Nickelback films commercial at Forum (with a lot of breaks)

Spew bile if you must on Canuck rockers Nickelback -- everybody does -- but those boys have some patient fans. A few thousand skipped the Dodgers game Sunday and headed to the Forum for a "commercial video shoot," enticed by the promise of a mini-concert following the filming.

With no beer being served, endless waits as cameras were adjusted, crowds coached on how to cheer just right and a chilly draft overtaking the half-filled arena as the afternoon became evening, this was the kind of live music experience that turns fun into an ordeal, if not cause for a riot. But the tank top hotties, frat boys, Latino teens and moms from Yucaipa who dutifully moved around the arena at the video director's behest never stepped over the line from enthusiasm to anger. And after the long haul, they all seemed delighted with what they got.

The commercial, helmed by Baker Smith (the guy behind the Gatorade-hawking viral "Ball Girl" campaign), will somehow link Nickelback's new inspirational strutfest  "Gotta Be Somebody" to the financial services offered by Citibank. Nobody at the Forum seemed troubled by the demand that they pummel air for a bank during these troubled economic times; even after half a dozen takes of singer Chad Kroeger lip-syncing, these good-natured extras still raised their hands every time he mouthed the lyric, "Nobody wants to be the last one there." Perhaps they were thinking about the poor sods on the floor of the stock exchange.

Or maybe they just enjoyed the pyro.

The set was short but spastic. Energetic and loud. Experimental guitar noodling punctuated by shrill cajoling, yelping and trilling from lead vocalist Molly Siegel. In short, everything you'd expect from exuberant Baltimore art-pop band Ponytail. Playing to a small but intimate crowd at the Phoenix Grille on the campus of UCI on Saturday, Siegel grimaced and smiled throughout the show. Her infectious dancing incited the audience to do the same. The first few rows became a flurry of tangled limbs —sometimes with Siegel in the mix.

As far as hip-hop artists go, T.I. may lack some of the family-friendly cultural capital that gets guys like Jay-Z or Pharrell Williams into commercials for Hewlett Packard and Microsoft. In T.I.'s nearly 10-year career, which started when he was discovered in a barbershop by his longtime manager, Jason Geter (also the current manager for Outkast's Big Boi), he's never been one to pull punches or bite his tongue. A brusque performer, he lacks the ironic rage of Lil Jon or the repetitive ad libs of so many snap-happy trap rappers from the South.  Although a small, wiry guy, he casts a huge presence onstage and rightfully holds down his claim to being King of the South.

Backed by the raspy-voiced mix-tape entrepreneur DJ Drama, T.I. went onstage at Key Club at about 10 p.m. for the MySpace show, and already he had the crowd wound up. Starting with a litany of the best from his last six albums, "24s" from his "Trap Muzik" album was a huge crowd-pleaser at the start. And it was evident, even before he got to taking his shirt off, that he had a penchant for arousing mass hysteria in the ladies --- the stuff of LL Cool J legend. ...

The REDCAT stage looked like a rehearsal room Friday night when Lou Reed, Ulrich Krieger and Sarth Calhoun took the stage. Effects boxes, pedals and other sound manipulation tools were strewn here and there in cluttered arrangements. In the center, a row of guitars sat next to a vintage amp. The set-up was practical, not symbolic, but it also carried a message: Tonight's performance by the trio, going by the name "Unclassified," would be informal and almost private, an act of creation first and a show second.

Not all improvisers adopt this casual aura. Some are highly theatrical, other quietly mystical. Still others are aggressive punks. But for Reed, one of the most venerated leather-jacket-clad pioneers of the rock era, this evening offered something particular -- the chance to put aside his image along with his songbook, and turn inward. He had his collaborators and the intimate room downstairs in Disney Hall to thank for that.

Reed has been in an arty mood lately. His latest release is the DVD of "Berlin Live at St. Ann's Warehouse," the Julian Schnabel-directed concert film of his super-heavy 1973 song cycle of that name. He recently performed with fellow New York boho potentate John Zorn, and earlier this year he wed his longtime partner, performance art doyenne Laurie Anderson. Tonight's concert is part of this move away from having to recap "Sweet Jane" for drunken nightclub nostalgics, and toward a serious legacy.

It's not often that “live performance” and “music-making” are actually one and the same — rarer still to witness when they come together in a public setting.

Rickie Lee Jones showed how it’s done Thursday with an unusually chatty and exceptionally illuminating night at the Cerritos Center for the Performing Arts.

She’d played a series of solo shows back in February at the Echoplex in a residency that let her follow her muse on the turn of a dime. This time she was accompanied by a five-piece band including some old collaborators (guitarist David Kalish) and new ones (drummer David Leach and impossibly young-looking keyboardist Wyatt Stone).

It was clear from her steady stream of questions and requests to her cohorts on stage that this was anything but a meticulously rehearsed machine re-creating in public what had been perfected in private.

Rather, Jones is one of those true artists who strives to make music come alive at the very moment she plays and sings it. You couldn’t for an instant call what she did with “Nobody Knows My Name,” from last year’s “The Sermon on Exposition Boulevard” album a “performance” or “rendition.” The better term would be “delivery”: the process of giving birth to something suddenly alive in a new way.

Beck plays one-off shows at the Echo and Spaceland practically every time he leaves the house to run errands, but last night, Silver Lake's golden-locked son traded in those humble but iconic venues for another iconic but much more grandiose space. Beck Hansen, the godfather of '90s flanneled irony once known for cranking up a leaf-blower midshow, played the Hollywood Bowl for the first time.

