Last weekend was easy. Anyone who could nab a ticket or bribe a door guy was shoved into the Riviera Theatre, salivating over Wilco's five-night residency. Those that weren't lucky enough to get their Tweedy on in the flesh were glued to their computers, grazing through the endless blog storm that spewed from every other audience member at the Riviera. This weekend however, is a different story altogether. There are entirely too many choices to be made: Should you see how the New York Dollshave unraveled over the years? Or should you check out the St. Vincent hype at Schuba's? I'm having trouble choosing myself, but I've narrowed Saturday down to three:

1. When it's time to really turn it up, the eccentric strains of the noise rock visionaries behind Wolf Eyes should do the trick. A free-form band that's been known to attack sonic space with thundering resolve, cinematic fury and an unhinged approach to instrumentation is quite frankly, a stunning live experience. The Michigan trio arrives at the Empty Bottle courtesy of Arthur Magazine, and they're keeping good company; New York hardcore band, No Fucker, and oddly experimental Rubber O Cement open.

Wolf Eyes, No Fucker, Rubber O Cement

Empty Bottle, 10 p.m., $10, All Ages

Annie Clark has been dabbling in the cultish realm of orchestral pop for some time-you'll remember her as the lady who wailed on guitar from the Polyphonic Spree army and shredded in the extended Sufjan Stevens' touring family. With "Marry Me", the debut from St. Vincent, Clark has shrugged away from her patriarchal resume, leading her own frenzied rock project to acclaim from fans and critics alike. Clark and her rotating lineup of multi-instrumentalists take over the Schuba's stage for two nights this Saturday.

St. Vincent, Foreign Born

Schuba's, 7:30 p.m., $14, 18+

Schuba's, 10:30 p.m., $14, 21+

As for the wooly mammoth in the room-well, what exactly is there to say? Typically when describing the New York Dolls, critics love throwing around words like "seminal," "legendary," and "pioneering." Of course, these critics are talking about the Dolls of the 1970's-back before the nails went into the coffin. Blame the resurrection on Morrissey, who invited the band to reunite for a one-off a few years ago. What we're left with today are two Dolls, some filler and a bunch of rubbernecking fans that just can't look away. Could it still rock? Well, it's possible that the primal swagger of yesteryear may still emerge from the geriatric band, but there's something decidedly un-glam about getting loud and sweaty with the AARP. That's not to say that there's no perverse satisfaction in watching the whole the unfurl.

New York Dolls, We Are The Fury

Double Door, 8 p.m., $30, 21+