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More a shrine to the good old days than a vibrant musical hotspot, the Blue Note is supposed to inspire museum-caliber reverence in lovers of jazz history. Unfortunately, its outrageous cover and policies—you must pay admission for each set, unlike other venues where you can hold your seat by buying drinks—ensure that today's struggling jazzbos never gain entry. The sole reason to endure this pseudo high-class torture is the Blue Note's exclusive booking practices: Certain artists, like John Coltrane's powerhouse drummer, the late Elvin Jones, wouldn't play anywhere else within city limits. At least they pay the industry's workhorses well. — Peter Landau

With its glitzy theme-park ambience (there's a gift shop), the Blue Note feels like some place your rich Auntie Mame might take you for dinner—but stay away from the menu, which offers dishes that taste like the culinary equivalent of Kenny G. FYI, live shows nightly at 8 p.m. and 10:30 p.m.