Blitzen Trapper hail from Portland, Oregon, a rather medium-size city with a medium-size music scene whose collective talent rivals that of larger cities with larger scenes. Cities like New York, where Blitzen Trapper played Monday night. The crowd at Terminal 5 consisted of well-dressed, well-bearded hipsters, almost all of whom were in couple. Granted, the majority of the sold-out crowd probably came to see Iron and Wine, Blitzen Trapper’s Sub Pop label mates, but thanks to their solid performance, it would come as no surprise to see Blitzen Trapper return to New York as a headliner. For now, they are playing 45-minute opening sets that don’t allow the band much room to spread their wings and show off their musical chops. During “Saturday Night,” the funky piano, bass, and mini-solos begged to be taken into the stratosphere, but instead the band reeled them in and cut them off abruptly. This happened throughout the night on gems like “Sleepytime in the Western World” and “God and Suicide.” Guitarists Marty Marquis, Eric Early and Erik Menteer teased the audience with killer licks that yearned to be jammed, stopping the music the moment it climaxed, a cornerstone of the Trappers’ style.

In the cramped “Old Office” of the Knitting Factory, The Shake played a handful of their radio-friendly tunes for the shivering crowd of twenty-somethings and smug Wall Street types. The basement room was unheated save for the multitude of red light bulbs and hot air pulsating from singer Jon Merkin’s head. From the opener “Good Girl” it was apparent that The Shake is an extremely energetic band. But high spirits only go so far and unfortunately for The Shake, it ultimately comes down to the music. The Shake play like teenagers who’ve just discovered power chords, their grinding, crunching guitars pummeling any hint of melody into a tuneless mass. Merkin’s vocals are obviously modeled on Stephan Jenkins of Third Eye Blind or Oasis’ Liam Gallagher but he lacks both the charm and sneer of either. Eliad Shapiro’s lead guitar work recalls the other Gallagher brother but like Merkin, he can’t build on his influences or even pay homage.

“Now we’re gonna play all the hits,” James McMurtry growled into the microphone a quarter of the way into his set at the Music Hall of Williamsburg. He and his longtime band the Heartless Bastards (not to be confused with The Heartless Bastards) then launched into “Choctaw Bingo,” one of the most brilliant pieces of American songwriting in the last twenty years and probably McMurtry’s best-known number, thanks to its circulation on internet and satellite radio. You’d likely never hear it anywhere else; its themes of casual incest, drugged children and good-natured methamphetamine production tend to keep it off major airwaves.

Photo by Donovan Fannon For the first performance of a three-night run, marking the end of a month-long tour, 27-year-old Gregg Gillis hit the stage at Terminal 5 with a little more than most DJs usually offer. Between the mass of teens flooding the stage, random graphics on the screen hanging behind the stage and Super Trooper wannabes with toilet paper guns, it left one wondering if she was at a Girltalk concert or a high school talent show.

Some may deride The Who for pressing on with only two original members, for staging tour after tour even as Roger Daltrey’s voice shrinks progressively each night. Some may attack Daltrey and Pete Townshend for collecting massive payday after massive payday when the two quite obviously don’t get along, and don’t really seem to enjoy one another’s company onstage. But for all these reasons and many more, this is exactly why The Who of now is maybe more interesting than ever before. To see The Who now is to see Roger Daltrey struggle to sing “Love, Reign O’er Me” or “Baba O’Riley,” but it’s also an opportunity to see Pete Townshend still full of fight and defiance, pushing the hourglass back with barbed, frayed riffing. It’s the story of two very different men coming together to relish each and every time they get to experience the visceral thrill of the power chord shooting through their veins. But it’s also a story of two men, two longtime friends who don’t really hang out together but are forever tied to one another and more immediately there to support one another—maybe one more than the other—every night.

