Adam Lambert kicks off rehearsals for American Music Awards

Rehearsals started today for the American Music Awards and the first to test out the mammoth stage at Nokia Theatre was Adam Lambert, the ebony-haired runner-up in last season’s batch of “American Idol” contestants. With his new album, the obsequiously titled “For Your Entertainment,” out vamping the streets this week, Lambert will showcase the Dr. Luke-penned title song for his Sunday night performance at the audience-selected award show.

For about five minutes, this reporter was allowed to write notes from a cushy blue chair in the audience during Lambert’s rehearsal, watching as dancers sashayed across the floor in spangly harem pants, leotards with torn tights and in one particular eye-catching costume, leather pants topped off with a few leather suspender-straps and silvery chains on an otherwise bare-chested male dancer. A Lambert performance, we were reminded, is not a place for demure displays of postmodern dance. As for the panther himself, he took a few leisurely leaps to various levels of scaffolding, singing into a phantom mic and writhing with whatever dancer was around. On the top level of the scaffolding, a band of indeterminate numbers played keyboards, a flying V guitar and other gadgets, all of which collude to formulate the glam-rock pyramid that Lambert mightily prays to on a seemingly daily basis.

And then we were kicked out, in the oft-fickle ways of rock star management. And then we waited an hour or so, nibbling Panda Express and text messaging friends. At long last, we got a few words with Lambert himself, who has the dashing good looks of a soap opera villain. His ice-blue eyes were rimmed with kohl, his T-shirt beneath his glittery jacket emblazoned with David Bowie’s heavily made-up visage.

It turns out Lambert is feeling the pressure of, um, outing his new material (speaking of OUT...). “The expectations are high -- the audience's and my own. But I’m really excited to perform live -- it’s what I know the most. It’s what I do best.”

Many have applauded “For Your Entertainment,” while others have deemed it a series of hedged bets. What does he think of the chance-taking on his first studio album? “I think I straddled the line between commercial and esoteric. I think the album’s eclecticism is the big risk I took.”

For all his forays into gothic kingdoms and its neighboring fiefdoms of glam-rock, power balladry and rock-god bombast, Lambert has barely scratched the Champagne-fizzy R&B of some of his peers. Would he ever perform something from the pen of Ne-Yo or Justin Timberlake? “It’s not the style I’m gravitating towards now but I might down the road.”

And who’s Lambert looking forward to seeing Sunday night? His sister in outrageousness, of course: Lady Gaga.

-- Margaret Wappler

Photo of Lambert in rehearsal. Credit: Kevin Winter / Getty Images for DCP

Doveman flutters gently at Room 5 tonight

The chamber-pop sleeper band Doveman is spearheaded by Thomas Bartlett, a soft-eyed and softer-voiced musician whose pedigree is equally informed by classical training and the kind of introspection that can only be earned by wandering the streets of New York at odd hours, with the rush of taxis zipping by in the rain. A native of Vermont and in his mid-20s, he's disturbingly young for all his polyglot accomplishments, which includes studying piano in London with renowned instructor Maria Curcio, and more familiar to most, recording with an international roster of coolness, including Antony and the Johnsons, Laurie Anderson, David Byrne, the Frames, Bebel Gilberto, Arto Lindsay, the National and Yoko Ono.

Jealous yet? So are we. He will play the Room 5 Lounge tonight, and though we're not sure who's touring with him, his fellow ornithologists on record include drummer Dougie Bowne (Iggy Pop, Cassandra Wilson), banjo player Sam Amidon, guitarist Shahzad Ismaily (Rage Against the Machine) and trumpeter Peter Ecklund. We promise to quietly listen and not wrestle Bartlett to the floor to get phone numbers for Ono or Byrne out of his iPhone. Oh, yeah, and here's an odd detail: He has a legally contentious cover of the "Footloose" soundtrack floating around out there.