It wasn't what anyone expected when they first heard that slide guitar hook in "Loser" in 1994, but that was the beauty of the show. It was a homecoming parade for grown-up slackers drinking vodka at the Bowl, shouting along with Beck's lyrics, those famous junkyard word clusters like "mouthwash jukebox gasoline."

So how did he do? Great, once he got "Loser" out of the way. For the first song of his 90-minute set, which would wind him through all eras of his songbook, aided in part by the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra Strings, Beck looked tense and uninspired. But then he gave away to "Nausea," from his 2006 album, "The Information," and the show started gathering strength.

It's not a good sign when a band is upstaged by a tuba.

Coming into DeVotchKa's show at the El Rey last night, it was easy to get caught up in expecting Great Things, a sort of unhinged and perhaps theatrical mix of all the elements that make up the band's arresting little stew on record -- hints of Balkan folk, Latin guitar, the occasional nod toward klezmer. Yet for all the expectations that have elevated the Denver band to playing Disney Hall, as well as a host of appearances on the summer festival merry-go-round, it was difficult to shake the feeling that there was something missing at last night's performance.

Kanye West's perpetual must-read blog has been a forum for many things: accolades for modernist architecture and deeply unnecessary consumer goods, new videos from his friends and caps lock-assisted jeremiads against those who impede his vision. Now it appears that the input's going two ways: less than a week after an official recording of his MTV VMA song "Love Lockdown" hit (for which he took a good bit of flak for an anemic and soppingly auto-tuned chorus), West's revised it extensively and, it seems, taken the advice of his blog's commenters into account. Is "revise-how-you-like" the new "pay-what-you-want?" 

To whom did Patti LaBelle pass the mic while singing "A Change Is Gonna Come" during the finale at Saturday's  "An Evening of Stars" at the Kodak Theatre, the annual benefit for the United Negro College Fund, which honored the down-home diva this year? The stage was crowded with LaBelle's spiritual daughters, from Jennifer Hudson to Yolanda Adams, LeToya Luckett to Chrisette Michele, but who did Mama think could match her glorious high notes?

Who did the night's producers task with LaBelle's most  famous song, the definitive funk-rock jam "Lady Marmalade"? And who returned later in the long program (taped live for television, with all the gaffes and replays that process requires) to bring tears to LaBelle's eyes with a spirit-touched take on the Bunny Sigler-penned ballad "Somebody Loves You Baby (You Know Who It Is)" -- earning standing ovations for both?

Two truths could be gleaned from last night's eight BMI Urban Awards ceremony at the Wilshire Theatre. One, it's T-Pain's world, at least for now. And two, Michael Jackson is still an inescapable presence in pop, even when he's a physical no-show. But his brothers made their contributions too.

This annual event honors the most performed songs on urban radio -- the R&B and hip-hop hits with the most juice. T-Pain wasn't the only songwriter pulled up onstage to receive a prize numerous times: Producer Polow da Don could barely get off the podium, and Patrick "j. Que" Smith and Ezekiel Lewis from hit-making Atlanta crew the Clutch warmed it up some too.

But the man who's turned Auto-Tune into a virtuoso instrument ruled the night, not only taking away the songwriter of the year prize, but also adding some infectious verve to an otherwise less-than-thrilling parade of industry types holding up placards and getting their photos snapped.

Ponytail excites a small but devoted crowd at UCI

The set was short but spastic. Energetic and loud. Experimental guitar noodling punctuated by shrill cajoling, yelping and trilling from lead vocalist Molly Siegel. In short, everything you'd expect from exuberant Baltimore art-pop band Ponytail. Playing to a small but intimate crowd at the Phoenix Grille on the campus of UCI on Saturday, Siegel grimaced and smiled throughout the show. Her infectious dancing incited the audience to do the same. The first few rows became a flurry of tangled limbs —sometimes with Siegel in the mix.

As far as hip-hop artists go, T.I. may lack some of the family-friendly cultural capital that gets guys like Jay-Z or Pharrell Williams into commercials for Hewlett Packard and Microsoft. In T.I.'s nearly 10-year career, which started when he was discovered in a barbershop by his longtime manager, Jason Geter (also the current manager for Outkast's Big Boi), he's never been one to pull punches or bite his tongue. A brusque performer, he lacks the ironic rage of Lil Jon or the repetitive ad libs of so many snap-happy trap rappers from the South.  Although a small, wiry guy, he casts a huge presence onstage and rightfully holds down his claim to being King of the South.

Backed by the raspy-voiced mix-tape entrepreneur DJ Drama, T.I. went onstage at Key Club at about 10 p.m. for the MySpace show, and already he had the crowd wound up. Starting with a litany of the best from his last six albums, "24s" from his "Trap Muzik" album was a huge crowd-pleaser at the start. And it was evident, even before he got to taking his shirt off, that he had a penchant for arousing mass hysteria in the ladies --- the stuff of LL Cool J legend. ...

The REDCAT stage looked like a rehearsal room Friday night when Lou Reed, Ulrich Krieger and Sarth Calhoun took the stage. Effects boxes, pedals and other sound manipulation tools were strewn here and there in cluttered arrangements. In the center, a row of guitars sat next to a vintage amp. The set-up was practical, not symbolic, but it also carried a message: Tonight's performance by the trio, going by the name "Unclassified," would be informal and almost private, an act of creation first and a show second.

Not all improvisers adopt this casual aura. Some are highly theatrical, other quietly mystical. Still others are aggressive punks. But for Reed, one of the most venerated leather-jacket-clad pioneers of the rock era, this evening offered something particular -- the chance to put aside his image along with his songbook, and turn inward. He had his collaborators and the intimate room downstairs in Disney Hall to thank for that.

