So you could totally treat the LP, out today on vinyl on Cricket Cemetery Records, as a sort of scavenger hunt for rock references, or even as a Big Statement on originality in a genre wherein everything is a variation of a variation of some old blues trope. Or you could just turn your brain off—because it's loud, melancholy but not exactly nostalgic, and, yeah, it rocks.

Tender Thrill has a vinyl run of just 300 copies; the group also did a split 7-inch with Zulu Pealrs on Disco-Lite Records. Tender Thrill plays with More Humans and The Danvilles Friday at Comet Ping Pong.

Here's the stream:

A WTF for Smithsonian: The Smithsonian museums saw a 2 percent decrease in foot traffic last year, but donations and retail sales are up, says Smithsonian secretary G. Wayne Clough. Why the decrease in visitors? The institution speculates that it's a leveling-off of the Ben Stiller Bump—the spike that followed 2009's Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian. And the hurriquake didn't help. In other Smithsonian news, Natural History Museum director Cristian Samper is leaving to start a new position as president and CEO of the Wildlife Conservation Society in New York.

Your Bad: Yeah, Fox really did mess up that 49ers/Giants game on Sunday, and for that, they have apologized.

BRUUUUUCE: Verizon Center. April 1.

Yesterday on Arts Desk: HBO probably will not film All Talk in D.C., thereby depriving us of another Ben Stiller Bump.

More Post fare: Journalist finds pink iPod Shuffle in Sligo Creek, and relocates its owner by posting her (embarrassing) playlist on the Internet ... Theater directors give props to their favorite productions of the year ... The latest guy to sue James Cameron is D.C.'s Bryant Moore, who claims the director stole ideas from two screenplays he submitted to Cameron's production company. Those "bioluminescent rainforests of gargantuan alien trees"? All his idea, he says.

Today on Arts Desk: The Top 10 local tracks of 2011!

It's hard to deny that Kramer's new jam is reminiscent of the Boss, with its cascading melodies and Kramer's strained vocals—which sound like a steel worker after seven years on the gig (sorry, he doesn't sound that weary). Kramer keeps his jangly guitar notes intact, which brings to mind another act that's gotten lumped into the Springsteen-riffing crowd: The Arcade Fire. Still, there's a lack of a certain amount of bombast in "Literally Crazy For You," keeping that warm, intimate bedroom-pop style right at the center of the song.

"Literally Crazy For You" won't make you literally crazy, but it'll get your toes tapping as it worms into your head. The song will be included in Long Walks on the Beach's forthcoming EP, Singles. If the rest of the tunes are as good as "Literally Crazy For You," then the title will be well-earned. Until then, nab the song for free from Bandcamp as you patiently wait for the EP to drop.

Chris Klimek

In City Lights: Tyler Jon Tyler's jangle-pop revival, the Wilson Center's 30th anniversary, Spingsteen runs deep, Amon Amarth's Thor metal, a tribute to Manning Marable, big empty spaces at Civilian Art Projects, and Bomba Estereo's (ahem) explosive electro-cumbia.

Wednesday: Blue Velvet at the Artisphere
Artisphere wraps up its series of David Lynch films with the second-most-talked-about severed ear in history. Between Isabella Rosselini's gutsy performance as Dorothy, the pain-loving pleasure-seeker, and Dennis Hopper's turn as the disgusting Frank Booth, Blue Velvet cemented Lynch as a master of the disturbed and ripped the wholesome sheen off Hollywood's vision of small-town Americana.
Screens at 8 p.m. at the Artisphere, 1101 Wilson Boulevard, Rosslyn. $6. (703) 875-1100.

Thursday: My Dog Tulip at the Hirshhorn Museum
Based on the 1956 memoir by J. A. Ackerley, this animated film about a man and his dog is, despite the description, not a children's tale. Ackerley's open homosexuality was a cultural rarity during his lifetime, and as a BBC magazine editor he fostered the careers of W.H. Auden, Christopher Isherwood, and other authors. Christopher Plummer voices Ackerley in the film, which covers a period in which he became increasingly reclusive as he focused on caring for his dog. Directors Paul and Sandra Fierlinger directed My Dog Tulip with a hand-drawn tapestry that ranges from scratch-pad doodles to gorgeous, full-color landscapes.
Screens at 7 p.m. at the Hirshhorn Museum, Independence Avenue and Seventh Street SW. Free. (202) 633-2796.