To stave you off till tonight, here's "The Best Thing," a Doveman song featuring the National's Matt Berninger, from the outfit's third album, "The Conformist," released last month with contributions from Martha Wainwright, Nico Muhly and Norah Jones. This little watercolor of a song is so pretty, it should probably be played only near sunrise with a furry cat in your lap and tea in hand, when you're most open to the world.

Doveman "The Best Thing"

-- Margaret Wappler

Doveman plays tonight with Javier Dunn, Matt Owens, the Golden West and Michael Doman at Room 5 Lounge, 143 N. La Brea, (323) 938-2504.

Photo: Bartlett at a New York apartment show with Sean Lennon and Charlotte Kemp Muhl. Credit: Blake Zidell & Associates

Beyonce and Lady Gaga 'Video Phone' team-up: a spectacle to behold

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What happens when two of the most ambitious stars in pop music collaborate? Director Hype Williams shoots a video in his trademark electrifying color schemes and high-shine lighting, resulting in a fantastical pop mirage between Lady Gaga and Beyoncé. Like meteor showers and the latest Sarah Palin career move, the auspicious pairing of an art-house dance diva and the reigning princess of shimmering R&B shall not go undocumented.

The sleek Beyoncé track “Video Phone,” from her alter-ego exercise “I Am … Sasha Fierce,” doesn’t feature Lady Gaga on record, but after crossing paths several times (including at the 2009 VMA Awards, where each scored nine nods apiece), the two decided to work together on the hush-hush video shot last month in the hipster enclave of Greenpoint, Brooklyn. After stirring up Web gossips for weeks, the video debuted Monday night on MTV and VH-1.

So what’s this alliance between two conquerors like? Well, it’s a kinetic spectacle to behold, with enough guns to make Ted Nugent weep with jealousy and some hot Bettie Page bangs on Beyoncé that should prompt plenty of single ladies to run to the hairdresser. It all kicks off with an unexpected nod to Quentin Tarantino’s “Reservoir Dogs” -- several men in suits walk slow-motion in a nondescript alley behind a strutting Beyoncé wearing a Zorro mask. In fact, the whole video has a distinct and not unpleasant ‘90s throwback vibe. After all, that was Williams’ heyday, when he shot videos in his trademark fish-eye lens for such luminaries as Missy Elliott, Nas and the Notorious B.I.G.

Perhaps what’s most notable about “Video Phone” isn’t the formidable tricks on screen -- which are plentiful, including frenetically flickering images of much hair-tossing and hip-popping -- it’s that Lady Gaga sublimates her “Alice in Wonderland”-meets-Grace Jones shtick to blend seamlessly into Beyoncé’s world. Make no mistake -- this is Beyoncé’s show. She gets the outlandish costumes, from sexy military spy to vixen-cupid, while Gaga appears in a white leotard, enthusiastic but fully behaved. The two proceed to execute some wicked moves on two dinette chairs, DayGlo weaponry in tow.

So, what might happen if Beyoncé frolicks in Lady Gaga’s terrain? It’ll be a noteworthy test for Ms. B, whose glittering front-and-center pop persona is just as well versed in spectacle as Gaga’s, but not as conceptually rich. Will she be able to get truly freaky, without seeming like she’s doing it for more credit-enhancing approval? As far as Gaga goes, our MOCA-loving temptress could stand to learn something from Beyoncé -- maybe her ability to deliver earnest, genuine entertainment, the kind that comes from a certain warm look in the eye, that megawatt smile, not a stampede of sometimes-alienating stage stunts.

Either way, this can only foretell good things for both. One element is certain: Beyoncé and Lady Gaga are too ambitious to let any creative difference stand in the way of pop music domination, times two.

-- Margaret Wappler

Buraka Som Sistema tonight at the Mayan

Here's a little audio espresso to percolate your Thursday afternoon. Hailing from Angola and Portugal, Buraka Som Sistema will drop into the Mayan tonight with its deconstructed, minimalist fusing of ghettotech built on Brazilian baile funk and bhangra with kuduro, a skittering, quick beat born in Angola in the '80s.

