows were dank, but not the good kind. The loudest thing to happen there was that misconstrued fistfight between the East Wing thugs and that unsuspecting John Doe.

4. "tøothpvste" by LABELMAKER

Moments, places, people, and ideas have been slaughtered throughout the past year. I'm sorry to seem some of them go (the Antiquarium, Howard, the hope of the completion of road construction in the Old Market) and I could care less for the rest (the Sandbox).

R.I.P.

5. "Tunnel of Love" by Brimstone Howl

This song is dedicated to how many times I said I was going to kick my nicotine habit, and how many songs -like this one- convinced me not to.

6. "Eyes Don't Say" by Razors

One of my favorite things about the music of Sun Settings is that I can dance to it with anyone. I have a fond memory of running into an old friend at an SS show. Right off the bat, I grabbed her hand and had her dance with me. For the duration of a song (I'll humor you- "When I'm With You"), it didn't matter that she was completely bonkers or that all of my friends hated me; there was the music, there was her & me, and there was my Taco Bell cup of whiskey & Coke.

I thought I was friends with celebrities. I was so happy, but so, so stupid.

Sun Settings is playing their farewell tonight at the House of Loom, and what a grand farewell it is- they're playing for free!

There was a time when SS ruled the streets, but the only streets that still listen are the ones they live on. SS has been taking it easy for a good two years, like cheeky trust fund brats coasting through Swedish boarding school. They haven't produced anything beautiful in a while, and they gave up on stardom the moment they gave Cat Carne the boot.

To say goodbye as politely as possible, let's recall the highlights of SS' history: in our basements, our garages, and our pathetic, punchdrunk hearts.

Highlight #1: I once drove to a weird part of town and walked through a chainlink fence into a teenage Disneyland: bounce castle, unchaperoned keg, and shirtless SS rocking their socks off in a garage. Then, an eccentric gentlemen sauntered onto the scene and began hustling & heckling all of us until the big loud bubblegum pop of Sun Settings reached his ears and introduced him to his Savior. He burst to the front of the crowd & waved his hand to the beat, eyes closed, in ecstasy. He enjoyed the show more than the rest of us combined.

We were too busy taking pictures of the bum, of course.

Highlight #2: Does anybody still have one of those cool SS T-shirts with the babe on front?

I didn't think so. They were shit.

Highlight #3: We may have had somebody's mother hollering at us for smoking in her backyard, but I like the Dundee porch concerts in the fall of 2010. The best part was, whenever SS started playing, the cops showed up. "Two more songs," they begged as the pigs hopped over the neighbor's fence.

No matter how many acts had echoed through the hipster hood that night, the cops never failed to bust "Japanese Gum." It's as if the surrounding tenants finally decided to put their feet down & dial three numbers for the sake of humanity.

    "9-1-1. What's your emergency?"

    "It's those narcissistic vampires again. They wrote a new song."

You gotta love Dundee neighbors.

Highlight #4: "Blood In The Water"

 If you haven't heard this song, you might actually be attracted to it after a few PBRs, ya hipster. The simple chord progression combined with cool cat guitar pedals and emotional drumming form a syrupy-sweet epic.

TL;DR--- This song was inspired by Rihanna's 2006 masterpiece "Unfaithful."

To pay homage to the late Sun Settings, let's all go home and fuck our buddies to "I Won't Be There." It's almost as good as fucking your wife to Jay Leno.

In the last year it has came to me and a few close friends attention that while Omaha does have a lot of shit to complain about (thisbandsucks.) There are also some things that aren't so shitty.  We are definitely not trying to set out and be some happy go lucky blog spot that praises shitty Lincoln bands, or shove our noses so deep up Derek Pressnall's ass that we suffocate in shitty electronic driven child molesting ballads. We just want to give you honest thoughts, good and bad on a scene that is pushed by friends giving good reviews of shitty work, and people who listen to better music then you eating at shitty restaurants with fixed geared bicycles hanging on the wall, that serve food that taste like it was prepared on the floor. There has to be a magical spot where honesty coincides with the work. That is what we are setting out to do. We will probably fail like a Nik Fackler solo project but so be it.  Peace Kuntz!