• Kris Allen (Jive) and Adam Lambert, For Your Entertainment (RCA) –- The good news (for American Idol benefactor 19 Entertainment, anyway) is that these debuts from Season 8’s nice-guy champ and flamboyant, shoulda-won runner-up are super-sleek hit machines just waiting to be revved into high gear. There are so many potential singles on each disc, it must’ve been nearly impossible for the teams behind these nascent pop stars to determine which tune to plug first.

Perhaps that’s because there’s so much repetition and recycling within each album. I’ve listened to both repeatedly and still have trouble telling one Train-tracked Allen anthem from another, even the funkier ones where he starts to sound more like Brandon Boyd of Incubus. The bulk of Lambert’s Max Martin-designed dance drivel, meanwhile, tends to blur into one long overblown club mix, saved only by his superior singing.

The problem, as has been the case with virtually every Idol-launched talent right out of the gate, is that neither Allen nor Lambert has carved out any compelling identity –- they’ve merely borrowed everyone else’s.

Granted, crafting a unique musical expression is a tall order even Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood have difficulty measuring up to. But I had high hopes for Lambert, the freshest, wildest thing to have emerged from America’s favorite singing game-show, and arguably the most insanely gifted vocalist Simon Cowell & Co. have yet to discover.

Yet what little is enjoyable about his first effort, For Your Entertainment (in stores Tuesday), has more to do with the quality of the popsmiths and producers who were eager to lend a hand than the hyper-stylized gender-bender with the spectacular voice belting their melodies.

It’s an impressive roll call: In addition to Britney beat-crafter Martin, Lambert gets songwriting assists from, among others, Weezer eccentric Rivers Cuomo, OneRepublic frontman and “Halo” author Ryan Tedder, both halves (working separately, of course) of the Pink/Linda Perry package and, most crucially, Muse’s Matthew Bellamy, whose tendency toward the grandiose influences most every moment of Lambert’s set.

There are vocal breaks in the thick of the otherwise inane “Strut” (with hilariously bad lyrics co-penned by Idol judge Kara DioGuardi) and the only so-so “Pick U Up” (Cuomo’s contribution) that are so exactingly traced from Bellamy’s playbook, he should get royalties for them as well. Instead, he only offered “Soaked,” a beautiful, magnificently over-the-top piece of Queen-meets-ELO that seems to have inspired Lambert to emulate it every chance he got here. Even the airy delivery of Perry’s “A Loaded Smile” can’t resist its dramatic pull.

This should come as no surprise, but Lambert on record is exactly what he was on the show -– a talented poseur. Only, now he’s mimicking his heroes with big-name backing and a multimillion-dollar budget.

He does so little to claim the Pink cut “Whataya Want from Me” for his own, it might as well have been sung by Ms. Moore, since she’s owed both its energy and attitude. He enlists Justin Hawkins of seemingly defunct English band the Darkness for “Music Again,” then blatantly copies both the cocksure swagger and high-pitched yelps of that metal goofball; I’m not sure what’s more laughable, such shameless thievery or the unfortunate chorus hook “you make me want to listen to music again,” for this does not.

It’s really too bad the songs are such shallow ripoffs, for Lambert, as expected, more than establishes himself as one of the mightiest wailers in popular music, recent or otherwise. Why he (or his handlers) insisted on stuffing it into so many vapid rehashes of Top 40 formula, I’ll never know; why it was decided to focus at least half his album on well-executed but meaningless gay disco tunes is even more baffling.

I’m all for him expressing himself truthfully, and his plastic party-time piffle certainly holds its own against the queens of the genre –- Britney, Kylie, even Madonna. But no matter how out-of-the-closet he has been since wowing on Idol, and bully for him, his reliance on effeminate electro-pop feels like some kind of betrayal of the mainstream viewers who handed him his popularity.

There’s little here that bears much resemblance to the showstopper we saw in spring. Only “Fever,” principally penned by Lady Gaga (who easily could be the yang to his yin), achieves a rich enough synthesis of everything Lambert is capable of –- it’s great dance-rock, as infectious as Scissor Sisters’ “Take Your Mama” or any of Mika’s bursts of joy. (It’s also another radio-ready testament to what an unexpectedly prolific talent Gaga has become so quickly.)

By contrast, Allen’s debut is precisely what you’d expect it to be –- he sticks so closely to what worked on Idol, he even includes his cover of Kanye’s “Heartless” as a bonus track.

At least Adam has outlandish going for him; Kris is just plain bland, no matter how much his spit-polished generic rock fulfills the wishes of the fans who voted for him. He’s the Idol champ most likely to replace the singer from, oh, Lifehouse or Switchfoot.

Allen can’t keep from copying his betters, either –- every track seems conceived to slot comfortably in a MYfm mix of Snow Patrol, Maroon 5, soft Incubus, Goo Goo Dolls and John Mayer (“Is It Over” is an utter ripoff of the latter). Though much heartier vocally than his sometimes reedy TV performances would have suggested, he  nonetheless suffers from the same affliction that still hounds Chris Daughtry: he can’t help but evoke bigger talents, and he’s nowhere near developed enough to transcend them.

Because his ambition is so modest –- I don’t think he has a clue how to actually be a rock star now that he’s kinda becoming one –- it’s hard not to root a bit for the little guy. After all, plenty of people find Coldplay maddeningly dull yet think Chris Martin is a swell guy. I’d cut him more slack than Lambert, so born-savvy he always struck me as a seasoned pro merely moonlighting on Idol for giggles. He owed us a more stunning debut; Kris only needed to not sound like Blake Lewis. Both: C+

Photos by Charles Sykes (top), Matt Sayles (of Lambert) and Jason Redmond (of Allen), all courtesy of The Associated Press.

