Tonight JJ Cale plays his first of two nights at the Triple Door. Dave Segal didn't get to interview the legend (rehearsal commitments, psh) but that doesn't stop from telling you all about his impressive career in this week's music section:

Like very few musicians in history, Cale has become a genre unto himself. Some artists strive to reinvent themselves with every new work. Cale is totally comfortable doing his own thing, with minor variations, year after year. Like the character in one of his best-known and oft-covered compositions, "Call Me the Breeze," Cale "keep[s] blowing down the road... Ain't no change in the weather/Ain't no change in me."

Those lyrics encapsulate the core paradox of Cale's art: He keeps rollin' along, but he remains relatively static as he progresses. Ordinarily, critics disparage such a stagnant MO. However, Cale thrives within limited parameters. There's something to be said for finding a signature sound and honing it till it becomes an artful science, while spinning minute variations on that approach.

Lamb of God, God Forbid, As I Lay Dying, Children of Bodom
(Paramount) Children of Bodom are a hilarious spectacle. The Finnish fantasy-metal act happily embrace several metal clichés with their flying V guitars, long hair that's perfect for headbanging, and lightning-quick, blistering guitar solos. Secondly, they're not a joke band, but they do have a sense of humor. When they're not playing their own ear-piercing epics, they cover everyone from Poison ("Talk Dirty to Me") to Britney Spears ("Oops... I Did It Again") to Andrew W.K. ("She Is Beautiful"). In a perfect world, they'd release a whole record of their tributes (which is rumored to be in the works), but for now, if we're lucky, they'll unleash a couple during tonight's show. Who knew Britney could sound so rad with the simple addition of some hardcore guitar noodling? MEGAN SELING

Jeremy Jay, Wallpaper
(Sunset) Synthesizers have a lot in common with saxophones in that both instruments can completely suck all the passion out of a song and render it a soulless mockery of human emotion. More power to Jeremy Jay, then: He can take a song riddled with synth—even great, catchy, complex synth work like that of bandmate Ilya Malinsky—and make it more than a Flock of Seagulls parody. The secret, I think, is in Jay's voice: He has a cool, dispassionate delivery that somehow, Vashti Bunyan—like, manages to convey more emotion than a thousand screamo freaks. PAUL CONSTANT

Friendly Fires, White Lies, the Soft Pack
(Neumos) Friendly Fires gulp down the last gasp of this decade's British dance-rock revival and excrete something composed of all the same base materials, highly polished, but just not quite hotter than room temperature. A few of their songs are pleasant enough on the dance floor, and the band have landed some killer remixes (Aeroplane's extension of "Paris," for example), but too much of their self-titled debut just leaves me cold. Also, funk exercise "On Board" cribs Jamie Lidell's "A Little Bit More" so shamelessly that Jim oughta sue (or appeal to a magistrate or whatever they do over there). White Lies, on the other hand, just kind of sound like a British Killers—a band it pains me to have to use as a reference point, but there it is—borrowing Glasvegas's SAD light. They may be more attractive than the Killers, though, if that's your criterion for latching on to rock bands. ERIC GRANDY

The rest of Tuesday's events are, as always, listed in our online calendar.