Asheville, North Carolina’s Arizona stopped in at Cake Shop Friday night, celebrating the release of their sophomore album, The Glowing Bird. The band opened with “Heath,” the first track on the excellent new record. The song is a folkie, midnight hayride on the album, but live, the meddling pace of the keys and guitars pick up to make the piece a stagecoach pursued by Comanches. During the gently psychedelic “Balloons,” the band’s soft, subtle vocal harmonies helped reveal the song as some amalgamation of doo-wop croon, Ween-like irreverence and Pink Floyd extended metaphor. Vocal harmonics and maximum guitar shreds were surely the order of the night, especially during such numbers as “Swimming Hole” and “Glowing Bird.” During the latter, guitarist Benjamin Morris Wigler dropped nearly to his knees, melting face while drummer James DeDakis seemed to be playing a Howitzer.

Photo by Kyle Stites A rousing rendition of “Cumberland Blues” kicked off Phil Lesh & Friends’ fourth night of a fourteen-show run at New York City’s Nokia Theater, and the band didn’t quit after that. The quintet, featuring Phil on vocals and bass, Jackie Greene on guitar and vocals, Larry Campbell on guitar, pedal steel and mandolin, John Molo playing drums and Steve Molitz behind the keyboards, continued from the opening moments to please the crowd. The first set was packed full of old favorites. Greene and Campbell traded guitar solos on “Beat it Down the Line;” a jam of “Loser” chugged into “New Minglewood Blues” and then “Brown Eyed Women” was followed by Theresa Williams belting out “Dancin’ in the Streets.” Set one went too quickly, but when it finished, the approximately four-fifths capacity crowd shuffled outside for a much needed smoke break before rushing back to the ballroom.

photo by Jacob Blickenstaff Brooklyn-based gothic-folk outfit O’Death held court at the Music Hall of Williamsburg last Thursday, celebrating the release of their second full length album Broken Hymns, Limbs and Skin and kicking off a five-week national tour. When the band took the stage after the revival-tent stomp and circumstance of opener Hoots and Hellmouth, O’Death looked like they’d been playing already for hours. Sweaty and visibly drunk, the band donned their instruments and set to work making their unsettling, strange sound that is at once altogether new and yet so familiar. From the very beginning, O’Death owned the audience of hip whipper-snappers and old-time music nerds. As singer and guitarist Greg Jamie hollered the chorus to “Down to Rest,” plaid-clad punks howled along with him, swaying back and forth with every pull of fiddler Bob Pycior’s bow. It’s clear that O’Death love performing live and have been doing it for some time now. They are truly a band, with every member pulling their weight, driving each other to gun the musical engine and keep the momentum careening around the bend like a runaway coal truck in eastern Kentucky.

photo by Sachyn Mital Tucked away just outside New Haven, Connecticut in the town of Hamden, The Space was host to no more than 75 people Monday evening for the first stop on My Brightest Diamond and Clare and the Reasons’ cross country tour. The Space had a cozy feel, like a bunch of friends gathered together in someone’s basement, with additional amenities such as a cafe (with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and homemade baked goods) and a consignment shop. Utilizing the same string trio (Olivier Manchon on violin, saw and bass; Marla Hansen on viola; Maria Jeffers on cello and each with a dash of other instruments), Clare Muldaur Manchon and Shara Worden's (also known as My Brightest Diamond) performances were personal and engaging. The show started late as part of the band was rushing up from a Conan O'Brien taping, so Shara took the time to sell her handmade scarves and pouches while talking to fans. And despite the revelation that she was feeling ill, no one would have noticed anything wrong with Clare's pleasing voice.

photo by Zachary Helminiak Kings of Leon’s latest album, Only By the Night showcases their mature departure from twangy southern rock. Their influences are less Lynard Skynard and more Rolling Stones infused with a slower, darker sound. Their North American tour is selling out, finally rivaling their outrageous fame in Europe. Lead singer Caleb Followill has a swagger that solidifies his place as a rock ‘n roll somebody. But with exponentially rising popularity, come similar expectations. And on Thursday night at the Fillmore in downtown Denver, Kings of Leon were sub par. The concert was short. Notorious for getting smashed before and during shows, the family quartet lacked chemistry and spontaneity. There was little interaction between the brothers Caleb, Jared, and Nathan (on vocals, bass, and drums, respectively) and cousin Matthew on lead guitar. Their only notable acknowledgment of the audience was a plea for more alcohol. “We’re not having a good time but we will get drunk with you guys. I need a fucking beer.” Caleb Followill proclaimed as he held up an empty mug.