Ashley Jordan Gordon

Better than: Going to class, according to teenage fans.

"I only sing for you," Lana Del Rey said to the throng of screaming fans at Amoeba Music yesterday evening, during a free performance and record-signing promoting her debut album, Born to Die.

Turns out Lana Del Rey is not a hologram. Despite the urge to test that theory by thrusting a hand through her chest, it seemed from her normal appearance, solid vocal performance, and lucid presence that a lot that has been written about Del Rey up to this point has likely been speculation. That's not necessarily the fault of critics, since she grants few interviews and rarely performs. The shroud of mystery certainly left a vacuum to fill with both petty insults and legitimate concerns.

Earlier this week, my column explored the questions about her authenticity and skill as a performer. Yesterday, many of those issues were laid to rest. She didn't look plasticky, her outfit was unpretentious (Converse and a simple white dress), she was neither awkward nor stiff, her interactions with the audience were comfortable and gracious, and the girl can really sing. On key. With a vocal range that can manifest the opposing timbres of Marilyn Monroe and Barry White all in a single line. Despite my not wanting to admit it, and perhaps conditioned by low expectations, she was, in truth, thoroughly impressive.

Chuck Prophet on the bus last night. More photos after the jump.

Better than: Going broke at any nearby Mission District restaurant.

To commemorate yesterday's release of his new album, Temple Beautiful, S.F. singer-songwriter Chuck Prophet and Yep Roc Records treated about 40 fans to a guided bus tour of San Francisco last night, followed by an intimate set at The Catacombs with Prophet and an impressive array of guests. The motif of the tour was intended to coincide with the thematic spirit of Temple Beautiful, an appreciation of San Francisco's local lore and unusual history.

Unconventional promotion is not entirely new to Prophet. (We seem to recall a taco cart outside Café Du Nord at an earlier album launch.) But the elaborate bus tour, which took attendees to various San Francisco locales chosen by Prophet, was a particularly earnest and unique gesture, especially considering it was free.

Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra last night at Great American Music Hall.

Better than: Any use of a flute in a rock song, ever.

Before the five members of Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra ascended the stage last night at the Great American Music Hall, it was evident that the quintet intended to deliver an intimate performance. But the show firmly exceeded intimacy, in that each instrumentalist asserted their tasteful proficiency individually, while balancing their roles as members of a group.

The intimacy of a live performance is hinged upon the audience's ability to witness a group perform in their most natural setting, and Silver Mt. Zion's equipment was arranged more like a rehearsal than a concert. Amplifiers were situated in a crescent, rather than pointed out at the crowd, and the floor was strewn with pedal boards and other wiry, flashing minutia. The gear was set upon tall stacks of equipment cases like harrowing pillars, as the amps were rather small by the standards of rock bands performing at a venue the size of the Great American.

Shabazz Palaces at Yoshi's last night.

Better than: Expecting a Digable Planets reunion.

I won't lie: if I wasn't sure what to expect of Shabazz Palaces. I secretly hoped I might witness a Digable Planets revival at the very least.

There was no need. Shabazz Palaces is the brainchild of Ishmael "Butterfly" Butler, whose boho cool lent much to the jazz-minded Digable Planets sound. Under the name Palaceer Lazaro, here he's combined an even more ancient musical past with something as surreal as it is primordially familiar.

Christopher Victorio

Fitz and the Tantrums at the Regency. (Photos are from the band's Thursday show.)

Better than: Dancing to the same LMFAO songs over and over again.

The eardrum-destroying power behind Fitz and the Tantrums' sold-out show Friday night at the Regency Ballroom left attendees squinty-eyed and disoriented, but wanting more. "We collectively are making a hot sweaty mess up in here tonight," frontman Michael Fitzpatrick, exclaimed, with much cockiness.

His skeleton-like figure was dressed in all black, with that signature blonde streak sweeping across his forehead. He mentioned the array of women waiting for him backstage within the first 10 minutes of being up there. Gripping a microphone anchored to its stand for most of the set, any movement the somewhat robotic Fitz lacked was made up for by his counterpart, Noelle Scaggs.

Joseph Schell

Wilco at the Warfield last night.

Better than: Being sad in less beautiful ways.

