In the southwest corner of the state — just about a 40-minute drive through flat, heavily irrigated farmland to either Kansas or Colorado — sits my small hometown of Imperial, Neb. It's slow little county seat where the courthouse siren still blows every weekday at noon, and where a single stoplight on its main street hasn't operated since well before I was around.
There's a distinct feeling of isolation that only people from small towns can really know. It's not necessarily a bad thing. It's what attracts high school football stars to return in their early 20s and raise families. And it's this general feeling of private simpatico that allows people to talk religion and politics openly at the grocery store.
You don't lock your car or your home, unless the carnival's in town. You can actually let your kids play in the street. And you wave to every car as you pass them — because it's a given that you know them. And it would be rude to do otherwise.
It's safe, and it's a wonderful place to live for all of those reasons and many more.
But, growing up there in the late '90s, I felt a cultural isolation that I'm not sure exists today. My home didn't have MTV, and dial-up internet was just getting its footing in the area (I barely used it at school). Most new music I heard came from a friend's older brother. Or, someone would return from Denver with an Ice Cube CD as if it was tobacco from the New World.
It was hard to discover new music. You really had to work at it, or take chances. Steve's Video was and still is the only place to buy new music in town. Your other option was to buy censored CDs at Wal-Mart an hour away. I remember going through Steve's distributors' list of titles and picking bands like Screeching Weasel and Nerf Herder because they had interesting names. Luckily, they were awesome. Then I'd read the liner notes and see which bands they thanked, and I'd order their albums. And I'd learn of new bands from those bands, and so on. It was a process that made every discovery feel special, and created a unique personal attachment to every band.
But it also meant that I didn't discover exceptional, but largely underground Nebraska bands until I got to college. And I missed out on some great stuff — like Mercy Rule, Slowdown Virginia, Sideshow, For Against, Mousetrap and so many more.
It seems obvious now, but it didn't occur to me then that I didn't have to look to the coasts for music that moved me. And that there was no reason to co-opt big-city style when bands and artists were putting out even cooler music from my home state — and they talked and dressed like me (when I wasn't co-opting big-city style poorly).
In lieu of, perhaps, more engaging entertainment options back in those days, my friends and I liked to climb things — houses, hills (there are a couple), grain elevators and the city's water tower. Finding a spot, as tall as possible, we'd sit under the most incredible expanse of stars. We'd look past our tiny little town, over the small glows from distant farmhouses and further still into a deep, dark horizon.
It just seemed like something to do at the time. But maybe it was an attempt to see something special that we knew was out of reach. Most of my friends, myself included, have found whatever we were looking for by leaving Imperial, which was the easiest way to do it. But now I don't think that's so true.
Digital culture means you don't have to leave Valentine, Scottsbluff, Sydney or Pierce to be part of the state's great musical product. In fact, don't. Stay, and start a band of your own. And create a profile for your band right here on HearNebraska.org. Post your shows on our events calendar and promote the hell out of them on this site — through the forum and by posting blogs to appear under Your News on our homepage. And share that content on Facebook and Twitter.
Contact bands from Omaha and Lincoln who seem cool and whose sound compliments yours, and trade shows. Our bands page features almost 70 artists already, but we need more, and we want to hear about bands outside of the major cities. Surprise us, and impress us.
Many of the members of Nebraska's best bands aren't from Lincoln or Omaha. The guys in Brimstone Howl are all from around Grand Island. The Mogis Brothers (Bright Eyes, ARC Studios) are from North Platte. The guys in Masses are from Columbus. There are countless other examples.
Wherever you are in the state, you're not isolated — not even if you want to be. Speak up and start building connections. We at Hear Nebraska are presenting concerts to help drive home the idea that our music scene transcends city lines. We're celebrating our launch with two shows this weekend that each feature bands from Omaha and Lincoln. In March, we're bringing national touring bands like The Photo Atlas and The Kickback, and we're putting great bands from Omaha and Lincoln on these bills.
And soon, we hope to start bringing some of these bands to small towns in the state. But we're going to need good local openers. And we're going to need venues to put on these shows. So, if you're as excited about building the state's music culture as we are, tell us. Get in touch.
Because while climbing sturdy ladders to reach a solid platform is a decent way to spend an evening, I'd rather have my shoes stuck to spilled drinks on a shaking floor.
Andrew Norman is the director and editor of Hear Nebraska. Contact him at andrewn@hearnebraska.org.