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A North American tour featuring ZZ Top was underway, with the boys from Boston expected to perform their 1975 breakthrough Toys in the Attic in full night after night. Brendan O’Brien — producer for giants such as AC/DC, Pearl Jam, Incubus and Rage Against the Machine — was slated to work with the band on new material. To that end, guitarist Joe Perry was writing madly, building up a repository of songs to choose from.

All the pieces were in place for a new Aerosmith record to happen, the Hall of Famers’ first set of original material since 2001’s Just Push Play.

But almost as quickly as it came together, everything fell apart.

During an Aug. 5 performance at the annual bike rally in Sturgis, S.D., frontman Steven Tyler, 61, fell from the stage mid-dance, resulting in a minor injuries and an airlift to the hospital. The tour was canceled — and the band was sent on a downward spiral.

Not long after, Perry, 59, indicated via Twitter that Tyler was leaving the group, a claim validated by Tyler’s concurrent public comments that he would not rejoin Aerosmith for two years while he worked on a solo project and possibly a memoir.

Otherwise, there has been nothing but silence between the group and its singer.

“Steven hasn’t called any of us,” Perry said during a phone interview Tuesday. “He hasn’t told anybody in the band what he plans on doing.”

Tyler might be lying low, but the abrupt halt in Aerosmith’s progress hasn’t stopped Perry, who, under the moniker the Joe Perry Project (revived for the first time since 1984), recently released his fifth solo album, Have Guitar, Will Travel.

Fleshed out by past Project bassist David Hull plus newcomers guitarist Paul Santo, drummer Marty Richards and German vocalist Hagen Grohe — discovered on YouTube by Perry’s wife — the new lineup began touring North America in September, with shows Monday at House of Blues Anaheim and Tuesday at House of Blues Sunset Strip.

“I had a bunch of songs sitting there (for Aerosmith), so I was ready to go,” Perry says. “We found Hagen on the Internet and it just all fell together really fast. It was synchronicity, testosterone, the right place.”

For Perry, the 10-track Have Guitar, Will Travel, produced by O’Brien in only 47 days, is a representation of what Aerosmith, and rock n’ roll in general, should sound like.

“(The Project) is loose and tight at the same time,” he explains, and the sudden switch from playing massive arena-type venues to intimate clubs is an essential component in achieving that. “It’s definitely a good change. I can just see the reaction that the audience has on the band and how it gives the band an extra spike.”

Although most of the songs featured on Have Guitar, Will Travel were ones Perry was saving for a solo project, one track, “Do You Wonder,” might have been included on the indefinitely postponed next Aerosmith record.

“I’d had that song for about 10 years, and it never got used,” he recalls. But O’Brien saw the song’s potential, and Perry decided, ”10 years is long enough –- I think I’ll put it on my record.”

The Project is now his primary focus, but questions about Aerosmith still loom large, especially after Tyler’s unexpected guest appearance on “Walk This Way” during a Nov. 10 Project gig in New York, where Tyler announced he was not leaving Aerosmith.

“I had no idea he was going to be there,” Perry explains, “and I didn’t see him after that. I haven’t heard from him since.” Perry speculated that Tyler may have dropped in to assert that he isn’t “giving up his seat at the table.”

Even if the vocalist does contact the band about working on a new record in the near-future, however, recent comments from various Aerosmith members suggest sobriety may be a renewed issue for the long-clean frontman. That’s something that could cost him his stake in the band.

“I’m not hanging with the guy, but his history of drug abuse is well documented,” Aerosmith guitarist Brad Whitford told Rolling Stone earlier this week. “And like many other people in this same position, the prospects aren’t good.”

Perry, however, remains neutral about Tyler’s personal issues, and says Aerosmith will continue with or without him. “As long as I keep getting excited when I plug my guitar in, and I hear that hum when the amp gets turned on — that’s how long it’s gonna keep goin’ for me.”

When asked what he hopes the new Aerosmith material will sound like, Perry didn’t hesitate. “Rocks,” he answered quickly, referring to the band’s chrome-polished fourth album from 1976, the one that gave FM radio “Back in the Saddle” and “Last Child.”

“We started writing stuff in the studio then,” Perry remembers, “and I think we really came into our own as recording artists.”

That disc has stuck in his mind since Nov. 2, when Perry accepted the Classic Album award for Rocks at the 2009 Classic Rock Roll of Honour awards in London (pictured, left).

New Aerosmith material may be “off in the distance” at this point, but Perry says his current Project tour will serve as a proper primer.

“Every time I do something like this, I learn a lot about what makes me tick, and what is it is about rock ‘n’ roll that still gets me off. So that’s pretty much my focus right now – bringing it to the crowd and getting new ideas.”

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Kiss is a band that needs no introduction, as the face-painted, pyro-loving, blood-spitting rockers have been at it for more than three decades.

To celebrate the 35th anniversary of its February ’74 self-titled debut, the ever-popular concert attraction, founded by frontmen Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons, has been out on its worldwide KISS Alive/35 Tour, which stops Tuesday at Honda Center in Anaheim and Wednesday at Staples Center in L.A.

It’s turning out to be a busy year in Kiss’ history. For starters, the current tour coincides with the release of Sonic Boom, the band’s well-received first studio effort in 11 years, following 1998’s lackluster Psycho Circus, the first album to feature the original Kiss lineup since 1977’s Love Gun and Alive II.

Meanwhile, after a decade of eligibility, the quartet has finally been nominated for induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Its competition for next year’s five coveted spots are Swedish pop superstars ABBA, reggae legend Jimmy Cliff, punk and metal godfathers the Stooges, prog-rock forebear Genesis and two acts whose rise began in the ’80s, Red Hot Chili Peppers and LL Cool J.