On "Black Diamond," the group's long-player released in 2008 (and in the States earlier this year), Buraka producers Lil John, Riot and Conductor, along with MC Kalaf, find themselves flush with the kind of collaborators that make Fader magazine editors salivate at night: M.I.A., Kano and Hot Chip, to name a few. M.I.A.'s been a veritable fan girl from the start, appearing in the 2007 viral video "Sound of Kuduro," which joyfully sounds like a dredging up of every harsh beat from the streets of Lisboa.

In this remix of the Deize Tigrona-assisted "Aqui Para Voces," French DJ Brodinski, who's remixed songs for Bonde do Role and Klaxons, adds even more perilous bass drops to the mix and a metallic coating to the otherwise rustic proceedings. It's an ample preview of what these kuduro ambassadors should bring tonight: an amalgamation of global beats that'll drop like a hammer. Be sure to wear your sunglasses for the blow-back.

-- Margaret Wappler

"Aqui Para Voces" featuring Deize Tigrona (Brodinski Remix)

Buraka Som Sistema play tonight at Mayan Theater, 1038 S. Hill St. (213)746-4674. 8 p.m. doors. $23.

Photo, left-to-right: Riot, J-Wow (a BSS founding member), Kalaf and Conductor. Credit: Biz 3

Inara George at the Bootleg Theater: The saddest 'Bomb'

Not every bomb looks or feels the same. We're all familiar with the crazy mushroom clouds in the sky variety, but on Inara George's new track, she woefully sings about another romantically lethal version that can steal in overnight. Over a somber thread of acoustic guitar, she sings, "Don't know where you've gone for good. I'm breaking up our house for firewood." A couple minutes into it, the song lifts off, the sadness breaking apart into the loneliest landscape outside "2001: A Space Odyssey." It's a gorgeous interlude, with synthesizers that sound like harpsichord keys chopped up over rumbling, dark drums.

"Bomb" is the single off of the new "Accidental Experimental," George's digital-only follow-up to last year's "An Invitation," her florid collaboration with Van Dyke Parks. Tonight she performs at the Bootleg Theater with Eleni Mandell, Daniel Martin Moore and Ferraby Lionheart, a bill that's something like the Los Angeles MENSA club for the emotionally intelligent. These singers know the heartbreak that they speak of -- but they make it sound beautiful.

--Margaret Wappler

Photo: Inara George. Credit: Autumn de Wilde

Album review: Devendra Banhart's 'What Will We Be'

When Devendra Banhart released "Oh Me Oh My . . ." in 2002 on Young God Records, critics immediately crowned him the prince of the burgeoning New Weird America scene. It didn't quite fit the Texan-cum-Venezuelan who's also spent time in Topanga Canyon: Banhart's not a ruler, he's the people's troubadour.

On his latest recording "What Will We Be," 28-year-old Banhart steps back from his early, raw intensity with a creased collection of drifting tunes freshly produced by A Band of Bees' Paul Butler.

He filches from a variety of genres -- Brazilian Tropicalia, glam rock, lounge jazz, Zeppelin-like psychedelia -- but it never sounds awkward. He loosens the stitches on each to fashion his own unique costume. "Take me as I am or might become," Banhart sings in a slurry whisper on "Goin' Back," one of the most exquisitely laid-back songs he's ever recorded, with its finger-picked chords and beach-sandy drums.

Playing with the same ensemble that backed him on 2007's "Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon," Banhart's first outing on a major label is not a concession to the big guns, but rather an attuned jog through their artistic obstacle course.