Reed has been in an arty mood lately. His latest release is the DVD of "Berlin Live at St. Ann's Warehouse," the Julian Schnabel-directed concert film of his super-heavy 1973 song cycle of that name. He recently performed with fellow New York boho potentate John Zorn, and earlier this year he wed his longtime partner, performance art doyenne Laurie Anderson. Tonight's concert is part of this move away from having to recap "Sweet Jane" for drunken nightclub nostalgics, and toward a serious legacy.

It's not often that “live performance” and “music-making” are actually one and the same — rarer still to witness when they come together in a public setting.

Rickie Lee Jones showed how it’s done Thursday with an unusually chatty and exceptionally illuminating night at the Cerritos Center for the Performing Arts.

She’d played a series of solo shows back in February at the Echoplex in a residency that let her follow her muse on the turn of a dime. This time she was accompanied by a five-piece band including some old collaborators (guitarist David Kalish) and new ones (drummer David Leach and impossibly young-looking keyboardist Wyatt Stone).

It was clear from her steady stream of questions and requests to her cohorts on stage that this was anything but a meticulously rehearsed machine re-creating in public what had been perfected in private.

Rather, Jones is one of those true artists who strives to make music come alive at the very moment she plays and sings it. You couldn’t for an instant call what she did with “Nobody Knows My Name,” from last year’s “The Sermon on Exposition Boulevard” album a “performance” or “rendition.” The better term would be “delivery”: the process of giving birth to something suddenly alive in a new way.

Beck plays one-off shows at the Echo and Spaceland practically every time he leaves the house to run errands, but last night, Silver Lake's golden-locked son traded in those humble but iconic venues for another iconic but much more grandiose space. Beck Hansen, the godfather of '90s flanneled irony once known for cranking up a leaf-blower midshow, played the Hollywood Bowl for the first time.

It wasn't what anyone expected when they first heard that slide guitar hook in "Loser" in 1994, but that was the beauty of the show. It was a homecoming parade for grown-up slackers drinking vodka at the Bowl, shouting along with Beck's lyrics, those famous junkyard word clusters like "mouthwash jukebox gasoline."

So how did he do? Great, once he got "Loser" out of the way. For the first song of his 90-minute set, which would wind him through all eras of his songbook, aided in part by the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra Strings, Beck looked tense and uninspired. But then he gave away to "Nausea," from his 2006 album, "The Information," and the show started gathering strength.

It's not a good sign when a band is upstaged by a tuba.

Coming into DeVotchKa's show at the El Rey last night, it was easy to get caught up in expecting Great Things, a sort of unhinged and perhaps theatrical mix of all the elements that make up the band's arresting little stew on record -- hints of Balkan folk, Latin guitar, the occasional nod toward klezmer. Yet for all the expectations that have elevated the Denver band to playing Disney Hall, as well as a host of appearances on the summer festival merry-go-round, it was difficult to shake the feeling that there was something missing at last night's performance.

Kanye West's perpetual must-read blog has been a forum for many things: accolades for modernist architecture and deeply unnecessary consumer goods, new videos from his friends and caps lock-assisted jeremiads against those who impede his vision. Now it appears that the input's going two ways: less than a week after an official recording of his MTV VMA song "Love Lockdown" hit (for which he took a good bit of flak for an anemic and soppingly auto-tuned chorus), West's revised it extensively and, it seems, taken the advice of his blog's commenters into account. Is "revise-how-you-like" the new "pay-what-you-want?" 

To whom did Patti LaBelle pass the mic while singing "A Change Is Gonna Come" during the finale at Saturday's  "An Evening of Stars" at the Kodak Theatre, the annual benefit for the United Negro College Fund, which honored the down-home diva this year? The stage was crowded with LaBelle's spiritual daughters, from Jennifer Hudson to Yolanda Adams, LeToya Luckett to Chrisette Michele, but who did Mama think could match her glorious high notes?

Who did the night's producers task with LaBelle's most  famous song, the definitive funk-rock jam "Lady Marmalade"? And who returned later in the long program (taped live for television, with all the gaffes and replays that process requires) to bring tears to LaBelle's eyes with a spirit-touched take on the Bunny Sigler-penned ballad "Somebody Loves You Baby (You Know Who It Is)" -- earning standing ovations for both?

Two truths could be gleaned from last night's eight BMI Urban Awards ceremony at the Wilshire Theatre. One, it's T-Pain's world, at least for now. And two, Michael Jackson is still an inescapable presence in pop, even when he's a physical no-show. But his brothers made their contributions too.

This annual event honors the most performed songs on urban radio -- the R&B and hip-hop hits with the most juice. T-Pain wasn't the only songwriter pulled up onstage to receive a prize numerous times: Producer Polow da Don could barely get off the podium, and Patrick "j. Que" Smith and Ezekiel Lewis from hit-making Atlanta crew the Clutch warmed it up some too.

But the man who's turned Auto-Tune into a virtuoso instrument ruled the night, not only taking away the songwriter of the year prize, but also adding some infectious verve to an otherwise less-than-thrilling parade of industry types holding up placards and getting their photos snapped.

Kanye West, Rihanna appear at T.I.'s Myspace show at Key Club

As far as hip-hop artists go, T.I. may lack some of the family-friendly cultural capital that gets guys like Jay-Z or Pharrell Williams into commercials for Hewlett Packard and Microsoft. In T.I.'s nearly 10-year career, which started when he was discovered in a barbershop by his longtime manager, Jason Geter (also the current manager for Outkast's Big Boi), he's never been one to pull punches or bite his tongue. A brusque performer, he lacks the ironic rage of Lil Jon or the repetitive ad libs of so many snap-happy trap rappers from the South.  Although a small, wiry guy, he casts a huge presence onstage and rightfully holds down his claim to being King of the South.

