With a toast, a drag and a pair of suspenders, Jesse "The Devil" Hughes and his filthy cohorts, the Eagles of Death Metal, torched into the rarest of nights: paid for drinks, at a paid for show in the shadow of the Arch, framed by helicopter fly-bys.

It was a bit surreal to watch Molly Ringwald, the object of desire of not only the fictional Farmer Ted, but countless children of the 1980s, descend the Jazz at the Bistro staircase and stand alone smiling shyly as she waited to be introduced on Wednesday night.

The enigmatic Black Moth Super Rainbow -- Ryan Graveface, Pony Diver, Iffernaut, the Seven Fields of Aphelion, and, mercifully, Thomas "Tobacco" Fec -- come onstage accompanied by a revelation: They seem to be homo sapiens after all.

I first saw the Devil Makes Three on the live webcast of the Newport Folk Festival last summer and thought they sounded and looked a little like the really pissed-off folks that got stuck in Nebraska in the 1889 Land Rush: destined to build houses out of sod and eke out a living with crude hand tools.

"I want to take this hall with me. You're so lucky," Rosanne Cash told the audience at the Sheldon near the end of her set, which began with her calling the century-old venue "one of the best-sounding halls in the whole country."

Where to begin? The City Museum alone is a multi-level, dizzying attraction of slides, wrought-iron climbing structures, curiosities, aquatic life and gorgeous tile mosaics.

The world of jazz is expansive and limitless. It combines elements from every style of music that it encounters, generating a sound that belongs entirely to the musicians on stage and those privileged enough to share the experience. Wednesday night, the most knowledgeable of Jazz at the Bistro's regulars joined the Lionel Loueke Trio for a set that was as diverse as it was original.

The Firebird's capacity limit was stretched as people came from down the road and across the map for a show with a worldwide ticket. Three bands, hailing from Texas, California and France made their stop in St. Louis to share their sounds to the Missouri masses.

After a dreary weekend in St. Louis, Charles Bradley arrived with a surplus of soulshine Sunday night at the Old Rock House.

The lights didn't suit Patti Smith.