Still, none of these reasons to return were needed to get the band back on the road. “It’s always a good time for Kiss,” Stanley said during a phone interview last week, in the same breath noting that he was only wearing a robe. He, Simmons, guitarist Tommy Thayer and drummer Eric Singer were enjoying a rare day off during this latest leg of their lengthy tour, between gigs in Canada.

After months of performing in ginormous arenas throughout Europe, Australia and South America, Stanley says the band is excited to bring its newest spectacle to North America.

“These have been the biggest and best shows we’ve ever done,” he boasts, noting that “besides getting raves from fans, we’ve been suspiciously getting good reviews from the critics. I have a feeling that either they just got pummeled into realizing that we’re the right way to go, or the critics who gave us bad reviews have all been fired.”

Of course, original members Peter Criss and Ace Frehley have once again acrimoniously parted ways with Stanley and Simmons, splitting over financial and creative matters shortly after Kiss’ career-reviving reunion tours of the late ‘90s. Filling in are longtime Criss replacement Singer, who has served behind the kit for the better part of 20 years, and seven-year Kiss veteran Thayer.

“It isn’t our first tour with this lineup,” Stanley points out. “Quite honestly, once again the philosophy has turned out to be true that the band is not about any particular individual. The band is a way of thinking. It’s a frame of mind, it’s a mantra -– it’s living up to everything that Kiss is supposed to be.

“Kiss should be timeless. It shouldn’t depend upon specific people being in the band.”

CUTTING OUT THE CLUTTER

Sonic Boom, released on Oct. 6, took just four months to create, from songwriting to completed recording –- remarkably fast for a band that had to squeeze in sessions while touring South America throughout spring. By June, the guys had hunkered down inside L.A.’s Conway Studios to cut the disc quickly.

Stanley says he “wanted to make a Kiss album that was really steeped in our heritage but is also a statement of today and for tomorrow. I thought it would be great to go into the studio, provided I could produce the album, because (Psycho Circus) was such an unpleasant experience. It sort of soured it for us.”

The trouble with the previous collection was a case of too many leaders, not enough followers. “I mean, even in a car someone has to drive -– if everyone just has their hands on the steering wheel it crashes. Democracy in the studio is vastly overrated. Everyone should have an opinion, but at the end of the day someone has to make the decisions.

“We’re about making a great Kiss album, instead of being about what kind of music each person likes, or the idea that everyone is entitled to a quota of songs on an album, or entitled to sing because they’re in the band.” (That said, for Sonic Boom Thayer takes the lead vocally on “When Lightening Strikes” while Singer steps up with “All for the Glory.”)

Having one chief overseer, Stanley says, is the healthiest way for Kiss to work in the studio –- and as such, the recording process was effortless this time. “We wrote on our days off from the tour, and when we were recording, nothing got past a first or second take.”

Times certainly have changed since ’74 –- and so have Kiss’ luxuries. Like other touring giants, the band now flies around the world on a private jet. “It allows us to stay based in a city longer and fly out every day and do more shows,” Stanley explains.

“Those early times are great, though, because they toughen you up and make you appreciate the rewards. If you’re just getting everything from the beginning, then what’s there to work toward?”

ROUGH ROAD TO THE HALL OF FAME

Stanley, soon to be 58, insists that when he and Simmons, now 60, formed what would become one of the most successful (and often reviled) bands of the ’70s, one that served as a dividing line between baby boomers and their offspring, he never could have foreseen all the spoils that have come their way. He still doesn’t take any of it for granted.

“At that point (in the ’70s) there was no precedent for this sort of thing. There weren’t bands that had lasted more than five to seven years, so the idea of a band lasting 35 years … no, no, no. There was a time when rock ‘n’ roll was so disposable.

“Mind you, there’s still an element of it now, where you have almost a product-manufactured artist or band that would have an appeal for only a certain period of time, and then they’re replaced. If we weren’t Kiss, and we weren’t doing these great shows and constantly building on what we’ve done, we wouldn’t still be here.

“There’s a lot of commitment to what we do. We live in our own shadows. We’ve made a career out of not competing with anything but ourselves.”

And, at last, they’re on the verge of receiving one of rock’s highest honors.

Not that Kiss entirely cares.

“It’s a double-edged sword,” Stanley says, “because the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is like a private club. It’s a group of people, mainly critics and a couple of record executives, who got together and came up with a terrific name that sounds very official and very impressive, even to me. But it’s not a reflection of the public’s taste. You only have to look at some of the people who have been inducted, and you go, ‘Who? But what about this band … or this one?’

“Yet there have been people fighting so hard to get us in. So should they want to induct us, I’ll be there, absolutely. It would be an insult to the people who have fought for us to get in to not show up.”

All the same, he adds, “I’m also very proud of the people who have been fighting to keep us out of there, too. That’s part of what makes us so great.”

Studio photo by Glenn La Ferman, for KISS Records. Live shots by Fernando Vergara, The Associated Press.

Post from: Soundcheck

• Wolfmother –

• KISS – Ace Frehley and Peter Criss have fallen away yet again, replaced once more by Tommy Thayer and Eric Singer, respectively. But only sour sergeants in the KISS Army would care –- Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons, the band’s nucleus, are still front and center, and once the hits and fireworks start blowing up, it could be just about anybody behind all that kabuki-glam makeup. The group’s Alive 35 Tour (read all about it in our interview with Paul Stanley), celebrating both its 35th anniversary and the release of Sonic Boom, its first album of new material in 11 years, makes three Southern California stops: Tuesday at Honda Center, 2695 E. Katella Ave., Anaheim, $31.30-$145.80 … Wednesday at Staples Center, 1111 S. Figueroa St., Los Angeles, $19.50-$126 … and Nov. 27 at San Diego Sports Arena, 3500 Sports Arena Blvd., $15.50-$126. Buckcherry opens all shows. 714-740-2000. ticketmaster.com