Backed by the raspy-voiced mix-tape entrepreneur DJ Drama, T.I. went onstage at Key Club at about 10 p.m. for the MySpace show, and already he had the crowd wound up. Starting with a litany of the best from his last six albums, "24s" from his "Trap Muzik" album was a huge crowd-pleaser at the start. And it was evident, even before he got to taking his shirt off, that he had a penchant for arousing mass hysteria in the ladies --- the stuff of LL Cool J legend. ...

The REDCAT stage looked like a rehearsal room Friday night when Lou Reed, Ulrich Krieger and Sarth Calhoun took the stage. Effects boxes, pedals and other sound manipulation tools were strewn here and there in cluttered arrangements. In the center, a row of guitars sat next to a vintage amp. The set-up was practical, not symbolic, but it also carried a message: Tonight's performance by the trio, going by the name "Unclassified," would be informal and almost private, an act of creation first and a show second.

Not all improvisers adopt this casual aura. Some are highly theatrical, other quietly mystical. Still others are aggressive punks. But for Reed, one of the most venerated leather-jacket-clad pioneers of the rock era, this evening offered something particular -- the chance to put aside his image along with his songbook, and turn inward. He had his collaborators and the intimate room downstairs in Disney Hall to thank for that.

Reed has been in an arty mood lately. His latest release is the DVD of "Berlin Live at St. Ann's Warehouse," the Julian Schnabel-directed concert film of his super-heavy 1973 song cycle of that name. He recently performed with fellow New York boho potentate John Zorn, and earlier this year he wed his longtime partner, performance art doyenne Laurie Anderson. Tonight's concert is part of this move away from having to recap "Sweet Jane" for drunken nightclub nostalgics, and toward a serious legacy.

It's not often that “live performance” and “music-making” are actually one and the same — rarer still to witness when they come together in a public setting.

Rickie Lee Jones showed how it’s done Thursday with an unusually chatty and exceptionally illuminating night at the Cerritos Center for the Performing Arts.

She’d played a series of solo shows back in February at the Echoplex in a residency that let her follow her muse on the turn of a dime. This time she was accompanied by a five-piece band including some old collaborators (guitarist David Kalish) and new ones (drummer David Leach and impossibly young-looking keyboardist Wyatt Stone).

It was clear from her steady stream of questions and requests to her cohorts on stage that this was anything but a meticulously rehearsed machine re-creating in public what had been perfected in private.

Rather, Jones is one of those true artists who strives to make music come alive at the very moment she plays and sings it. You couldn’t for an instant call what she did with “Nobody Knows My Name,” from last year’s “The Sermon on Exposition Boulevard” album a “performance” or “rendition.” The better term would be “delivery”: the process of giving birth to something suddenly alive in a new way.

Beck plays one-off shows at the Echo and Spaceland practically every time he leaves the house to run errands, but last night, Silver Lake's golden-locked son traded in those humble but iconic venues for another iconic but much more grandiose space. Beck Hansen, the godfather of '90s flanneled irony once known for cranking up a leaf-blower midshow, played the Hollywood Bowl for the first time.

It wasn't what anyone expected when they first heard that slide guitar hook in "Loser" in 1994, but that was the beauty of the show. It was a homecoming parade for grown-up slackers drinking vodka at the Bowl, shouting along with Beck's lyrics, those famous junkyard word clusters like "mouthwash jukebox gasoline."

So how did he do? Great, once he got "Loser" out of the way. For the first song of his 90-minute set, which would wind him through all eras of his songbook, aided in part by the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra Strings, Beck looked tense and uninspired. But then he gave away to "Nausea," from his 2006 album, "The Information," and the show started gathering strength.

It's not a good sign when a band is upstaged by a tuba.

Coming into DeVotchKa's show at the El Rey last night, it was easy to get caught up in expecting Great Things, a sort of unhinged and perhaps theatrical mix of all the elements that make up the band's arresting little stew on record -- hints of Balkan folk, Latin guitar, the occasional nod toward klezmer. Yet for all the expectations that have elevated the Denver band to playing Disney Hall, as well as a host of appearances on the summer festival merry-go-round, it was difficult to shake the feeling that there was something missing at last night's performance.

Kanye West's perpetual must-read blog has been a forum for many things: accolades for modernist architecture and deeply unnecessary consumer goods, new videos from his friends and caps lock-assisted jeremiads against those who impede his vision. Now it appears that the input's going two ways: less than a week after an official recording of his MTV VMA song "Love Lockdown" hit (for which he took a good bit of flak for an anemic and soppingly auto-tuned chorus), West's revised it extensively and, it seems, taken the advice of his blog's commenters into account. Is "revise-how-you-like" the new "pay-what-you-want?" 

To whom did Patti LaBelle pass the mic while singing "A Change Is Gonna Come" during the finale at Saturday's  "An Evening of Stars" at the Kodak Theatre, the annual benefit for the United Negro College Fund, which honored the down-home diva this year? The stage was crowded with LaBelle's spiritual daughters, from Jennifer Hudson to Yolanda Adams, LeToya Luckett to Chrisette Michele, but who did Mama think could match her glorious high notes?

Who did the night's producers task with LaBelle's most  famous song, the definitive funk-rock jam "Lady Marmalade"? And who returned later in the long program (taped live for television, with all the gaffes and replays that process requires) to bring tears to LaBelle's eyes with a spirit-touched take on the Bunny Sigler-penned ballad "Somebody Loves You Baby (You Know Who It Is)" -- earning standing ovations for both?

