No, this post is not redundant — for the second time in three days, Beck trotted his new band onstage at the Echo on Wednesday night for a surprise show. With three new band members joining him and keyboardist Brian Lebarton, Beck obviously wants to work some things out before the release of his new album, the Danger Mouse-produced “Modern Guilt,” and the summer tour supporting it.

Wednesday’s musical calisthenics spanned 12 songs and 43 minutes. The players seemed more comfortable and spirited, and if the energy seemed a notch lower than Monday’s set, it was only due to the fact that the room was only about one-third full, word about the show not having leaked as it did earlier in the week.

Nobody on Wednesday’s regular bill seemed to mind that Beck crashed the party. It was the EP release show for singer-songwriter Daniel Ahearn’s “Pray for Me by Name.” Once he got started, Ahearn (a familiar face in the venue since he pays some of his bills by tending bar at the Echo) thanked the man who preceded him onstage … with a wink.

“Good local artist,” Ahearn said. “I think he’s going places.”

– Photo, post by Kevin Bronson

JUST IN:  A few moments ago, Beck fan club members were alerted that he’s performing at the Echoplex tomorrow. Tickets go on sale at 5 p.m. today at ticketweb.com. The password is CHEMTRAILS; two-ticket limit. Looks like Beck can’t stop showing off those sunglasses in the Eastside clubs.

“I don’t think anyone from the L.A. Times is here tonight,” Aimee Mann said before returning to a lengthy verbal sparring match with her opener, comedian Paul F. Tompkins. Maybe I should’ve stayed home, but then I would’ve missed another superlative night at Largo, or rather, Largo at the Coronet, where Mann’s performance was her second in as many weeks. I would’ve also missed running into Jeff Goldblum in the bathroom, but I digress.

As Richard Cromelin noted in his review of last week’s show, the Coronet is an intimate space; the farthest seats back are only Row N, if that’s any indication. A sit-down theater can’t help but add some seriousness to the old Largo’s anything-goes environment, which may have been why the singer-songwriter tapped Tompkins to open. In his too-brief set, the comic riffed on white supremacists, the perils of living with his girlfriend and the worst apartment he ever lived in, an anecdote that concluded with his landlord’s son inexplicably shouting, “Once I get my $200, I’m out of here like Steve Martin!” (If you get the reference, feel free to explain it in the comments.)

Still, at least until Tompkins joined her mid-set to duet on new song “Ballantines,” Mann seemed more focused on singing than gabbing, offering banter-free guitar tuning and a dearth of song introductions. She did offer a whale of a tale for “Borrowing Time,” a song she wrote (and rewrote and rewrote) for “Shrek the Third” that didn’t make the cut.

Ogres aside, the songs were king. The show was billed as a full-band gig; due to various “difficulties,” Mann was backed once more only by bassist Paul Bryan and keyboardist Jamie Edwards. No problem for Mann, who unleashed a career-spanning setlist that included “Red Vines” (a song about director pal P.T. Anderson, whose “Magnolia” helped relaunch Mann into the public eye), “Save Me” and a smattering of noteworthy tracks from her latest album (released last week), “@#%&*! Smilers.” On June 2, she introduced it complete with unprintable profanity; last night, she just called it “Smilers.” Is Mann cheering up? Let’s hope not — judging by new material like “Thirty One Today,” the misanthropes who populate her music have a lot more to say.

– David Greenwald

Photo of Mann on June 2 by Lawrence K. Ho/Los Angeles Times

Beck’s invitation-only show Monday night at the Echo not only stoked the buzz for the upcoming release of his 10th album, “Modern Guilt,” but it also was a toe-wetting experience for a largely new batch of side players — who will have their work cut out for them if they’re along for the ride on a world tour that begins later this month (and, down the road, includes a Sept. 20 stop at the Hollywood Bowl).

The frontman acknowledged that it was “only about the fifth time we’ve played together” as he led his charges through a 14-song, favorites-laden set occasionally punctuated by technical clatter. None of those woes mattered to the Beck faithful; the show was mainly for “family and friends,” management said, and surely many of those were keen to the 37-year-old’s new material, right? Ahem.