• Ray LaMontagne – After impressing in his orchestra-backed Hollywood Bowl debut earlier this year, the increasingly admired Maine-based singer-songwriter, still earning kudos for his third album Gossip in the Grain, returns for three solo acoustic shows, tonight through Sunday, at the Orpheum Theatre, 842 S. Broadway, in downtown Los Angeles. Tickets are $39.50-$49.50. 714-740-2000. ticketmaster.com

• Kem – Another season brings another visit from the Detroit soul star, even though he hasn’t put out any new music in four years. He performs Saturday night at the Grove of Anaheim, 2200 E. Katella Ave. Tickets are $50-$60. Also at the venue this weekend: ’70s pop favorite Three Dog Night, tonight, $40-$55 … and sax man Kenny G., Sunday, $45-$75. 714-712-2700. thegroveofanaheim.com

• Thrice – Having taken significant strides forward with its strongly redefining sixth album Beggars, the Orange-based band, fronted by Dustin Kensrue (right), returns home to end its first tour supporting the disc with three local shows: Monday at Avalon, 1735 Vine St., Hollywood $21 … and Tuesday-Wednesday at House of Blues Anaheim, 1530 S. Disneyland Drive, $18.50. The Dear Hunter opens all dates. Also at the Mouse House this week: reggae act Iration with Tomorrow’s Bad Seeds, the B Foundation and Pacific Dub, tonight, $15.50 … Wizards of Waverly Place star Selena Gomez with Allstar, Saturday at 2 p.m., $22.50 … Austin duo Ghostland Observatory (and their kickass light show) with Speaker Junkies, Saturday at 8 p.m., $22.50 … the Joe Perry Project (now that Aerosmith is once again off the road and fractious), with Silent Treatment, Monday, $35 … and the BET 106 & Park Tour featuring Mario with Pretty Ricky and Mishon, Thursday, $37.50. 714-740-2000. 714-778-BLUE. hob.com, ticketmaster.com

• Papa Roach / Jet – It’s a somewhat odd paring: the California quartet, still touring behind March’s Metamorphosis album, teaming with Melbourne’s retro-rockers, promoting their third album Shaka Rock. The bill, which also includes Morningwood (whose second album, Diamonds & Studs, arrived last month) and After Midnight Project, makes three Southern California stops: Monday at Club Nokia, 800 Olympic Blvd., in the downtown L.A. Live complex, $31.50 … Wednesday at the Grove of Anaheim, 2200 E. Katella Ave., $25 … and Nov. 28 at House of Blues San Diego, 1055 5th Ave., $27.50. Also Nov. 27 at House of Blues Las Vegas, $26.50. 714-740-2000, 714-712-2700. ticketmaster.com, thegroveofanaheim.com

• Also: the Misfits tonight at the Galaxy Concert Theatre, $23, and Saturday-Sunday at the Key Club, $25 … Peter Bjorn and John at Club Nokia, Saturday, $25 … the Fiery Furnaces at El Rey Theatre, Saturday, $15 … Friendly Fires with the XX at the Music Box at the Fonda, Saturday, $20 … Celtic Woman at Pasadena Civic on Saturday, $40-$70, and Long Beach Terrace Theatre on Sunday, $45-$67 … Café Tacuba at Club Nokia, Tuesday, $51.50-$71.50 (also Wednesday at House of Blues San Diego, $37.50-$62.50, and Nov. 27 at the Fox Theater in Pomona, $50) … and Simian Mobile Disco at the Mayan Theater, Wednesday, $21.50.

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They must have thrown a flashback disc on the radio at the spot where I ate before Snoop Dogg’s show Wednesday night. After hearing Soul Asylum, Train and Avril Lavigne, I was more than ready for some gritty West Coast thuggery, courtesy of Cordozar Calvin Broadus, aka Snoop.

I’m guessing that’s what the near-capacity Grove of Anaheim crowd wanted, too. Gangsta rap has always been about authenticity –- taking the shine off the overexposed, auto-tuned pop music of the day and replacing it with something more “real,” whatever that means.

The problem with the authenticity of living on the street is that it fades after years of living in a posh, gated community (just up the 57 freeway, in Snoop’s case). So the Doggfather’s live shows now juxtapose classic cuts from Dr. Dre’s The Chronic and his own auspicious debut, Doggystyle, next to lukewarm soul, the best example of which is probably “Sensual Seduction.”

The Anaheim show was similar in form and content to his Irvine performance from July — mostly the same tracks were performed, with old favorites truncated into a gangsta medley halfway through the show and the same tricks used to hype up the crowd. Yet it was hard to say whether the audience was unenthusiastic, trying to act hard or simply so medicated on marijuana that they showed little emotion.

Either way, it was a sedate Wednesday night performance for the most part. Snoop regularly checked in on the crowd, asking “Is everybody out there having a good time tonight?” But the response was weaker than it should have been.

On the plus-side, Snoop proved beyond a doubt that he is still a master MC; when he raps, there is nothing more interesting to watch. His flow is smooth -– nearly perfect, actually, coming across with finesse and effortless skill.

Nowhere was that more obvious and evident here than on “Gin and Juice,” the fifth song of the night, capturing the rapper at his laid-back best. Indeed, when he’s good, Snoop is very, very good, and that’s what makes the slow moments so unbearable –- milking the crowd to say “hey” and “ho” until way after they stopped caring or rehashing the dull dance number “Candy (Drippin’ Like Water)” are moves that are beneath him at this point.

Snoop Dogg remains a major talent, but like barnacles on a great ship the throwaway tracks of recent years have stuck to his live show. Since he left now-defunct Death Row Records and parted ways with Dr. Dre, his considerable rapping skills have yet to find the right sonic environment, meaning his best songs are still the ones he wrote as a teenager.

For $50 a ticket, Snoop’s audience should demand more.