Two truths could be gleaned from last night's eight BMI Urban Awards ceremony at the Wilshire Theatre. One, it's T-Pain's world, at least for now. And two, Michael Jackson is still an inescapable presence in pop, even when he's a physical no-show. But his brothers made their contributions too.

This annual event honors the most performed songs on urban radio -- the R&B and hip-hop hits with the most juice. T-Pain wasn't the only songwriter pulled up onstage to receive a prize numerous times: Producer Polow da Don could barely get off the podium, and Patrick "j. Que" Smith and Ezekiel Lewis from hit-making Atlanta crew the Clutch warmed it up some too.

But the man who's turned Auto-Tune into a virtuoso instrument ruled the night, not only taking away the songwriter of the year prize, but also adding some infectious verve to an otherwise less-than-thrilling parade of industry types holding up placards and getting their photos snapped.

Lou Reed and Ulrich Krieger: 'Unclassified' at REDCAT

The REDCAT stage looked like a rehearsal room Friday night when Lou Reed, Ulrich Krieger and Sarth Calhoun took the stage. Effects boxes, pedals and other sound manipulation tools were strewn here and there in cluttered arrangements. In the center, a row of guitars sat next to a vintage amp. The set-up was practical, not symbolic, but it also carried a message: Tonight's performance by the trio, going by the name "Unclassified," would be informal and almost private, an act of creation first and a show second.

Not all improvisers adopt this casual aura. Some are highly theatrical, other quietly mystical. Still others are aggressive punks. But for Reed, one of the most venerated leather-jacket-clad pioneers of the rock era, this evening offered something particular -- the chance to put aside his image along with his songbook, and turn inward. He had his collaborators and the intimate room downstairs in Disney Hall to thank for that.

Reed has been in an arty mood lately. His latest release is the DVD of "Berlin Live at St. Ann's Warehouse," the Julian Schnabel-directed concert film of his super-heavy 1973 song cycle of that name. He recently performed with fellow New York boho potentate John Zorn, and earlier this year he wed his longtime partner, performance art doyenne Laurie Anderson. Tonight's concert is part of this move away from having to recap "Sweet Jane" for drunken nightclub nostalgics, and toward a serious legacy.

It's not often that “live performance” and “music-making” are actually one and the same — rarer still to witness when they come together in a public setting.

Rickie Lee Jones showed how it’s done Thursday with an unusually chatty and exceptionally illuminating night at the Cerritos Center for the Performing Arts.

She’d played a series of solo shows back in February at the Echoplex in a residency that let her follow her muse on the turn of a dime. This time she was accompanied by a five-piece band including some old collaborators (guitarist David Kalish) and new ones (drummer David Leach and impossibly young-looking keyboardist Wyatt Stone).

It was clear from her steady stream of questions and requests to her cohorts on stage that this was anything but a meticulously rehearsed machine re-creating in public what had been perfected in private.

Rather, Jones is one of those true artists who strives to make music come alive at the very moment she plays and sings it. You couldn’t for an instant call what she did with “Nobody Knows My Name,” from last year’s “The Sermon on Exposition Boulevard” album a “performance” or “rendition.” The better term would be “delivery”: the process of giving birth to something suddenly alive in a new way.

Beck plays one-off shows at the Echo and Spaceland practically every time he leaves the house to run errands, but last night, Silver Lake's golden-locked son traded in those humble but iconic venues for another iconic but much more grandiose space. Beck Hansen, the godfather of '90s flanneled irony once known for cranking up a leaf-blower midshow, played the Hollywood Bowl for the first time.

It wasn't what anyone expected when they first heard that slide guitar hook in "Loser" in 1994, but that was the beauty of the show. It was a homecoming parade for grown-up slackers drinking vodka at the Bowl, shouting along with Beck's lyrics, those famous junkyard word clusters like "mouthwash jukebox gasoline."

So how did he do? Great, once he got "Loser" out of the way. For the first song of his 90-minute set, which would wind him through all eras of his songbook, aided in part by the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra Strings, Beck looked tense and uninspired. But then he gave away to "Nausea," from his 2006 album, "The Information," and the show started gathering strength.

It's not a good sign when a band is upstaged by a tuba.

Coming into DeVotchKa's show at the El Rey last night, it was easy to get caught up in expecting Great Things, a sort of unhinged and perhaps theatrical mix of all the elements that make up the band's arresting little stew on record -- hints of Balkan folk, Latin guitar, the occasional nod toward klezmer. Yet for all the expectations that have elevated the Denver band to playing Disney Hall, as well as a host of appearances on the summer festival merry-go-round, it was difficult to shake the feeling that there was something missing at last night's performance.

Kanye West's perpetual must-read blog has been a forum for many things: accolades for modernist architecture and deeply unnecessary consumer goods, new videos from his friends and caps lock-assisted jeremiads against those who impede his vision. Now it appears that the input's going two ways: less than a week after an official recording of his MTV VMA song "Love Lockdown" hit (for which he took a good bit of flak for an anemic and soppingly auto-tuned chorus), West's revised it extensively and, it seems, taken the advice of his blog's commenters into account. Is "revise-how-you-like" the new "pay-what-you-want?" 

To whom did Patti LaBelle pass the mic while singing "A Change Is Gonna Come" during the finale at Saturday's  "An Evening of Stars" at the Kodak Theatre, the annual benefit for the United Negro College Fund, which honored the down-home diva this year? The stage was crowded with LaBelle's spiritual daughters, from Jennifer Hudson to Yolanda Adams, LeToya Luckett to Chrisette Michele, but who did Mama think could match her glorious high notes?

Who did the night's producers task with LaBelle's most  famous song, the definitive funk-rock jam "Lady Marmalade"? And who returned later in the long program (taped live for television, with all the gaffes and replays that process requires) to bring tears to LaBelle's eyes with a spirit-touched take on the Bunny Sigler-penned ballad "Somebody Loves You Baby (You Know Who It Is)" -- earning standing ovations for both?

