The Ten Best Los Angeles Concerts of 2012

Timothy Norris

10. My Morning Jacket
The Wiltern, September 11-13
The ever-electrifying My Morning Jacket held a three-night stint at the Wiltern this past September and didn't repeat a single tune. That's right. Three nights and no repeats. It takes one heck of a repertoire not just to have that many songs, but to remember how to play them all. From whiskey-fueled country laments like "Golden" to disco party jams "Touch Me I'm Going to Scream Part II" to a gospel choir "Holdin On to Black Metal" and some really daring covers including "Tyrone" (Erykah Badu) and "I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man" (Prince), The long-haired Kentucky natives brought something for everyone. --Molly Bergen

See also: The Best Los Angeles Concerts of 2011

Timothy Norris

9. Tame Impala
El Rey Theatre, November 16
Australia's Tame Impala not only proved that they do psych rock as well as anyone did in 1968, but that they do it even better live than on their excellent 2012 sophomore LP Lonerism. The sound was tight, fresh and exciting, and the packed audience sang along to every word, while supporting the crowd surfers above them. The Friday show at the El Rey found scalpers getting $100 per ticket. The scene was the same the next night during their gig at The Wiltern The Fonda, and they likely could have continued this way clear into the workweek. --Katie Bain

See also: Tame Impala On The Meaning of 'Lonerism'

Ignacio Genzon

8. King Khan and the Shrines
The Echoplex, September 3
King Khan and the Shrines' live show is an experiment in garage-punk soul, and a successful one at that. Khan stalks the stage in ceremonial headgear (and cape) while screeching sermons into the mic. All the while, the Shrines inspire the crowd into a jam-dance frenzy. The pace was quick and hard. The audience was sweaty and drunk. Together, the combination of hootin', hollerin' and ass-shaking could not be topped. Oh, and it was free. Thanks FYF. --Marcus Arman

See also: Our review of FYF Fest

Timothy Norris

7. Gary Clark, Jr.
Troubadour, November 14-16
Gary Clark Jr. shouldn't exist. The last of the tall-tale bluesman perished around the time Stevie Ray Vaughn went haint. BB King still breathes. So does Buddy Guy. But he can't pick up an axe without someone affixing the cliché around his strat: they don't make 'em like they used to. But maybe they still do. Maybe we aren't doomed to worship the dust when greatness can still leave you black and blue. There's no other way to explain Gary Clark Jr. Twenty-eight year-olds from Texas aren't supposed to make a guitar moan like the voodoo child and croon with a velvet voice like they just ate pancakes at Prince's house. I saw Gary Clark Jr. three times this year: at Coachella, a special KRCW session and once at the Troubadour. Each show he sang and shredded in a way that I'd thought had been outlawed. Watching him was like getting a dose of that old-time religion. He plays a guitar to make ghosts seem real. --Jeff Weiss