For the record, the four new numbers — “Modern Guilt,” Gamma Ray,” “Replica” and “Profanity PrayersPlayers” — won’t bend the ears of anybody used to Beck’s sonic adventurousness. Solid guitar rock, all, especially the set-closing “Profanity,” a pedal-to-the-metal blast seemingly made for highway driving with the windows rolled down.

Besides longtime band member Brian Lebarton on keys, Beck was joined by guitarist/backup singer Jessica Dobson, a twentysomething from Long Beach who has created some ripples herself as a singer-songwriter; bassist Bram Inscore, who has played in local outfits such as Colorforms and Electrocute and is finishing a solo album; and drummer Scott McPherson, who has played with Earlimart, Sea Wolf, several national acts and, once upon a time, Elliott Smith.

– Kevin Bronson

Photo of Beck, with Jessica Dobson, by Kevin Bronson

The Hollywood Black Film Festival kicked off its ninth year last Tuesday with the world premiere of “2 Turntables and a Microphone,” a documentary chronicling the life and death of one of popular music’s most famous turntablists, Jam Master Jay of Run-DMC. Born Jason Mizell, Jam Master Jay was murdered October 30, 2002 in a Queens recording studio. The HBFF event, which was attended by members of rap group Onyx and Ice-T (along with wife Cocoa), featured a Q&A by the filmmakers, who sported thick gold chains and “Godfather” hats, in the style originated by the venerated DJ.

Stephon “Phonz” Watford, a younger cousin to Jam Master Jay, multi-tasked on the film, acting as co-producer, narrator and interviewer. He also participated in the Q&A segment.

One of the first questions from the audience addressed the absence of DMC in the movie, which featured reminisces by Hollis, Queens neighborhood pals, Russell Simmons, Joseph “Reverend Run” Simmons, music industry executives, as well as a laundry list of music talent, including Kid Rock.

The film sets up early on that while JMJ went from rugged Queens DJ to the height of world-wide music success, his connections to his neighborhood never faltered, possibly to his detriment. “I’ve seen people be over-loyal,” says a stoic 50 Cent in the movie. Fiddy relates a story of how JMJ, a mentor in Fiddy’s fledgling days, taught him song structure, specifically to write his choruses first and then his lyrics. And we all know the success of 50 Cent’s hooky raps.

I asked Watford after the show if the late ’90s murders of Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls had overshadowed his cousin’s similarly tragic death. Watford answered like he hears that question a lot.

“Well, he wasn’t a rapper, so his voice is hardly heard. Biggie and Tupac are MCs. Jay was a DJ.”

But that was his point in making the film: “Now [Jam Master Jay’s] voice can be heard.”

Nearly a week later, director and producer Guy Logan described the festival response to “2 Turntables and a Microphone” as “overwhelming. People laughed, they cried … Reverend Run left midway through, it was so emotional for him.”

The film is slated for DVD release at the end of the year. Details on screenings in L.A. and New York will be coming soon.

– Camilo Smith

Photo of Joseph “Reverend Run” Simmons, left, and Don “Magic” Juan at the premiere by Matt Sayles/Associated Press; movie poster courtesy of the Hollywood Black Film Festival

Los Campesinos! is the kind of band its fans will be going to see in twenty years, if its happy efforts continue that long. The Welsh combo’s Saturday show at the Troubadour showed that magic mix of personability, craftiness and chaos that draws listeners in and makes them loyalists.

Adorable all, the seven members of Los Camps energetically attacked their instruments, producing a friendly racket that got the kids pogo-ing at the edge the Troubadour’s venerable stage. The skewed anthems that are the band’s specialty rely on a punchy handclap beat and lyrics that poke fun at the indie rock lifestyle. Titles include “The International Tweexcore Underground” and “My Year in Lists.”