Two truths could be gleaned from last night's eight BMI Urban Awards ceremony at the Wilshire Theatre. One, it's T-Pain's world, at least for now. And two, Michael Jackson is still an inescapable presence in pop, even when he's a physical no-show. But his brothers made their contributions too.

This annual event honors the most performed songs on urban radio -- the R&B and hip-hop hits with the most juice. T-Pain wasn't the only songwriter pulled up onstage to receive a prize numerous times: Producer Polow da Don could barely get off the podium, and Patrick "j. Que" Smith and Ezekiel Lewis from hit-making Atlanta crew the Clutch warmed it up some too.

But the man who's turned Auto-Tune into a virtuoso instrument ruled the night, not only taking away the songwriter of the year prize, but also adding some infectious verve to an otherwise less-than-thrilling parade of industry types holding up placards and getting their photos snapped.

Rickie Lee Jones livens up Cerritos

It's not often that “live performance” and “music-making” are actually one and the same — rarer still to witness when they come together in a public setting.

Rickie Lee Jones showed how it’s done Thursday with an unusually chatty and exceptionally illuminating night at the Cerritos Center for the Performing Arts.

She’d played a series of solo shows back in February at the Echoplex in a residency that let her follow her muse on the turn of a dime. This time she was accompanied by a five-piece band including some old collaborators (guitarist David Kalish) and new ones (drummer David Leach and impossibly young-looking keyboardist Wyatt Stone).

It was clear from her steady stream of questions and requests to her cohorts on stage that this was anything but a meticulously rehearsed machine re-creating in public what had been perfected in private.

Rather, Jones is one of those true artists who strives to make music come alive at the very moment she plays and sings it. You couldn’t for an instant call what she did with “Nobody Knows My Name,” from last year’s “The Sermon on Exposition Boulevard” album a “performance” or “rendition.” The better term would be “delivery”: the process of giving birth to something suddenly alive in a new way.

Beck plays one-off shows at the Echo and Spaceland practically every time he leaves the house to run errands, but last night, Silver Lake's golden-locked son traded in those humble but iconic venues for another iconic but much more grandiose space. Beck Hansen, the godfather of '90s flanneled irony once known for cranking up a leaf-blower midshow, played the Hollywood Bowl for the first time.

It wasn't what anyone expected when they first heard that slide guitar hook in "Loser" in 1994, but that was the beauty of the show. It was a homecoming parade for grown-up slackers drinking vodka at the Bowl, shouting along with Beck's lyrics, those famous junkyard word clusters like "mouthwash jukebox gasoline."

So how did he do? Great, once he got "Loser" out of the way. For the first song of his 90-minute set, which would wind him through all eras of his songbook, aided in part by the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra Strings, Beck looked tense and uninspired. But then he gave away to "Nausea," from his 2006 album, "The Information," and the show started gathering strength.

It's not a good sign when a band is upstaged by a tuba.

Coming into DeVotchKa's show at the El Rey last night, it was easy to get caught up in expecting Great Things, a sort of unhinged and perhaps theatrical mix of all the elements that make up the band's arresting little stew on record -- hints of Balkan folk, Latin guitar, the occasional nod toward klezmer. Yet for all the expectations that have elevated the Denver band to playing Disney Hall, as well as a host of appearances on the summer festival merry-go-round, it was difficult to shake the feeling that there was something missing at last night's performance.

Kanye West's perpetual must-read blog has been a forum for many things: accolades for modernist architecture and deeply unnecessary consumer goods, new videos from his friends and caps lock-assisted jeremiads against those who impede his vision. Now it appears that the input's going two ways: less than a week after an official recording of his MTV VMA song "Love Lockdown" hit (for which he took a good bit of flak for an anemic and soppingly auto-tuned chorus), West's revised it extensively and, it seems, taken the advice of his blog's commenters into account. Is "revise-how-you-like" the new "pay-what-you-want?" 

To whom did Patti LaBelle pass the mic while singing "A Change Is Gonna Come" during the finale at Saturday's  "An Evening of Stars" at the Kodak Theatre, the annual benefit for the United Negro College Fund, which honored the down-home diva this year? The stage was crowded with LaBelle's spiritual daughters, from Jennifer Hudson to Yolanda Adams, LeToya Luckett to Chrisette Michele, but who did Mama think could match her glorious high notes?

Who did the night's producers task with LaBelle's most  famous song, the definitive funk-rock jam "Lady Marmalade"? And who returned later in the long program (taped live for television, with all the gaffes and replays that process requires) to bring tears to LaBelle's eyes with a spirit-touched take on the Bunny Sigler-penned ballad "Somebody Loves You Baby (You Know Who It Is)" -- earning standing ovations for both?

Two truths could be gleaned from last night's eight BMI Urban Awards ceremony at the Wilshire Theatre. One, it's T-Pain's world, at least for now. And two, Michael Jackson is still an inescapable presence in pop, even when he's a physical no-show. But his brothers made their contributions too.

This annual event honors the most performed songs on urban radio -- the R&B and hip-hop hits with the most juice. T-Pain wasn't the only songwriter pulled up onstage to receive a prize numerous times: Producer Polow da Don could barely get off the podium, and Patrick "j. Que" Smith and Ezekiel Lewis from hit-making Atlanta crew the Clutch warmed it up some too.

But the man who's turned Auto-Tune into a virtuoso instrument ruled the night, not only taking away the songwriter of the year prize, but also adding some infectious verve to an otherwise less-than-thrilling parade of industry types holding up placards and getting their photos snapped.

