Daniel Lewis Diedrich — Wichita, Kan., native and former Omaha musician — passed away in March. Daniel was a beautiful and prolific songwriter in his own right, as well as a magnetic performer who seemed to touch the hearts of all who saw him play or collaborated with him. Ever active, he was also a member of Spiders For Love and Electric Needle Room.

During his time in Omaha, Daniel was a mainstay at Barley Street Tavern. The club hosts a tribute concert in his name tomorrow night, featuring performances by Electric Needle Room and more. All funds gathered at the door will be donated to the Suicide Prevention Lifeline on Daniel’s behalf. RSVP here.

Below, friends and fellow musicians share their fondest thoughts and memories of Daniel and explain how he touched their lives. Please feel free to leave additional thoughts in the comments, or at Daniel’s tribute page here, where many have contributed songs and photos as well.

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Ash Trenhaile

There are many ways of knowing someone. I was probably not as close to Daniel as some of our other friends, but I know how he effected my life and my music. I met Daniel near the beginning of my first band, Platte River Rain. He was then and in every future time after that vibrant, full of ideas, excited about music and wearing a leather jacket. When I hung out with him, he made me feel cool. It’s not every day you get to be friends with a real live punk. I was lucky to be among the few that attended the very first show of Spiders For Love at The Foundry.  Daniel played his guitar and sang in a low heavy voice while Cryssy sang with him, bashful but beautiful, her first time on stage, loving every moment of it. It was one of the coolest things I have ever seen and had it been a different time or a different place, it would have become something of legends.

Daniel’s own music felt heavy and intensely deep, but he smiled while he jammed it in the basement of the yellow house I shared with George Prescott.  He loved to play. He loved to play with other people. Some of his songs were so heart breaking and beautiful, it was hard to believe music like that was being made in my home. It was a time when many people frequented The Barley Street open mic, eating soup from Kyle Harvey and singing sets to a packed room.  We all played shows together as friends do and the moments are far too many to grab onto and share just one. When I told George about this memoir, he reminded me of one show in which Daniel figured out my cell phone ringtone fit great in one of our songs. So he called my phone, which was siting in a bag on the stage, over and over while we played. That memory seems small in light of everything that happened, but friendships are collections of moments like that.

When I first found out about Daniel’s death I felt horribly guilty. All of the times I didn’t find to jam or record, all of the excuses like my kids or life business suddenly felt insignificant.  The truth is, being an artist is a hard gift to be given. It is lonely and isolating and there are very few people that have the power to reach in and pull you out of your muse’s cage. Daniel was one of those people that reached in for me. He charged up my hope in the music scene. He made the struggle look cool. He made the artistic torment look cool. Most importantly, he made amazing music that will always be a part of the people that heard it…or will hear it. So, check it out and spread it around, because that is the only way to truly give homage to a fallen soldier of sound. RIP Daniel, my friend.

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Matthew Hutton, former member of Thunder Power

Daniel was not only a band mate to me, but one of my best friends.

I first met Daniel at the Sokol Underground in 2006 as a result of 89.7 The River’s local concert series. The River created the bill for their own shows, so as a result, Thunder Power had been asked to play with Daniel, whom none of us knew or had ever met or heard before.

When I initially approached him and he seemed equal parts shy, disheveled and lanky. He was wearing a winter hat (the kind with ear flaps) and sunglasses, indoors, late at night. When he took the stage, he plugged in an electric guitar and started to play after a briefly introducing himself. I was immediately taken back by his baritone voice and eclectic melodies. I knew I was witnessing something special and I was instantly enamored with his songs. I told him we should collaborate, he said, “Yeah, maybe.” and we didn’t speak for a year.

photo courtesy of Matthew Hutton

The next time I saw him we were playing a show with Electric Needle Room and we began to talk about actual collaboration. He came over to my apartment with a Tascam and a guitar. He said he was unsure about the collaboration, so I played him my solo project that would later become My Pal Dragon, which he immediately took to, and started playing his songs for me.

Once we were in the pocket, we recorded 5 songs in one afternoon and Thee Tapeheads was born. I remember rushing to Thunder Power practice to play the Demo for “(To) Many Friends” telling them I had found my musical counterpart. He balanced me out as a musician. I challenged him and his guitar and he challenged my vocals and writing.

I was lucky enough to have lived with him for a period of time, playing songs, yelling and drinking. He was a blast of a human being and one of the greatest people I have ever known. His music changed me, the way I write and play. He was a truly inspirational and terrific songwriter who left a lasting impression on so many, with what seems to be an endless treasure trove of music, if you know where to look.

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Matt Beat, Electric Needle Room

I wish Daniel Lewis Diedrich truly knew how important he was to everyone around him. He was more than a songwriter, poet, visual artist, guitarist, singer, and a producer. He was a friend. A friend who inspired greatness in everyone. He had a unique way of looking at the world, and I always found it fascinating. Like Calvin Coolidge, he was a man of few words. Few truly knew his thoughts. We all got a sample, however, once he got on stage. Whether it was with Silver Man, Spiders For Love, Thee Tapeheads, us, or as one of his many pseudonyms over the last twenty years, once he got on stage you started to get it. He knew and saw things that most of us could never imagine. Most importantly, though, he listened to you. He had an open mind, and a big heart. He always put others first. His music will live on forever. I feel like he is still here any time I play his recordings. It was an honor to share a stage and recording studio (usually our basement) with this man. I learned so much from him.