When he plays guitar, Benjamin Booker furrows his brow and narrows his gaze. He hyper-focuses on his next move. He sees all the angles. He’s not a flashy player at all, and his capacity for building rhythms and tempos with just a few chords and strums is immediately impressive. Even in the direct sunlight of a 90-degree day, Booker didn’t waver. His drummer and bassist counted on him to lead, and he did — but actually, they all looked like they counted on each other in equal measure. You can’t play garage punk like this without leaning on your bandmates to find that central hub of order in the chaos; otherwise, everything falls apart. The most downright delightful moment of his set came near the end, when bass swapped for violin and drums for mandolin. Booker sang the hell out of that one, a bluegrass-like, heart-rending tune that sounded like a slowed-down version of the Stones’ “Factory Girl.” Booker’s got some surprises up his sleeve. Let’s see what the next one is.