Beck conquers the Hollywood Bowl

Beck plays one-off shows at the Echo and Spaceland practically every time he leaves the house to run errands, but last night, Silver Lake's golden-locked son traded in those humble but iconic venues for another iconic but much more grandiose space. Beck Hansen, the godfather of '90s flanneled irony once known for cranking up a leaf-blower midshow, played the Hollywood Bowl for the first time.

It wasn't what anyone expected when they first heard that slide guitar hook in "Loser" in 1994, but that was the beauty of the show. It was a homecoming parade for grown-up slackers drinking vodka at the Bowl, shouting along with Beck's lyrics, those famous junkyard word clusters like "mouthwash jukebox gasoline."

So how did he do? Great, once he got "Loser" out of the way. For the first song of his 90-minute set, which would wind him through all eras of his songbook, aided in part by the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra Strings, Beck looked tense and uninspired. But then he gave away to "Nausea," from his 2006 album, "The Information," and the show started gathering strength.

It's not a good sign when a band is upstaged by a tuba.

Coming into DeVotchKa's show at the El Rey last night, it was easy to get caught up in expecting Great Things, a sort of unhinged and perhaps theatrical mix of all the elements that make up the band's arresting little stew on record -- hints of Balkan folk, Latin guitar, the occasional nod toward klezmer. Yet for all the expectations that have elevated the Denver band to playing Disney Hall, as well as a host of appearances on the summer festival merry-go-round, it was difficult to shake the feeling that there was something missing at last night's performance.

Kanye West's perpetual must-read blog has been a forum for many things: accolades for modernist architecture and deeply unnecessary consumer goods, new videos from his friends and caps lock-assisted jeremiads against those who impede his vision. Now it appears that the input's going two ways: less than a week after an official recording of his MTV VMA song "Love Lockdown" hit (for which he took a good bit of flak for an anemic and soppingly auto-tuned chorus), West's revised it extensively and, it seems, taken the advice of his blog's commenters into account. Is "revise-how-you-like" the new "pay-what-you-want?" 

To whom did Patti LaBelle pass the mic while singing "A Change Is Gonna Come" during the finale at Saturday's  "An Evening of Stars" at the Kodak Theatre, the annual benefit for the United Negro College Fund, which honored the down-home diva this year? The stage was crowded with LaBelle's spiritual daughters, from Jennifer Hudson to Yolanda Adams, LeToya Luckett to Chrisette Michele, but who did Mama think could match her glorious high notes?

Who did the night's producers task with LaBelle's most  famous song, the definitive funk-rock jam "Lady Marmalade"? And who returned later in the long program (taped live for television, with all the gaffes and replays that process requires) to bring tears to LaBelle's eyes with a spirit-touched take on the Bunny Sigler-penned ballad "Somebody Loves You Baby (You Know Who It Is)" -- earning standing ovations for both?

Two truths could be gleaned from last night's eight BMI Urban Awards ceremony at the Wilshire Theatre. One, it's T-Pain's world, at least for now. And two, Michael Jackson is still an inescapable presence in pop, even when he's a physical no-show. But his brothers made their contributions too.

This annual event honors the most performed songs on urban radio -- the R&B and hip-hop hits with the most juice. T-Pain wasn't the only songwriter pulled up onstage to receive a prize numerous times: Producer Polow da Don could barely get off the podium, and Patrick "j. Que" Smith and Ezekiel Lewis from hit-making Atlanta crew the Clutch warmed it up some too.

But the man who's turned Auto-Tune into a virtuoso instrument ruled the night, not only taking away the songwriter of the year prize, but also adding some infectious verve to an otherwise less-than-thrilling parade of industry types holding up placards and getting their photos snapped.

Not-quite-swooning with DeVotchKa

It's not a good sign when a band is upstaged by a tuba.

Coming into DeVotchKa's show at the El Rey last night, it was easy to get caught up in expecting Great Things, a sort of unhinged and perhaps theatrical mix of all the elements that make up the band's arresting little stew on record -- hints of Balkan folk, Latin guitar, the occasional nod toward klezmer. Yet for all the expectations that have elevated the Denver band to playing Disney Hall, as well as a host of appearances on the summer festival merry-go-round, it was difficult to shake the feeling that there was something missing at last night's performance.

Kanye West's perpetual must-read blog has been a forum for many things: accolades for modernist architecture and deeply unnecessary consumer goods, new videos from his friends and caps lock-assisted jeremiads against those who impede his vision. Now it appears that the input's going two ways: less than a week after an official recording of his MTV VMA song "Love Lockdown" hit (for which he took a good bit of flak for an anemic and soppingly auto-tuned chorus), West's revised it extensively and, it seems, taken the advice of his blog's commenters into account. Is "revise-how-you-like" the new "pay-what-you-want?" 

To whom did Patti LaBelle pass the mic while singing "A Change Is Gonna Come" during the finale at Saturday's  "An Evening of Stars" at the Kodak Theatre, the annual benefit for the United Negro College Fund, which honored the down-home diva this year? The stage was crowded with LaBelle's spiritual daughters, from Jennifer Hudson to Yolanda Adams, LeToya Luckett to Chrisette Michele, but who did Mama think could match her glorious high notes?

Who did the night's producers task with LaBelle's most  famous song, the definitive funk-rock jam "Lady Marmalade"? And who returned later in the long program (taped live for television, with all the gaffes and replays that process requires) to bring tears to LaBelle's eyes with a spirit-touched take on the Bunny Sigler-penned ballad "Somebody Loves You Baby (You Know Who It Is)" -- earning standing ovations for both?