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With now-infamous Chris Brown making his first appearance in Southern California since his very public and brutal assault of then-girlfriend, urban-soul star Rihanna, it was a wonder if Avalon in Hollywood would fill up for his show Wednesday night.

Brown’s Fan Appreciation Tour, his first outing since pleading guilty to felony assault, is no doubt a shout-out to those who didn’t ditch his music when they learned of his deeds.

But as ear-piercing shrieks sliced through the air inside the packed venue, along with “We want Chris!” chants, it appeared as though his loyal fans had forgiven him –- and perhaps even forgotten.

Dressed like he was about to rob a house or mob someone in the parking lot, Brown took the stage dressed in head-to-toe black –- black leather jacket, black cap, black gloves –- and launched into the recent Lil Wayne-featured hit “I Can Transform Ya.”

It became obvious within seconds, however, that Brown, flanked by backing dancers, was lip-synching as he popped fluid, quick moves. Young Brown may already be an accomplished R&B vocalist and a prolific dancer, but he wasn’t about to earn back the respect of the crowd by pulling a serious live-music faux pas.

Yet, before any more anxiety could manifest over that, Brown grabbed a hand-held mic and slid into “Wall to Wall,” from last year’s Exclusive album, his real, naked voice clear as a bell.

As Brown’s DJ spun Jay-Z’s frenetic “On to the Next One” and the star catapulted into an aggressive dance routine and song medley, it became evident that this night would be unpredictable.

His tour’s very title suggests that the singer might acknowledge or even apologize for turning his girlfriend into a punching bag at some point in the night. But his only heartfelt message came amid a flurry of requests for the audience to party: “Without you guys, I’d be nothing.”

Translation: if fans came to his show in hopes of hearing an apology, they weren’t going to get it.

Throughout the set itself, including a surprise appearance from singers Keri Hilson and Ester Dean as well as dance breaks to songs from other artists, it seemed as if Brown was distracting the crowd from his mistake before it could burn into their memories again.

After a slow-jam segment that included “Excuse Me Miss,” it was only a matter of time before Brown ripped his black tank off in shreds and gyrated on the floor to “Take You Down,” no doubt dizzying much of his female audience.

But that bare torso was soon replaced by a red-and-black sequined blazer and fedora. Brown may have even confused the audience into thinking he was about to dedicate a song to his estranged ex when he said, “Everyone wants me to do something for my homey, my friend, my loved one” — but instead he moonwalked into a Michael Jackson tribute mash-up, including “Billie Jean” and the “Thriller” dance routine, which only spawned a lull in the performance.

Brown then took to a stool and either sang or danced a bit to songs that his DJ played, a very obvious attempt to let the multi-talented singer cool his heels for a bit. Dedicating one to the ladies in the crowd, Brown crooned “With You,” demonstrating what he does best, high-powered dance routines aside: singing.

Brown conquered the remainder of the set with the Jordin Sparks duet “No Air” and his chart-topper “Forever,” the overall eclectic performance sweeping his colossal mistake under the rug. No matter how inexcusable his actions were that night in February, both the singer and his screaming fans showed Wednesday that it’s all water under the bridge in their minds.

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• Norah Jones, The Fall (Blue Note) –- It’s easy to make too much of the small but significant advances of this, the modestly daring fourth album from the Queen of Quiet. Her first new work in nearly three years, it’s also the first she’s recorded since turning 30 in March –- and, most importantly, it’s the first cut without the musicians (including bassist and ex-boyfriend Lee Alexander) who helped define the soft, sultry sound that became her multiplatinum signature.

Now we’re getting a (supposedly) whole new Norah, with new players to accompany a new ’do, staring with Jacquire King — who in the recent past burnished discs for the likes of Tom Waits, Kings of Leon and Modest Mouse, and who here places his saturated stamp all over the production.

Amid the songwriting credits: Will Sheff of poetically moody indie-rock outfit Okkervil River co-wrote the simmering and slow-churning rocker “Stuck,” one of the album’s sharpest moments. “Don’t Know Why” guy Jesse Harris, whose songs were so crucial to establishing Jones’ aesthetic on Come Away with Me, returns to play guitar on the delicate lone-star swoon of “December” and co-author two others, the lonely desire of “Even Though” and the gentle jaunt of “Tell Yer Mama,” both of which bear his melodic hallmarks.

And momentarily retired Ryan Adams co-penned the smoldering “Light as a Feather,” which moves like Aimee Mann sunk into plush Pink Floyd, though in a blind taste test I’d have sworn he also had something to do with the dead-of-night, aha-shake-heartbreak of “Back to Manhattan.”

Instead, that’s one of eight –- out of 13 –- tracks that Norah wrote alone, twice as many as she managed on 2007’s Not Too Late, which itself was her first album to feature all of her own (or at least co-owned) compositions. That one took baby steps, and this one bunny hops; that one merely tapped her mold lightly with a chisel, this one cuts a deep crack down one side.

It may be the point where some get off her sea cruise, at least for a while -– I can’t imagine she’ll never return to a strictly piano-based jazz-pop approach, but right now she’s deliberately doing anything but that. True, all but a few songs here feature her tickling the ivories in some fashion, but only the closing cuteness of “Man of the Hour” (who, to tip you off, doesn’t have “any baggage tied to your four feet”) sounds like the Norah of before — in this case Bessie Smith sass tempered by doleful humor à la Randy Newman.

It’s a nice finish, and a sop to fans who’d prefer she act more like Diana Krall. But it’s strictly a coda, and an almost out-of-character one for this set. In all other regards, this is the maturation of her artistry –- the album that, after a number of persona-perverting cameos for other people’s records (Peeping Tom fans know what I mean), finally brings an alternate aspect of the songbird out in her music.