Saturday: Four Adventures of Reinette and Mirabelle and A Tale of Summer at the National Gallery of Art
The NGA's Éric Rohmer retrospective continues with a double feature. In 1987's Four Adventures of Reinette and Mirabelle, Rohmer presents a quartet of interactions between Reinette, a mousy country girl, and Mirabelle, a sophisticated Parisian student. A Tale of Summer, the third entry in the director's cycle of seasonally themed films, follows. Set in a resort town in Brittany, the picture finds its protagonist, Gaspard, in the classic Rohmeresque dilemma of choosing between a lineup of beautiful young women.
Four Adventures of Reinette screens at 2:30 p.m. followed by A Tale of Summer at 4:30 p.m. at the National Gallery of Art East Wing, 4th Street and Constitution Avenue NW. Free. (202) 842-6799

Sunday: The Promise: The Making of the Darkness On the Edge of Town at West End Cinema
Legal tussling with his first manager Mike Appel kept Bruce Springsteen out of the studio for nearly three years after the grandiosity of Born to Run, and during that quiet spell the Bard of Asbury Park wrote a lot of songs—70 by Steven Van Zandt's count. The 10 that made it on to 1978's Darkness On the Edge of Town included the plaintive "Racing in the Street" and the rollicking "Badlands," but dozens of tracks remained unused. Springsteen gifted a few songs to other artists—most famously with Patti Smith's recording of "Because the Night." Still, it wasn't until last fall that Springsteen refurbished 21 of the unreleased tracks from the Darkness sessions as The Promise, accompanied by Thom Zimny's documentary. The film, which debuted on HBO, mixes contemporary interviews with the E Street Band and archival footage of the recording sessions.
Screens at 5:30 p.m. at West End Cinema, 2301 M Street NW. $11. (202) 419-3456

With his moody classic Nebraska, Bruce Springsteen strips his music down to its most bare bones. Originally intended as demos, the album was later released without a full band backing, and it makes for a powerfully intimate listen. "Mansion on the Hill" evokes just the right somber feel and defeated imagery to close out your film.

The midwestern heartbreak of Damien Jurado's music easily adds a bitter touch to the close of a film. He's never shied away from damaged characters or difficult situations. The homesick pining of "Ohio" is sure to grab the hearts of critics as they slowly clear the aisles.

Bellman Barker offers a slightly less heavy option. The band's impromptu version of "Fix This Fix" holds a certain melancholic weight, but the fast and light percussion beneath it offers a much-needed respite to your potential audience. Be sure to catch the band play the Velvet Lounge this Sunday, to check out the rest of their catalog and get ideas for future cinematic efforts.

1. When Will the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Run Out Of Mainstream Acts to Induct?
2. Meet New Moon Cast Members at Fair Oaks Mall
3. Clip Job: Five Bands with at Least as Many Members as Songs
4. Photos: Miley Cyrus @ Verizon Center
5. Photos: Bruce Springsteen @ Verizon Center

The fact that Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band last played in D.C. just this past May didn't seem to put a damper on the reception that the Boss and friends received when they hit the stage at the Verizon Center. After the jump and at the full gallery, check out some images from the initial moments of last night's show.

Full gallery here.

Louis P. Mazur's excellent Slate piece on Bruce Springsteen's 1975 album Born to Run hails the hit record as the fruit of one visionary's dogged persistence. Springsteen, laboring Lincoln-like through the 1970s, had twice failed to make good on the record industry's big bets on his ramshackle boardwalk aesthetic—1973's Greetings from Asbury Park and 1974's The Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle (1974) had pleased critics, but failed to move units.

According to Mazur, Springsteen's problem wasn't a lack of spontaneity, but bad editing. Born to Run documents Springsteen's triumph over his own first thoughts. "What mattered to [Springsteen] was to sound spontaneous, not to be spontaneous," Mazur writes. "It took him six months during the spring and summer of 1974 to record the title track."

This devotion to excellence is why Bruce Springsteen can't cover Suicide.

Suicide, the revolutionary, drummer-less duo formed by New York art fucks Alan Vega and Martin Rev in the ’70s, was reviled by punks. But, like many reviled things, Suicide still looks and sounds like the future. Here's an undated performance of the ballad "Dream Baby Dream":

"Dream Baby Dream" succeeds because it is a jumble of first thoughts. What are these guys doing? What are these guys wearing? Is this even a song? I can't call Suicide lazy because I didn't live on the Lower East Side during the Carter administration—perhaps they worked for months or years on the three chords, drum loop, and random chatter that are "Dream Baby Dream."

I do know that when I saw them at the Black Cat a few years ago, this keyboard/vox two-piece didn't bother bringing a keyboard to its show. Instead, Martin Rev borrowed a random keyboard from a random guy and, while blasting prerecorded beats through the P.A., danced around in a leather jacket while miming his keyboard parts. The whole performance was a monument to spontaneity.

Here's the Boss covering "Dream Baby Dream":

I hope you haven't watched this full clip, because it's very boring. It's easy to see why Springsteen loves Suicide—just as Rev lays down repetitive riffs while Vega riffs on (usually) death and sex, the E Street band lays down repetitive riffs while the Boss riffs on (usually) the exploits of working class heroes ("Johnny 99" on 1982's Nebraska sounds particularly like "Johnny" on Suicide's 1977 debut).

But Boss can't cover "Dream Baby Dream"— the song's too spontaneous, too weird, too half-assed, too tossed-off, too bad. Playing it in a stadium is like climbing the Washington Monument just to use the bathroom.

Here's Suicide live—wild, weird, and, most of all, not boring.