Live, the emphasis was on shoutable choruses and the cacophony of guitar-bass-drums rubbing up against glockenspiel and violin. Los Camps evoked all the influences people like to throw at the group — Art Brut, the Arcade Fire, the Mekons. I thought they seemed most like Belle and Sebastian, only younger, likelier to spill a beer on your head, and frankly, more fun.

Lead singer Gareth — who, along with his bandmates, has followed the example of the Ramones and informally taken Campesino as his last name — sings in a piping voice that would be all sneers if not for his sunny dedication to good times. His banter made the show feel more like a house party than a club gig.

Gareth announced mid-set that the band had been scheduled to play the Troub once before but was booted by James Taylor. (The Handyman played a special show here last fall; Los Camps played the Echoplex.) He later inquired about the next night’s gig at the Glass House — could the crowd offer any tips on fun in Pomona? “Laser tag?” he enthused, responding to a shout. “All right then. Everyone for laser tag!” The crowd yelled its assent. Everyone in the club seemed ready and willing to get tagged by their new favorite band.

– Ann Powers

Photo of Los Campesinos! by Grace deVille

I’m not much for industry schmooze-a-thons, but when I got the invite for the private debut of the Dallas Austin Experience, I knew I had to go. Austin’s resume was enough to draw me in — he’s produced contemporary pop classics like “Unpretty” by TLC and Gwen Stefani’s “Cool,” and was the force behind one of my fave music flicks, “Drumline.” Then came the publicist’s invite, which promised “a linear movie with huge screens, live performances in front of it and props.” I think live music generally benefits from theatrics (one of my fave club gigs last year was Of Montreal at the Avalon, which featured masked mimes, a fencing match and a guitarist with wings), so off I went to SIR studios on Sunset to experience Mr. Austin’s Experience.

Unfortunately, the invite didn’t mention there’d be an opening act — Colin Munroe, whose New Wave soulboy pop (he and his bandmate resembled a skinnier version of Tears for Fears) reinforced my workpal Chris Lee’s observations about twee white kids as the newest urban sensation. Munroe made a splash not long ago reworking Kanye West’s “Flashing Lights” (see his version here), and Austin signed him to his Rowdy label.

His one-man-band-plus schtick was impressive, but it kinda wrecked my night. I’d made other plans for right after the 80 minutes I’d been told this Experience would last. So sadly, I caught only the bare bones of Austin’s flashy show.

Here’s what I saw: several flat screens showing a movie about a hot but troubled young lady’s lost weekend. Austin and band emerging to play Parliament-influenced hip-hop funk in between and alongside scenes in the movie. George Clinton in a filmed cameo.

Here’s what I missed because I had to leave: the audience participation segment, which apparently involved using a flag bandana, a tambourine, a pill bottle full of mints and red light-up sunglasses.

I will definitely be trying to catch this crazy train the next time it comes to town. Kudos to Austin for thinking outside the album/video/live tour box and bringing something ambitious to the table.

Until Austin brings it back to town, interested parties can catch a video preview of his Experience here and listen to tracks on his MySpace page.

– Ann Powers

Photo courtesy of the Dallas Austin Experience

“Stand in the place where you live,” sang Michael Stipe in an R.E.M. hit of yore. Timothy Sellers is living that bit of soul-centering wisdom right here in L.A., on the Northeast side.

Sellers, who leads the loose and gleeful collective known as Artichoke, is best known for writing songs about scientists, and lately bees; later this year Artichoke will release a whole album about those honey-loving buzzers. Sellers is not just a science buff, however — he’s also a proud resident of Highland Park, the neighborhood increasingly favored by young creative types who can’t afford the coffee in Silver Lake. Asked to participate in the annual Lummis Day festival of Northeast Los Angeles last weekend, Sellers directed his giddy thoughts toward his neighborhood and soon came up with enough little ditties for a limited edition CD.