Or does it? For all the shifts in tone and atmosphere -– largely courtesy of a hodgepodge of exceptional session cats, including six-string ace Smokey Hormel, keyboardist James Poyser, drummer Joey Waronker and terminally offbeat guitarist Marc Ribot –- I find The Fall, undoubtedly a pivotal disc for the beloved performer, to nonetheless be more of the same sweet Norah, just dressed up for a different ball.

Even “It’s Gonna Be,” already cited as one of the more envelope-pushing (for her) cuts here because of its galloping Gary Glitter groove, still rolls along beneath a typically pretty-seductive vocal. You can take the girl out of the sultry, but you can’t take the sultry out of … well, look, just listen to the finely detailed plaint “You’ve Ruined Me,” enhanced by otherworldly organ and soulful guitar and yearning harmonies … all the buff and polish surrounding it hardly hides the inescapable core of Norah’s sound.

She’s as impossible to dramatically alter as, oh, James Taylor. But what makes this rewarding, repeatedly enjoyable listen a milestone in her evolution is what it signifies, both for Norah purists who wish she’d never change and ardent supporters who’d welcome a raw rock detour: her style is already so monolithic, it can withstand measured radicalization. Sometimes it might even improve because of it. Grade: B+

Photo by Autumn DeWilde.

Post from: Soundcheck

For all the retro-fresh metal might on display during Them Crooked Vultures‘ thunderous, often deeply impressive performance Tuesday night at the Wiltern -– a record-release roof-raiser the night after they decimated the Roxy –- the most telling moment of the new group’s 90-minute set had little to do with music. It came a half-dozen bomb blasts into their performance, during obligatory introductions of each player.

“So this is Dave Grohl on drums,” Josh Homme announced nonchalantly -– and the Foo Fighters frontman received a heartier response than he did for simply walking on stage as the house lights went out, clad comfortably in shorts and a black tank top. Homme pointed to his left: “Mr. Alain Johannes …” –- and in-the-know types, aware of his behind-the-scenes contributions, possibly wondering why he wasn’t made an official member, applauded enthusiastically.

Homme then pointed to his right: “That’s John Paul Jones.”

Prolonged cheering nearly as loud as the band itself ensued, and justifiably so –- not only is it rare to see the Led Zeppelin bassist/keyboardist and sought-after producer playing anywhere, period, but already at this point in the show he had proven to be the night’s chief marvel.

Subtly dancing in place no matter how convoluted the grooves got, Jonesy, soon to be 64, was a constant revelation, his still-sterling, highly agile chops leading the way through snaky rhythms and stop-on-a-dime syncopated breaks, his mere presence seemingly influencing his younger collaborators to evoke the best of Zep.

Finally, Homme got ’round to presenting himself: “I’m your host, Joshua.”

The swaggering statuesque leader of Queens of the Stone Age probably meant it humbly, but his choice of words spoke volumes. For, though this is undeniably a supergroup (by far among the strongest from a field suddenly overcrowded with such ballyhooed enterprises), I see the Vultures primarily as some kinda serendipitous realization of Homme’s dream band.

All along his regular group has benefitted from a rotating cast of characters, including Grohl (who anchored the 2002 breakthrough Songs for the Deaf) and more often Johannes (who contributed to that Queens disc as well as the two that followed). Homme, among rock’s most restless spirits this decade, thrives on collaboration, whether producing the latest Arctic Monkeys effort (Humbug), sharing his time with Jesse Hughes’ greasy Eagles of Death Metal outfit or gathering as many friends and stoner-rock figures as can be found for one of his many Desert Sessions discs (10 and counting).

So what could be better than to have the fiercest drummer he’s ever hired back behind the kit while flanking himself with his best right-hand man and heavy rock’s most versatile bassist? What better way to flesh out what is essentially the next batch of Queens tunes, picking up where the herky-jerky stomp of 2007’s exceptional (yet underrated) Era Vulgaris left off, downplaying some of its industrial sheen while pushing its thick constructs into broader, wilder realms?

As skull-rattling and complex as this tight, forceful unit is –- and although all 13 tracks of its self-titled debut, played in its entirety Tuesday night, are credited to the group as a whole –- the Vultures don’t come off like a unified front contributing equally, as is the case with its most obvious comparison, the Dead Weather.

Whereas that supergroup sounds like an amalgam of its parts –- Jack White’s lead-footed rawness, Alison Mosshart’s electrifying menace, sometime Queens guitarist Dean Fertita’s dark shading and Raconteurs bassist’s Jack Lawrence’s Cream-filled fluidity -– Them Crooked Vultures plays like three ace musicians in service to a friend’s vision.

Not that the others haven’t rubbed off on Homme, or helped steer particular passages –- notably Jones, whose arsenal of sonic weaponry ranges from explosive slide-bass (!) when “Nobody Loves Me & Neither Do I” starts barreling down the tracks (suitably bowling the crowd over in the evening’s opening moments) to all manner of Zep-ish asides, punctuated by sudden, oddly-metered shifts.

“Reptiles” slithers along to an update on the jittery feel of In Through the Out Door’s “South Bound Suarez.” “Gunman” is propelled by desert winds from Arabian nights that culminate in a psychedelic haze right out of “Kashmir.” And “Scumbag Blues” evokes the funk-metal best of Physical Graffiti –- though instead of Robert Plant’s banshee howls oozing pure sex, it’s Homme’s heartbreaking falsetto and cynical zombiefied drone that does the trick.

Some of that is among the richest material Homme has put down, as is the roaring “Elephants,” in which the title animals alternate between stampeding and lumbering, skronking through their trunks all the while. Many melodic passages echo early Bowie and Syd Barrett, greatly enhanced by occasional Homme/Grohl harmonies. Others, however, fall flat: “Interlude with Ludes,” a swampy, synthetic Tom Waitsian creation, is an adventurous detour that doesn’t fully come together (neither did a meandering non-album track, “Highway One”), while this night Jonesy’s piano finale for “Spinning in Daffodils,” reminiscent of Supertramp at its most prog-y, was muddled and lacking grace.