Two truths could be gleaned from last night's eight BMI Urban Awards ceremony at the Wilshire Theatre. One, it's T-Pain's world, at least for now. And two, Michael Jackson is still an inescapable presence in pop, even when he's a physical no-show. But his brothers made their contributions too.

This annual event honors the most performed songs on urban radio -- the R&B and hip-hop hits with the most juice. T-Pain wasn't the only songwriter pulled up onstage to receive a prize numerous times: Producer Polow da Don could barely get off the podium, and Patrick "j. Que" Smith and Ezekiel Lewis from hit-making Atlanta crew the Clutch warmed it up some too.

But the man who's turned Auto-Tune into a virtuoso instrument ruled the night, not only taking away the songwriter of the year prize, but also adding some infectious verve to an otherwise less-than-thrilling parade of industry types holding up placards and getting their photos snapped.

Kanye West's new focus-grouped 'Love Lockdown'

Kanye West's perpetual must-read blog has been a forum for many things: accolades for modernist architecture and deeply unnecessary consumer goods, new videos from his friends and caps lock-assisted jeremiads against those who impede his vision. Now it appears that the input's going two ways: less than a week after an official recording of his MTV VMA song "Love Lockdown" hit (for which he took a good bit of flak for an anemic and soppingly auto-tuned chorus), West's revised it extensively and, it seems, taken the advice of his blog's commenters into account. Is "revise-how-you-like" the new "pay-what-you-want?" 

To whom did Patti LaBelle pass the mic while singing "A Change Is Gonna Come" during the finale at Saturday's  "An Evening of Stars" at the Kodak Theatre, the annual benefit for the United Negro College Fund, which honored the down-home diva this year? The stage was crowded with LaBelle's spiritual daughters, from Jennifer Hudson to Yolanda Adams, LeToya Luckett to Chrisette Michele, but who did Mama think could match her glorious high notes?

Who did the night's producers task with LaBelle's most  famous song, the definitive funk-rock jam "Lady Marmalade"? And who returned later in the long program (taped live for television, with all the gaffes and replays that process requires) to bring tears to LaBelle's eyes with a spirit-touched take on the Bunny Sigler-penned ballad "Somebody Loves You Baby (You Know Who It Is)" -- earning standing ovations for both?

Two truths could be gleaned from last night's eight BMI Urban Awards ceremony at the Wilshire Theatre. One, it's T-Pain's world, at least for now. And two, Michael Jackson is still an inescapable presence in pop, even when he's a physical no-show. But his brothers made their contributions too.

This annual event honors the most performed songs on urban radio -- the R&B and hip-hop hits with the most juice. T-Pain wasn't the only songwriter pulled up onstage to receive a prize numerous times: Producer Polow da Don could barely get off the podium, and Patrick "j. Que" Smith and Ezekiel Lewis from hit-making Atlanta crew the Clutch warmed it up some too.

But the man who's turned Auto-Tune into a virtuoso instrument ruled the night, not only taking away the songwriter of the year prize, but also adding some infectious verve to an otherwise less-than-thrilling parade of industry types holding up placards and getting their photos snapped.

Fantasia slays Jennifer Hudson at 'An Evening of Stars'

To whom did Patti LaBelle pass the mic while singing "A Change Is Gonna Come" during the finale at Saturday's  "An Evening of Stars" at the Kodak Theatre, the annual benefit for the United Negro College Fund, which honored the down-home diva this year? The stage was crowded with LaBelle's spiritual daughters, from Jennifer Hudson to Yolanda Adams, LeToya Luckett to Chrisette Michele, but who did Mama think could match her glorious high notes?

Who did the night's producers task with LaBelle's most  famous song, the definitive funk-rock jam "Lady Marmalade"? And who returned later in the long program (taped live for television, with all the gaffes and replays that process requires) to bring tears to LaBelle's eyes with a spirit-touched take on the Bunny Sigler-penned ballad "Somebody Loves You Baby (You Know Who It Is)" -- earning standing ovations for both?

Two truths could be gleaned from last night's eight BMI Urban Awards ceremony at the Wilshire Theatre. One, it's T-Pain's world, at least for now. And two, Michael Jackson is still an inescapable presence in pop, even when he's a physical no-show. But his brothers made their contributions too.

This annual event honors the most performed songs on urban radio -- the R&B and hip-hop hits with the most juice. T-Pain wasn't the only songwriter pulled up onstage to receive a prize numerous times: Producer Polow da Don could barely get off the podium, and Patrick "j. Que" Smith and Ezekiel Lewis from hit-making Atlanta crew the Clutch warmed it up some too.

But the man who's turned Auto-Tune into a virtuoso instrument ruled the night, not only taking away the songwriter of the year prize, but also adding some infectious verve to an otherwise less-than-thrilling parade of industry types holding up placards and getting their photos snapped.

BMI Urban Awards: No Michael Jackson, much T-Pain

Two truths could be gleaned from last night's eight BMI Urban Awards ceremony at the Wilshire Theatre. One, it's T-Pain's world, at least for now. And two, Michael Jackson is still an inescapable presence in pop, even when he's a physical no-show. But his brothers made their contributions too.

This annual event honors the most performed songs on urban radio -- the R&B and hip-hop hits with the most juice. T-Pain wasn't the only songwriter pulled up onstage to receive a prize numerous times: Producer Polow da Don could barely get off the podium, and Patrick "j. Que" Smith and Ezekiel Lewis from hit-making Atlanta crew the Clutch warmed it up some too.

But the man who's turned Auto-Tune into a virtuoso instrument ruled the night, not only taking away the songwriter of the year prize, but also adding some infectious verve to an otherwise less-than-thrilling parade of industry types holding up placards and getting their photos snapped.