Nine songs into Wilco's performance last night at the Warfield, Jeff Tweedy stopped to check on his audience:

"This has been kind of a morbid show so far. Are you guys okay?" he asked, seemingly more serious than joking. "We figured if you're here, you probably enjoy being sad -- at least a little bit. I know I do."

Tweedy excels at writing pained songs -- some as miserably precise in their lyrics as they are desolate in their sonics. But last night, even with a setlist that included some of this Chicago band's bleakest and best moments, Wilco's two-hour performance was never morbid. Instead it felt like a solemn celebration, a bracing reminder of the magic that can happen when a songwriter, a rock band, and a relatively small audience come together in just the right way. The songs themselves may have expressed misery, but the grace and energy given to them imparted a kind of a buzzing, heartworn elation.

Bob Weir and RatDog last night in Marin. All photos by Ashley Jordan Gordon.

Better than: The Internet sensations of today.

Grateful Dead founding member Bob Weir put the finishing touches on his live HD webcasting venue and studio, San Rafael's Tamalpais Research Institute (TRI) in March of 2011. Last night, a little less than a year later, he reunited there with his post-Dead band, RatDog, for an invite-only performance that was broadcast to over 100,000 viewers on the studio's website.

The band sounded incredible. And that's coming from someone who couldn't necessarily name more than a few Grateful Dead songs or pick any of the key players out of a lineup, save perhaps Jerry Garcia (and that might only be recognition from a certain ice cream carton). But judging from the audience's ubiquitous head-bobbing dance moves and lyric-mouthing, it was easy to pick out the RatDog favorites like "Money for Gasoline," and Grateful Dead mainstays like "Eyes of the World" and "The Music Never Stopped." Last night's was a mixed crowd, with a surprising number of younger folks milling about and, impressively, singing along.

Modest Mouse at the Warfield last night.

Better than: Working in an Apple factory.

Barker-in-chief Issac Brock's band Modest Mouse played at the Warfield last night, some special event related to the giant Macworld confab going on downtown. The show drew a crush of bearded dudes and leather-booted ladies, who, before entering the venue, were treated to an extended stay in one of San Francisco's most delightful locales: That downtrodden, semi-dangerous corner of Sixth and Market, where a line hundreds of people long -- like, discouragingly long -- wrapped around the venue and up Taylor Street.

Wolves in the Throne Room at Slim's last night.

Better than: Anarcho-Punk bands performing at the Republican National Convention.

It's easy to see how Wolves in the Throne Room are demonized by many cult black metal fans as the group most responsible for the neutering and repackaging of their beloved genre for middle-class Americans. Unfortunately, the band's live performance at Slim's last night offered little in the way of redemption.

The sheer incongruity between the band's diligently cultivated stage setup and the professional venue stank of contrived posturing and sensationalism. The stage was draped with elaborate black banners depicting white animal etchings underscored by cryptic words in that unmistakable, ceaselessly recycled black metal script. Before the band's set began, with fog machines running thick, an eerie ambiance had begun to envelop the room. But the Slim's intercom cheerily announcing coat checking and dinner options obliterated any potential moodiness. It reinforced the unavoidable conclusion that one was witnessing a gimmicky spectacle. Even the animal bones and candles adorning WITTR's merchandise table were like a gloomy playground for young professionals to moonlight as occultists and throw money around.

Nathan Mattise

Theophilus London at Mezzanine on Friday.

Better than: Some modern-day Lawrence Welk incarnation.

Being an MC is hard. You can be criticized for one of the most abstract concepts in music -- your "flow" -- if it strikes people as odd or different. Your lyrical content gets scrutinized more closely than your band-backed contemporaries, too.

It only gets worse when performing live. Most venues push bass and drum audio levels to the forefront. Even the best lead singers and rappers face this, but an unknown MC can't rely on the audience's collective knowledge the way bigger names can. Fans shout Kanye's lyrics back at him no matter what they can or can't hear, but that's not what someone like Big Sean enjoys every night.

Theophilus London qualifies as a relatively unknown MC (with all of his major releases happening in the last calendar year). So when he entered the stage -- with a hype man in a matching "LVRS" hat and a headphone-clad DJ behind them -- it was easy to imagine the night unfolding. Devoted fans bouncing, rest of the crowd against the wall with drinks in hand. Nothing special.

But as London went through his set at Mezzanine, his performance indicated that the traditional MC is just one role he sees himself in.