Some of the weaker bits also reaffirm my belief that this year’s rash of supergroups is proof that rock is stagnating –- that some of our brightest minds are perhaps running short on ideas, or at least mojo. Deliriously infectious though the Vultures’ nascent work is –- by the way, Homme’s lyrics have rarely been so surreal and illuminating –- this still feels recycled to some degree. Also, given Grohl’s other commitments and Jones’ tendency to slip out of the spotlight, I wonder just how long it will last.

Hopefully long enough to wow at Coachella, maybe, and sooner than later concoct a second knockout record. As with the Dead Weather, here’s a tremendous new band with sky’s-the-limit potential. Only time will tell if it can actually fulfill that promise.

But regardless of any long-term future, how awesome would it be if the Vultures and the Dead Weather co-headlined next year’s Epicenter festival?

Set list: Them Crooked Vultures at the Wiltern, Nov. 17, 2009
Main set: Nobody Loves Me & Neither Do I / Dead End Friends / Mind Eraser, No Chaser / Scumbag Blues / Elephants / Highway One / New Fang / Reptiles / Gunman / Bandoliers / Interlude with Ludes / Caligulove / Spinning in Daffodils
Encore: Warsaw or the First Breath You Take After You Wake Up

Photos, both posed and from the band’s earliest club gigs, by Dustin Rabin.

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Post from: Soundcheck

Slayer & Megadeth have teamed for an outing dubbed the American Carnage Tour, with a Long Beach Arena stop planned for Jan. 22. Testament will open. Tickets, $10-$45.50, go on sale Saturday, Nov. 21, at 10 a.m.

Rekindling their days of sharing the Troubadour stage, Hall of Famers Carole King & James Taylor are embarking on a co-headlining tour (called the Troubadour Reunion) that, as previously mentioned, arrives at the Hollywood Bowl on May 14. Tickets, $17.50-$175, go on sale Monday at 10 a.m.

It’s been a few years since Rufus Wainwright put out a new studio work — instead he’s issued two live albums (one devoted to Judy Garland, the other his own material) and produced his first opera, Prima Donna. Yet the tireless singer-songwriter is getting back on the road, with a performance planned for Jan. 9 at Long Beach Terrace Theatre. Tickets, $32.50-$49.50, go on sale Friday at 10 a.m.

Soul star Robin Thicke is headed back to L.A. to play Dec. 21 at Club Nokia, with Ryan Leslie and Laura Izibor opening. Tickets, $45-$75, go on sale Friday at 10 a.m.

Also at the venue:  KIIS-FM’s Jingle Ball After Party featuring Leighton Meester, Jason Derulo, YaBoy and DJ Skee, Dec. 5, $20 … and Kid Cudi, who will turn in his own sets after opening for Lady Gaga across the L.A. Live plaza at Nokia Theatre, Dec. 22-23 at Club Nokia, $10 with purchase of a Lady Gaga ticket, $25-$35 otherwise. Those shows also go on sale Friday at 10 a.m.

Meanwhile, coming to Nokia Theatre: Freestyle L.A. Vol. III starring Stevie B, Lisa Lisa, the Cover Girls and C & C Music Factory featuring Freedom Williams, Jan. 9, $37.50-$77.75 … Maze featuring Frankie Beverly with special guest Kenny G., Jan. 16, $45-$115.50 … and Make It Better, a benefit comedy performance featuring Will Ferrell, Zach Galifianakis, Demetri Martin, Nick Swardson, Aubrey Plaza, Rob Riggle and more, Feb. 20, $45-$250, with proceeds earmarked for A Better LA. All of those shows go on sale Friday at 10 a.m.

Speaking of comedy, Ron White is headed back to the Grove of Anaheim on Dec. 20. Tickets, $57.50-$67.50, go on sale Saturday at noon. Also, the Led Zepagain show slated for Dec. 11 has been moved to Jan. 9. Fan Halen and Make Me Smile will open. Tickets are $22-$25.50.

Stephin Merritt and the Magnetic Fields will issue their next album, Realism, on Jan. 26, then headline at the Wilshire Ebell Theatre on March 3. Tickets, $32.50,  go on sale Saturday at 10 a.m.

Having warmed up with a small gig at the Art Theater in Long Beach, Vampire Weekend will follow its appearance at Almost Acoustic Christmas (Night 2, Dec. 13) with a Jan. 12 show at the Music Box at the Fonda in Hollywood. Tickets, $30, go on sale next Friday, Nov. 27, at noon. Also coming to the Fonda: permanent weirdos the Residents, Jan. 30, $25, on sale Saturday at 10 a.m.

Coming to House of Blues Anaheim: JJ Grey and Mofro with the Living Suns and Jonathan Tyler and the Northern Lights, Dec. 11, $12.50-$32.50 … Zebrahead, Dec. 27, $15-$42.50 … and the Atomic Punks (a David Lee Roth-era Van Halen tribute) with 5150 (a Sammy Hagar-era VH tribute) and Moving Pictures (a Rush covers band), Jan. 2, $17.50-$42.50. Also, the Gloriana show slated for Dec. 3 has been canceled, refunds available at point of purchase.

New at El Rey Theatre in Los Angeles: State Radio, Jan. 15, $19 … critically acclaimed St. Vincent with Wildbirds & Peacedrums, Feb. 9, $18 … the Album Leaf, Feb. 13, $17 … and the 3rd annual Christmas Sweater Festival featuring the Deadly Syndrome, the Pity Party, Eskimohunter, Signals, 400 Blows and more, Dec. 19, $17. All shows are on sale now.

