Following the sullen character of Mia, the “gallerina” whose dreams of becoming an artist are never quite realized, Lulu Meets God and Doubts Him unfolds when it becomes apparent that a painting hanging in the Simon Pryce gallery is suddenly worth millions of dollars (the artist is hit by a cab and dies during his opening reception, you see). What follows thereafter is a frenzy of eccentric art collectors, a swindling countess, and the subject of the painting herself, all trying to gain ownership of the coveted work. In the midst of it all is Mia, inadvertently pushed onto a path of personal discovery to find her own artistic identity.

In Danielle Ganek's debut novel, the city and its Chelsea snobs come together to discuss creative subjectivity and the value of art—less cocaine, more Gauguin.

In light of recent "Gossip Girl" buzz about the CW yanking online episodes due to larger numbers of tweens and doughy middle-aged men hitting the computer in lieu of turning on the tube, partnering network the WB has announced a possible solution to the evolving world of technology and the demographic embracing it. Warner Bros. Television Group is launching its first ad-supported, video-on-demand network, broadcasting both new, original series and older favorites.

A self-taught photographer, Mike McCartney (brother, Paul—maybe you’ve heard of him?) has spent the better part of an era snapping endearing portraits of some of Liverpool’s most famous rock stars of the '60s. The black and whites, ranging from intimate and informal candids to backstage snapshots of rock-star life, present not only an image, but a story—a glimpse into the true heart of 1960s Liverpool. Unveiling his latest exhibit, “Liverpool Life,” to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, McCartney provides an inspired perspective on an otherwise familiar history of rock 'n' roll. With subjects like Graham Nash, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the Hollies, each image unearths, as McCartney puts it, “the story behind the story of that magical era.”

In perhaps a confusing juxtaposition of hard electronics and sweeping acoustics, Douglas Armour’s newest album, The Light of the Golden Day, the Arms of the Night, breaks all continuity by yoking together two dissimilar genres in an effort to create something as different as night and day. Prompted by “Not An(other) Unlove Song,” the first four tracks on the ten-track album follow the strict, electronic regimen of repetitive dance beats and synthetic vocals. Yet, at the flip of a switch, and the cue of track five, an onslaught of acoustic guitars, folksy lyrics, and sweet harmonics are presented, leaving us searching for some kind of symmetry between the opposing genres. Despite the swift shift, however, by the album’s careful conclusion, the jump between the two no longer seems so vast.

Philly-born pseudo-poppers Man Man, in all their face-painted and bearded glory, bestow upon listeners the same antics that have presided on their two previous albums. Jangling piano keys, disjointed trumpets, sing-song storytelling, and a xylophone come together on Rabbit Habits to create an unabashed theatrical presentation (or a straight-up circus act). Tracks like “Mister Jung Stuffed” and “Top Drawer” best display their colorful personalities, during which stifling a smile is near impossible. Through animated voices, an array of percussions, and the band's outright embrace of fun, Rabbit Habbits again proves that Man Man are an indie force to reckon with. Get it get it.

Soft vocals, steady strings, and delicate piano chords on the Accidental’s latest album There Were Wolves (seriously, what is up with all of these indie wolf references?) ease us from one track to the next through ethereal harmonies and Iron and Wine-like acoustics. “Jaw Of A Whale” could pass for a Cat Stevens cover, while “Illuminated Red” and “I Can Hear Your Voice” seem to take influence from this year’s Bon Iver record. “Time and Space” concludes the album with a more upbeat round of male/female vocals, making it clear that the melodic—almost hypnotically so—purport of this group is no accident.

The Last Judgment by Alex Gross.

In "Mysteries and Manners," on display now at the excellent Jonathan Levine Gallery, Alex Gross pulls from American and Japanese commercial art, Victorian wedding photography, Flemish painting, and world history to influence his poignant, chaotic world of ambivalent faces and surreal settings. Similar to a Mark Ryden or Ray Caesar aesthetic, the subjects presented in each oil painting, all of whom display some sort of beautiful stillness, create a juxtaposition of peaceful, subdued expressions against a slew of complex themes.

Drawing on full string ensembles and their undeniable Portishead bent, Bitter:Sweet’s Kiran Shahani and Shana Halligan offer too intricate a blend of eclectic beats and jazzy vocals to be categorized as electronica proper. They fuse traditional electronic sounds with a wide array of more classic instrumentals, oscillating between tracks like “Sugar Mama”, reminiscent of a Feist/Serge Gainsbourg marriage, and “Trouble,” which could almost pass as a revamped James Bond anthem. Continuing the individualized, more-sweet-than-bitter sound that garnered so much attention on their debut album, Bitter:Sweet’s sophomore record Drama, eases us into the summer spirit, one horn set at a time.

Sun-bleached hair, freckled noses, nary a tan-line in sight: It's the essence of the typical California surfer image. And as visions of blood-red sunsets and high-speed rag-tops harken back to Ashton Kutcher, little thought is given to the darker, less "Hollywood" reality of the tumult that exists within the cultural development and social evolution of the surf community. Dude!

Brennan (Clear Poncho), by Ryan McGinley.

Ryan McGinley is an artist whose work captures a kind of honesty far beyond his 30 years. The irrevocability of its weight—of its importance—is both unquestionable and daunting, as each image presents us with an evocation of homoerotic undertones and youthful ambiguity. McGinley’s images, the end result of a summer crossing the country with 16 models and 4,000 rolls of film, juxtapose a kind of quiet nudity with the harshness of the outdoors—bright sunlight against pale skin, exaggerated tan lines, bare skin amid fireworks—and while these images are decidedly out of context, they are captured in a way that ignores any posing austerity. McGinley’s most recent exhibit, “I Know Where the Summer Goes,” is now on display at the Team Gallery in SoHo.