Benjamin Lozovsky

Jack White w/Alabama Shakes
Roseland Ballroom
Monday, May 21

Better than: Sweating profusely in Wichita.

Jack White doesn't seem like the type to reminisce. He's certainly wrapped in more nostalgia than penny candy, and his unflappable rise as the most artful Americana reconstructionist and thorough throwback rock star of his era has always been based around an ephemeral dialogue with the past. Still, looking longingly inward towards his own experiences and previous work never seemed to fit into White's eccentricities—slowing down for resurrection or remembrance was never an option when constantly moving and expanding one's creative abilities was the key necessity to survival.

But after the dissolution of The White Stripe, White was put in the uncomfortable position of momentary stasis. It was a true turning point, a thoughtful juncture where pure momentum didn't matter anymore. During the first of two concerts at Roseland Ballroom in support of his first solo album Blunderbuss, White seemed more aware of a tangible past than ever.

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K. Leander Williams/tru2blupix

Gil Evans Centennial Celebration
Highline Ballroom
Monday, May 21

Better than: Never witnessing a world-class band in action.

I'm actually fortunate enough to have caught the Gil Evans Orchestra in the '80s, before it became a ghost band. Back then, when the slew of clubs lining Seventh Avenue South below West 11th made that stretch prime jazz real estate, Evans was the genius you could still get within handshaking distance of every Monday night at Sweet Basil. By that time the Miles Davis collaborations that had made the arranger's reputation were decades in the past, and Evans, then in his seventies, seemed content to leave them there—much like Miles had. Anyone who came to Sweet Basil looking to hear silky bits from Birth Of The Cool, Sketches Of Spain or Miles Ahead was often in for a shock; the graceful French horns, tubas and flutes were on hand, but the arrangements were spiked with raucous grooves and guitar (borrowed from Jimi Hendrix and punk) as well as the noise of the avant-garde. Evans, born Ian Ernest Gilmore Green in Toronto, would flash a wide-eyed grin and make subtle gestures as his weekly groupings of the scene's most vibrant young sessioneers came together—and on many occasions fell apart.

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Kindness
(le) Poisson Rouge
Thursday, May 17

Better than: You.

Adam Bainbridge, mastermind of UK electro project Kindness, is a cool guy, but he might be just a little too cool for his own good. Last night at (le) Poisson Rouge—where Kindness made its New York City debut—Bainbridge firmly established himself as a powerful and talented stage presence. But he also showed himself to be willing to undermine that charisma with snide, off-the-cuff comments and an arrogant, almost pretentious attitude.

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The Men.

Ty Segall, White Fence, Strange Boys, The Men
Webster Hall
Wednesday, May 16

Better than: Whatever the previous "Show of the Century" was.

It's hard to pinpoint the best part of last night's dizzying, unpretentious four-band bill at Webster Hall, which Bowery Presents billed as the "Show of the Century." Was it when the Men played all the way through their new, still-untitled followup to 2012's fabulous Open Your Heart? Or perhaps it was when Tim Presley of White Fence threatened the crowd because he got a beer tossed at him, then sweetly apologized? Or maybe it came at the end of the night, when Ty Segall finished his set, paused, looked over the rabid crowd and took a big, well-deserved bow?

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Beach House w/ Zomes
Bowery Ballroom
Tuesday, May 15

Better than: Having to wait two more months to see Beach House perform at Summerstage.

I've never had 500-plus people in the palm of my hand, but I imagine it must be a powerful feeling. Every eyeball fixated on you, every pair of hands waiting for you to stop singing so they can clap. At this point in their careers, Beach House's members should be no strangers to this feeling, yet their sheer charisma makes it seem like a brand new feeling for them. At the Bowery Ballroom—during a show celebrating the release of their gorgeous fourth album, Bloom—the band unleashed sound and fury and a lot of bright lights. As colors faded in and out of sight, seemingly in tandem with the intensity of singer Victoria Legrand, the trio showered the adoring crowd with the music they so desperately craved. There may have been tears from a gentleman behind me, although those might have come because the other half of Beach House, Alex Scally, was ignoring his obnoxious shouts of "ALEX!"