In about a half-hour’s worth of boisterous acoustic pop, Sellers set out to capture the vibe of Highland Park, “past, present, me, you, us, them, California, garbage trucks and avocados.” He got some help from fellow Northeast L.A. habitués, including members of the Evangenitals and the Eternal Triangle. Subjects addressed in Artichoke’s topical sing-alongs include neighborhood founding father Charles Lummis; the area’s punk capitol, Mr. T’s Bowl; and the noisy action that makes life a little bit difficult on trash day.

You can hear select cuts from the “Historic Highland Park” project at Artichoke’s Myspace page. Now, who’s gonna come up with that great concept album about South Pasadena?

– Ann Powers

Photo of Artichoke courtesy artichoketheband.com

Maybe the only performer more appropriate than Aimee Mann to open the Largo’s new era would be Jon Brion, the resident Friday-night ringmaster during the beloved music club’s 12 years on Fairfax Avenue.

Well, fans got a bit of both Monday at the unveiling of the venue’s new home, the venerable Coronet Theatre on La Cienega Boulevard. Largo stalwart Mann headlined the show, and Brion, playing celeste and other keyboards, joined her on two songs during the encore, putting an emotional flourish on a smooth transition.

Physically, the new Largo is a vastly different experience from the tiny room on Fairfax, where the bar and the dinner service sometimes interfered with owner Mark Flanagan’s vision of an ideal setting for musicians and serious listeners.

The Largo at the Coronet is a cozy little bandbox of a theater, its tightly packed rows of 280 permanent seats facing a deep stage that must have seemed like a basketball court to musicians accustomed to the old Largo’s tiny platform. For the audience, there’s nothing to do but sit, watch and listen.

The Largo state of mind was intact, as listeners were admonished to turn off their electronics and not talk during the show. The sound during the 90-minute set by Mann, accompanied by bassist Paul Bryan and keyboardist Jamie Edwards, was clean and warm, and Mann eased into the focused but informal mode that has defined the Largo’s distinctive sensibility.

Mann, who was preceded by a short set from comedian Paul F. Tompkins, will return with a full band June 10. By then, the new Largo will have undergone what figures to be its baptism by fire — two sets by Brion on Friday.

— Richard Cromelin

Photos by Lawrence K. Ho / Los Angeles Times

Summer camp is officially over. Rock ‘n’ roll summer camp courtesy of Camp Freddy, that is. The supergroup of Los Angeles-area rockers, consisting of Dave Navarro, Billy Morrison, Matt Sorum, Donovan Leitch and Chris Chaney, ended its monthlong residency at the Roxy last night with a bang — landing Billy Idol as closing guest.

“This one’s for you, Jonesy,” a smiling Idol said before he launched into “Dancing With Myself” from the stage to a sold-out, rapturous audience obviously clued in to the evening’s special guest (fashion selections among the aging Idol groupies were verging on tragic). But despite the title of the tune, Idol was not dancing with himself Thursday evening — he brought with him a few special guests.

Idol was joined onstage with longtime guitarist Steve Stevens and the Doors’ Robby Krieger, both of whom helped give the three-song final act a precious feel in spirit of the May celebration of all things rock at the Roxy.

The sneering ’80s icon began the last set of the evening with an extended, metal-tinged version of “L.A. Woman,” which took on obvious significance given the location of the gig on the Strip and Krieger’s presence onstage. The former Generation X singer seemed to be having the time of his life onstage, even doling out a few trademark Idol sneers with a wink as if it were 1984.

For Idol fans, the true highlight of the night was a song that broke big that very year, “Rebel Yell.” Without the slick synths the track is known for, “Rebel Yell” with Camp Freddy was a monster. Stevens’ guitar work was searing and Idol was in full-on icon mode, pumping his fist into the air, seemingly genuinely into the moment, despite presumably loathing the tune after how popular it was in the 1980s (it was one of his signature hits).

Other highlights of the final installment of Camp Freddy’s Roxy residency included Juliette Lewis’ reverential takes on X’s “Los Angeles,” Van Halen’s “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love” and AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds.” Earlier in the evening, 311’s Nick Hexum actually pulled off a convincing but perhaps too-karaoke-perfect version of the Clash’s “White Man in Hammersmith Palais,” but the crowd response was tepid at best. These were rock fans with a capital R, hell-bent on seeing guests like Alice in Chains’ Jerry Cantrell tear it up with Freddy onstage, and no one here was copping to even knowing who Hexum was.

