CHEVELLE, ASKING ALEXANDRIA, DEAD POET SOCIETY
August 12th, 2025
Steelhouse, Omaha, Nebraska
Live Nation’s Steelhouse Omaha was turned into a pressure chamber on August 12th, packing in a triple bill that made the room feel both massive and intimate at once.
Dead Poet Society, not strangers to a Nebraska stage, set the tone with a taut, minimalist attack—baritone guitar snarls, rubbery bass lines, and Jack Underkofler’s elastic vocal letting tension hang in the rafters before snapping into big, cathartic choruses. They played like a band with something to prove: no wasted motion, no filler, just wiry grooves that kept the floor swaying. By the time they closed, the mix had warmed up, the crowd had pushed closer, and the air had that pre-storm heaviness.
Asking Alexandria took that energy and shoved it straight into overdrive, tumbling into their dark void. The lights went full strobe, and Danny Worsnop’s voice—equal parts roar and rasp—rode the top of a rhythm section that never stopped sprinting. The band toggled between their heavier metalcore roots and slicker, arena-ready hooks without losing momentum; breakdowns hit with the precision of a drop hammer, then melted into sing-alongs that had balconies and barricade shouting in the same key. Mosh pockets opened and folded like rip tides, security was busy but relaxed, and the band looked loose—grinning, bantering, and clearly enjoying the push-pull with the Omaha crowd. If Dead Poet Society lit the fuse, Asking Alexandria was the flare that told the whole room the sky was about to change color.
Enter Chevelle, who didn’t so much start their set as level the room with tone. Few bands understand negative space the way they do: Sam Loeffler’s drums punching clean holes in the mix, bass rattling ribcages, and Pete Loeffler’s guitar carving serrated lines that feel both clinical and volcanic. The production leaned into contrast—wide, shadowy washes of light broken by crisp, surgical flashes—mirroring the songs’ dynamic swings from smolder to detonation. The band’s catalog is built for venues like Steelhouse; riffs landed like iron beams, while the choruses—those glacial, inevitable hooks—rose up through the noise and gave the crowd something massive to sing at. Classic cuts drew the loudest response, of course, but newer material sat comfortably beside them, proof that Chevelle’s engine still idles mean and revs meaner.
What tied the night together was coherence without sameness. Dead Poet Society’s sinewy alt-rock, Asking Alexandria’s high-octane catharsis, and Chevelle’s monolithic precision created a three-act arc that kept the floor engaged without ever feeling redundant. Sound was punchy and balanced (a small victory given how low-end-heavy this lineup is), and Steelhouse itself continues to be a sweet spot—big-room production with club-level immediacy.
By the end, you could feel that satisfied fatigue unique to a show where the headliner lands exactly as advertised, and the openers do more than warm the seats—they raise the stakes. August 12 wasn’t just a stacked bill; it was a lesson in dynamics, proof that heaviness isn’t just about volume, it’s about intention. Omaha turned a Tuesday night into a Friday night and got all three.
Words and photos by Adam