Finally, 3OH!3 will top a bill of talent that will conclude Saturday’s LXM Pro (a professional lacrosse tour) event at Santa Ana Municipal Stadium. Also slated to perform, in lieu of Akon, who had to bow out: Drake, the Cab and Qwes & Sam Adams. The event runs from 1-10 p.m. Paula Abdul as well as the casts of The Hills, Beverly Hills 90210 and Melrose Place are expected to make appearances.

Photo by Kelly A. Swift, for the Orange County Register.

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Post from: Soundcheck

• John Mayer, Battle Studies (Columbia) –- No show of hot chops this time; he leaves that for the live discs (like the Nokia Theatre show that became last year’s Where the Light Is). Even when busting out too-tasty bits — so predictably seasoned they sometimes have all the flavor of wax apples –- Mayer’s estimable skills are rarely showcased in anything approaching a full-blown solo. Instead they’re immaculately condensed into 16 bars of tempered fire here, eight bars of polished picking there.

As with all his albums, you can hear exactly where he’ll stretch ’em out on stage –- yet the minimal fretwork of this one makes similar bursts on Continuum (2006) seem like a master class in Stratocaster use.

Mind you, some stuff, like the plaintive wail toward the end of “Edge of Desire” and the slide asides he tucks into “All We Ever Do Is Say Goodbye” and the superb closer “Friends, Lovers or Nothing,” are as sublime as the finest George Harrison, whose sense of structure and melody (McCartney’s and Clapton’s, too) is all over the latter track. But you know a guitarist’s latest effort hasn’t a thing to do with guitar when its 2½-minute (don’t overdo it, dude) cover of “Crossroads” boasts licks that sound like bleeps and blurps from some funky futureworld –- like a Prince robot joining a virtual ZZ Top doing “Life in the Fast Lane.”

Save for co-producer Steve Jordan’s drums, Mayer, now 32, plays and sings everything on that remake, a companion to Continuum’s straighter reading of Hendrix’s “Bold as Love” -– and its air of studio-rat shut-ins at play says a lot about the hermetic sealing of this confessional and conceptualized collection. There was a time (the mid-’80s, to be specific) when a soft-pop beast this Steve Winwood-slick would have been verbally bludgeoned by critics and beaten to death by real rock fans.

Mayer gets away with it because he’s so pinup perfect. Millions of women the world over will gaze at those sad, trusting GQ eyes on this new cover (reminiscent of so many late-night spins from bereft crooners) and they will race right past reservations that maybe it’s all a pose. By the time they realize he hasn’t transformed Robert Johnson’s famous blues to retell any tale of a devil-dealing guitarslinger, but rather to portray himself as a lovelorn heartbreaker at the end of his rope, they’ll be so caught up in his sweetly melancholic self-pity, they’ll be begging to be his next Jennifer Aniston.

John’s savvy that way, and give him this –- his take on all-is-fair-in-love-and-war is far more cohesive and insightful than Kanye West’s muddled 808s & Heartbreak, though it shares a certain bland redundancy after a while. Unlike Kanye’s auto-tuned monolith, which sounds like one endless song, Mayer’s 11-cut self-assessment is designed like a long day’s journey into a very bleak night of deep soul searching.

Try to keep up:

• The declaration of “Heartbreak Warfare” sets the theme (that’s what he’s up against, these are his Battle Studies) …
• The finality of “All We Ever Do Is Say Goodbye” (tear-stained harmonic bliss) and “Half of My Heart” (featuring barely noticeable Taylor Swift) suggest the end of yet another romance, or at least that it’s on the rocks …
• The finger-picking folk-soul ditty “Who Says” finds a politely bitter John getting stoned alone in the dark and contemplating radical life changes, until he’s left feeling “Perfectly Lonely” (in one of the album’s best tracks) while imagining himself to be a vicious love “Assassin” (“I’d steal your heart before you ever heard a thing”) who ultimately meets his Mrs. Smith-y match (in the album’s overcooked worst track) …
• “Crossroads” is just that, finding him at his lowest (“I believe I’m sinkin’ down” indeed) … until John determines that he has entered the “War” (also the core) “of My Life,” and of course he won’t back down … he’ll dare face the “Edge of Desire,” where “I want you so bad I’ll go back on the things I believe” … only to wonder if his paramour knows him at all (“Do You Know Me”), or perhaps knew him in another lifetime …
• Until both John and we are left confused by the otherwise rich finale, “Friends, Lovers or Nothing.” There can only be one, yet it’s hard to know which wins, given that his conclusion begins by stating “now that we are over as the loving kind / We’ll be dreaming of ways to keep the good alive” and ends by insisting that “anything less than ‘I love you’ is lying.”

Is he ready to move on to the next starlet? Is he hoping to still make it work with this one? Could Jessica Simpson possibly have understood any of this? None of these questions gets resolved. All I can deduce is that Mayer got so caught up chasing his heart-shaped tail ’round and ’round that he lost sight of his soul –- somewhere along the way he forgot that it’s harder to have sympathy for the dumper than the dumped.

That said, one-third of this is some of the strongest songwriting he’s yet to flesh out, while another third is at least as good as anything he’s ever done. But because it’s hard to hurt on behalf of a cute lothario, there’s a stench of fake that permeates even the finest moments, a matter not exactly aided by the retread plushness of the proceedings — like Sting without the sophistication.

Not to wish suffering upon such an inherently nice guy who has clearly spent a great deal of time contemplating why his love life remains rocky. But perhaps someday he’ll really get burned — and then make a genuine heartbreak classic. Steeped deeply in the blues, I bet. (Mayer showcases the new disc via Live from the Beacon Theatre at 9 tonight on Fuse. Look for him March 25 at Staples Center.) Grade: B-

Photo by Carlo Allegri, The Associated Press.

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