(Royal Room) I love birthday parties—what a lovely focus for communal celebration: Hey, this one person is great! So happy birthday to the beloved double-braidin', pot smokin', bandanna-wearin', folk strummin' Willie Nelson. Here to make this celebration feel worth your while are all the pot brownies in the world (must make yourself and consume at home, sorry!) and a troupe of local musicians. The best parts of this show, though, are its unexpected location and diverse lineup—the Royal Room is mainly a jazz club, and the lineup is a jazz trumpeter (Cuong Vu), a soft and slow pianist (Michael Stegner), a famous genre-transcender (Robin Holcomb), and more. Now this is a new tribute to the grizzled country poet.

(Tacoma Dome) Like Kraftwerk, Bob Seger refuses to acknowledge his best work. His 1969 debut LP, Ramblin' Gamblin' Man, is an all-time garage-psych classic and the Detroit troubadour's pre-'69 singles contained some of the hardest, most indelible riffs ever. Seger also had a quintessential, Midwestern-white-boy soul voice—gruff, feral, libidinous. Of course, he blanded out and wrote some of the most annoyingly ubiquitous songs to which you've ever broken speed records to get away from: "Old Time Rock and Roll," "Katmandu," "Like a Rock," etc. Now 67 and comfortably wealthy, Seger can't be expected not to play it safe, so don't hold your breath waiting for searing psych cuts like "White Wall," cutthroat garage burners like "Heavy Music," or bizarre freak-outs like "Cat."

(Royal Room) Predating the women rockers of the grunge years and carrying on through the These Streets era and beyond, Duffy Bishop is the Northwest musical treasure beloved for her winning stage presence and absolutely humongous voice. She's been nominated for a Grammy, shared stages with John Lee Hooker, Bo Diddley, and Bobby "Blue" Bland, performed a hit one-woman show about Janis Joplin, and tonight she performs at Columbia City's the Royal Room for free.

(Neumos) If you were to ask me who the greatest band in the history of pop is, I would not say the Beatles, or the Stones, or anything like that. The greatest band will not be found in England or the United States, but on the little island of Jamaica. That band is the Roots Radics. Established in 1978 by the bassist Errol "Flabba" Holt, the guitarist Eric "Bingy Bunny" Lamont, and the drummer Lincoln "Style" Scott, the Roots Radics built a sound that not only cemented dub but had the profoundest sense of space and time. Scott's drumming could be as hard as dry land and Holt's bass as substantial as a heartbeat, but they always made sure there was plenty of room for words or echoes to float about like slow-moving clouds. The Roots Radics' music is never rushed, nor tight and robotic like Sly and Robbie's, but very sensual, very physical, and very earthy. Listen to King Tubby's Dangerous Dub to hear what the greatest band ever sounds like.

(Showbox at the Market) No getting around it: Tomahawk are a muzzafunkin' supergroup. Any lineup with mad vocal acrobat Mike Patton, caustic, incisive guitarist Duane Denison, powerful drum deity John Stanier, and Mr. Bungle/Secret Chiefs 3/Melvins bassist Trevor Dunn is going to induce a certain amount of awe among people who appreciate savage virtuosity. But Tomahawk's new album, Oddfellows, only their fourth in a dozen years, is, uh, oddly underwhelming. Not to imply these songs suck or anything, but the players don't seem to be even close to pushing themselves to the extent of their formidable abilities. The result is mildly quirky art rock with somewhat heavy undertones and few songs that stick in your mind after they fade out.

(Jazz Alley) Judging from his 2010 Seattle performance, Dr. John will not be exhuming his swampadelic classics from Gris-Gris, Remedies, or The Sun, Moon & Herbs. Maybe this New Orleans musical legend just can't get back into that dank headspace anymore, can't summon that ominous libidinal pressure at this late date. It happens. That being said, Doc's latest album, Locked Down, finds him receiving a filthy, robust boost from a group of younger cats, including the Black Keys' Dan Auerbach—who produced, sang backing vocals, and played guitar on it. The record sounds vital and politically engaged for a 72-year-old magus—the funkiest he's been in decades. Those players won't be joining Mac Rebennack for this four-night stand at Jazz Alley, but trust him to hire a band that'll nail Locked Down's punchy grooves and triumph-over-adversity melodies.

(Snoqualmie Casino) Kool and the Gang returned to people's consciousness last year when Van Halen surprisingly tapped them to open for the hard-rock veterans' tour. Curiously, some observers thought they upstaged the headliners. There's no doubting the large funk/soul ensemble's technical proficiency, but clips of recent live performances show a troubling tendency for cheesy crowd interaction and emphasis on their frothier material (who doesn't grimace after hearing "Celebration" for the millionth time?). But in their 1970s prime, Kool and the Gang cut some of the filthiest and sweetest funk to ever maximize a gluteus. If they fill at least half their set with burners like "Jungle Jazz," "Hollywood Swinging," "Funky Stuff," and "Love the Life You Live," this will be worth the trip to Snoqualmie.