Regardless, most everyone was happy just to be inside the venerable Sunset Boulevard venue late Thursday night, if only to say goodbye (for now, anyway) to the best house band on the Strip for a while.

Here is the complete set list from the final installment of Camp Freddy at the Roxy:

Cheap Trick, “Hello There”
Blur, “Song # 2″
Black Sabbath, “Paranoid” w/Wayne Static on vocals (Static X)
The Clash, “White Man in Hammersmith Palais” w/Nick Hexum on vocals
X, “Los Angeles” w/Juliette Lewis + Donovan duet
Van Halen, “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love” w/John 5 (Rob Zombie), Lewis
AC/DC, “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” w/Lewis, Chris Vrenna (Marilyn Manson, NIN) Oasis, “Rock ‘n’ Roll Star” w/Billy Duffy (The Cult)
The Cult, “Lil’ Devil” w/McGrath on vocals, Duffy
KISS, “Rock and Roll All Nite” w/McGrath, Jerry Cantrell (Alice in Chains)
Alice in Chains, “Man in the Box” w/Leah Duors (McQueen), Cantrell
Sex Pistols, “EMI” w/McGrath on vocals, Naveen Andrews on guitar (actor, “Lost”)
Led Zeppelin, “Whole Lotta Love” w/Pat Monahan on vocals (Train), Robby Krieger
The Doors, “L.A. Woman” w/Billy Idol, Steve Stevens & Brian Tichy (Billy Idol), Kreiger
Billy Idol, “Dancing With Myself” w/Idol, Stevens, Tichy
Billy Idol, “Rebel Yell” w/Idol, Stevens, Tichy
The Stooges, “I Wanna Be Your Dog” w/McGrath, Cantrell, Stevens and others.

– Post and photo by Charlie Amter

The Police hit a sweet spot in about the middle of their Tuesday night show at the Hollywood Bowl when they fell into a fierce locomotive reggae jam on the song “Driven to Tears.” The island rhythms came way out front and you could feel the change; that’s better than all that “Roxanne” and “Every Breath You Take” stuff, n’est-ce pas? Andy Summers was losing himself in huge, prog-jazz guitar texturing, Stewart Copeland was beating his kit to pieces in a grimacing tirade of Caribbean drum nerd triumph, and then there was Sting, loving his minimal role as the provider of a bouncing, rising reggae bass line. That “Zenyatta Mondatta”-era meditation was followed by “Hole in My Life” — jam continuing — and into Summers fingering a calypso or even Afro-pop opener for “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic.” Once the meat of that radio hit kicked in, the spell was broken, but it was there for a sustained moment with this gorgeous, unbeatable band.

Now that Sting looks a little ridiculous singing such paeans to self-obsession as “King of Pain,” maybe that tuff island sound will give the Police a new lease on life. The threesome never wrote anthems, so the big, bold arrangement of “Don’t Stand So Close to Me” doesn’t make it, no matter how they try, a chance to rekindle a youthful, generational statement. And when the band is too literal — like the photo-montage of big-eyed Third World children that accompanied “Invisible Sun” — it’s almost painful, even if Summers, Copeland and Sumners do care a lot about children, having, what, 17 children between them?

The charged reggae flow picked up again when they stretched out the boisterous lament, “So Lonely,” the pre-encore show closer. The form seemed to give it more impact. They didn’t have to reach for the point. Sting wasn’t even trying to swallow the meaning of the lyrics, which he seemed to be doing with other songs (some of those literary allusions just come back to bite you). He just let them be poignant. If this band plans to record new music in the future, someone please get them back to that studio in Montserrat where they once discovered a new world, just so we can all spend a little more time there.

– Dean Kuipers

Photo of Sting by Ken Hively/Los Angeles Times