-- Margaret Wappler

Devendra Banhart
"What Will We Be"
Warner Bros.
Three and a half stars (Out of four)

Live review: Beach House and Grizzly Bear at the Palladium

Beach House and Grizzly Bear Tuesday night at the Hollywood Palladium had to be one of the more simpatico bills in recent memory. Both bands have a dreamy, oceanic quality that’s just as temperamental at times as the great sea -- sonic waves crash and ebb, toss you about or lull you to calm.

Last year, Baltimore’s Beach House put out its second album, “Devotion,” one of the most consistent artistic statements of 2008. Sure, pieces of this or that may wash into other bands, but the combination of Victoria Legrand’s drowned siren vocals and Alex Scally’s deceptively drifty guitar, all laced together with fog-light keys, sounds soulful and warped, like a Motown record left on the sand, the tempo slowed down by salt water.

At the Palladium, they were able to effectively re-create the pull of their album with the help of touring drummer Graham Hill, who played on a minimal kit, capped off by one cymbal. Legrand and Scally’s easygoing chatter -- at one point, she called the audience “young and fabulous” in an old lady voice -- helped to break up the sometimes slumberous mood of their work.

By the time Grizzly Bear took the stage, the stock-still audience was appropriately hypnotized but ready to climb to greater heights. “Veckatimest,” Grizzly Bear’s enchanted third album, takes the swirls of “Devotion” and suspends them across bigger landscapes -- the stakes feel higher, but in that, they also lose some drowsy appeal.

Brooklyn’s Ursidae crew have always been better musicians than most indie creatures trolling around blogsville, but after years of steady touring and three albums, they are coming into their own. It’s evident in the way they play -- they each strike at their instruments with measured force, not afraid of mistakes. The music of “Veckatimest” demands a certain all-or-nothing attitude. On the contrapuntal “Southern Point,” the band flirted with the edge of destruction, the fluttery synth and guitar arpeggios pulling them back from the edge, only to push them toward it again. It’s sunny folk rock, but on the run, chased by something dark and insatiable.

For the doo-wop spirited “Two Weeks,” the band was joined by Legrand, whose heavenly howl slipped right in while the bottle lights onstage flashed around them like especially aggressive fireflies. As Grizzly proceeded toward the encore, the towers of reverb got higher and higher. It was downright loud -- a point of pride for those who think the most tender racket can still bleed out the ears.

On a regrettable note, one of the last proper songs of the set, “While You Wait for the Others,” was not made glorious by that great white bear Michael McDonald, but alas, the eternally mellow was spoken for with the band’s encore: a dazzling cover of Carole King’s “He Hit Me (and It Felt Like a Kiss).”

-- Margaret Wappler

The Need, Anna Oxygen perform in 'Under Polaris' at REDCAT

Good, thunderous things come from Olympia, Wash., and the Need, the raw, queercore collaboration between Radio Sloan and Rachel Carns, is one of the prime, but forgotten examples. Word from wayward Olympians is that Carns is now devoting her energies to the powers of Kombucha, but in addition to fermented beverages, she also finds herself in "Under Polaris," a multimedia performance from the collective Cloud Eye Control running this weekend at REDCAT.

All graduates of CalArts' Integrated Media program, Cloud Eye Control is Miwa Matreyek, Anna Oxygen and Chiwang Yang. "Under Polaris" is their journey through a vast arctic expanse, and naturally that could be set to what is described in their press materials as a "fantasy metal" score.

Oxygen, the lead composer and a trained opera singer, is also known for working some disco-aerobics flair into her shows, for those who haven't seen her perform live. We don't expect such jazzercize here but her influences are always wide-ranging and executed with bonhomie.

David Ng at our sister blog, Culture Monster, has the good word:

Five musicians accompany the action, providing a near continuous live soundscape. Far from being acoustical wallpaper, the music is integral to the production. The rock score lifts the story into an operatic dimension, creating dramatic distance but emotional intimacy. This is one of the rare instances when an avant-garde theater production deserves its own soundtrack album release, and much of the credit goes to the fine musicians.