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Hotly hyped Mississippi rapper Big K.R.I.T. had a listening party for his much-delayed album Live From The Underground (Def Jam) last night! It went down at Fight Klub Studios in Manhattan, and SOTC pried out six pieces of information (both pertinent and willfully trivial) about the project, which will finally be released on June 5.

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Mares Of Thrace w/Batillus, Sky Burial, Mortals
St. Vitus
Tuesday, May 15

Better than: Sitting home and reading tweets about the Beach House show.

First things first: in Greek mythology, the Mares of Thrace were four man-eating horses Hercules had to capture for his eighth labor, a feat he accomplished by getting the horses to eat their own master, which sedated them enough for him to steal them. It's a good story and a better band name, and the Mares of Thrace that played St. Vitus on Tuesday would not be subdued quite so easily, though they certainly arrived in a slightly weakened state.

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Rustie.

Rustie w/Mess Kid, Kilo Kish, Spaceghostpurrp
Santos Party House
Tuesday, May 15

Better than: Being in a quiet, big room.

Glaswegian producer Rustie (born Russel Whyte) makes huge dance tracks that are helping define a new maximalist, everything-goes ethos in electronic dance music. The basement of Santos Party House, where he headlined the Shortcuts party last night, is relatively tiny. This resulted in people new to the space, but familiar with Rustie's work, inspect its close walls quizzically, seemingly wondering how so much sound was going to fit into such a small space.

As it turned out, the sound fit just fine. Despite having to wait an hour and a half for initial opening act Mess Kid to arrive, and another two and a half for the man himself, the crowd thrilled to Rustie. He responded to the enthusiasm deftly, playing well enough to merit an encore even as half the crowd was exhausted to the point of collapse, but still awake enough to thrash around and elbow each other's faces until Whyte's laptop was shut for good.

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Zola Jesus
Guggenheim Museum
Thursday, May 10

Better than: Dancing about architecture.

One had to assume that Nika Roza Danilova would make it into a museum sooner or later. A classically trained opera singer, she released her first album under the moniker Zola Jesus while studying French philosophy at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Her songs pair soaring, direct vocals with drum machines and ominous vibes. 2011's Conatus is mysterious while offering a direct line to a powerful emotional core. And at the Guggenheim last night, she showed up wearing a boa made out of swirling lights, glowing around her neck.

Zola Jesus was here as the third and final act in "Divine Ricochet," a series of live music meant to accompany the abstract expressionist sculpture of John Chamberlain. Made out of American cars in the '50s and '60s, Chamberlain's sculptures are metallic clashes, violent re-arrangements of things regularly taken for granted, so it made sense that for performance, Zola Jesus would combine a variety of sounds. "Gimmick" isn't quite the right word, but shows at nontraditional venues, like the Guggenheim, have a tendency to bring out the experimental side in everyone, which is probably what made her want to collaborate with industrial composer J.G Thirlwell and the Mivos Quartet.

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The Beach Boys
Beacon Theater
Wednesday, May 9

Better than: You were almost definitely expecting.

Yes, John Stamos introduced them. And, yeah, they filed onstage, called out one by one by their bandleader in true showbiz style while the backing musicians—twice as many as original members—struck up a tasty groove. But then, there they are, the Beach Boys. "For fifty generations they are still going strong," Stamos says during the intro, a tongue slip, but it makes more sense with the sight of Brian Wilson, Mike Love, Al Jardine, and Bruce Johnston. All around 70, theirs are faces that seem to have occupied vast tracts of time—'60s sunshine, '70s implosion, '80s chintz, '90s wilderness730151;and somehow survived into the second decade of the 21st century to arrive at the Beacon Theater for two shows this week. To point out that they are grandparents many times over is besides the point, which is that they're the Beach Boys.

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