-- Margaret Wappler

"Under Polaris." REDCAT, 631 West 2nd St., Los Angeles. 8:30 p.m., Thursday through Saturday; 7 p.m. Sunday. Closes Sunday. $20. (213) 237-2800 or www.redcat.org. Running time: 1 hour.

Photo: From left, Anna Oxygen, Miwa Matreyek and Chi-Wang Yang. Photo credit: Lawrence K. Ho / Los Angeles Times

Tegan & Sara try their hand at 'Sainthood'

As a dandruff shampoo commercial taught us in our youth, first impressions are everything -- and the opening track to Tegan & Sara's upcoming album, due on Oct. 27, is quite the silver bullet, or is it more like a quivering arrow?

It's true that the Quin twins somewhat resemble the kind of pixies who would shoot a feathery, magic-dusted dart, but "Arrow" is no innocent, cute thing. On one side, it's dark and abrupt, pleading and anxious. On the other, there's a calm, cold certainty to a line like, "I take my aim, do you feel me coming close?"

In an interview with the sisters earlier this year at the Sound City Studios in Van Nuys, they explained the development of the band that has occurred over six albums, including their 2004 breakthrough, "So Jealous."

"We're a straightforward pop band," Tegan said. "but we have plenty of quirks. It's about making those quirks not distracting."

On "Sainthood," which takes its title from a Leonard Cohen song, "Came So Far For Beauty," the quirks make for good texture. "Sainthood" takes on the nature of devotion and self-presentation in relationships, and the gamut of feelings are a real cathartic pleasure to behold. On one extreme, you have "Hell," the first single that you can listen to on their website; on the other, you have "Sentimental Tune." Ah, sounds like love all right.

Read the full story here.

--Margaret Wappler

Photo: Gina Ferazzi

John Mayer has upset us today

For a hot 10 minutes or so, John Mayer seemed like an all right guy. He wrote smart, informed things for The Huffington Post. He played a bold, risky version, sans lyrics, of "Human Nature" at Michael Jackson's funeral. For those of us still haunted by some of his most violently ubiquitous hits, we could almost forgive him for committing things like "Your Body is a Wonderland" to record and then allowing them to circuit the world like some giant cockroach fed on some radioactive combination of Starbucks coffee and commercial blues.

But then he met a New York Magazine journalist hanging out at an Armani/Casa New York party and it all went to pot. Reading this interview will make you have sympathy pains for his publicist in a way you didn't think you could have for a publicist after Lizzie Grubman reversed her car into some 16 people.*

In his chat with Christianna Ablahad, which started off with a cheerless discussion of Obama's Nobel Prize and veered into his new album and then to the things he'd like to do to Ablahad's editor, Mayer let one pearl of sarcasm drip from his forked tongue after another. He also called her a moron and told her to shut her mouth.

Now, I can see how all of this might have seemed like flirty repartee, pinned close to each other at one of those glamorous parties that spawns up from New York streets like steam in noir novels, but there's something a little icky about Mayer's treatment of this reporter, something that hints at a little sexism. Would he have been so condescending with a male journalist?

Then again, maybe this wasn't sexism exactly -- perhaps it was just flirting gone really, really bad and caught on tape. Ouch. You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Mayer. Not that we're calling ladies flies, but the logic stands. Your game needs improvement. Maybe that should be the subject of your next song.

Perhaps it's a gaffe like this that leaves Mayer feeling empty after a night of partying, as his new video would suggest. The shots are lovely -- greys and blues and beautiful people -- but please, for one thing, no one feels sorry for the millionaire who gets stiffed with the check. And if he feels lonely, maybe stop using lines like, "I don't remember you looking any better; then again, I don't remember you." Just a suggestion. Long night in New York City, indeed.

--Margaret Wappler

*That's a joke, by the way. Pop & Hiss knows and loves several publicists, even if the relationship has never advanced past the flirty e-mail stage.