POP REVIEW : Donovan Proves He’s More Than ‘60s Period Piece

No former flower child has had a harder time convincing people that he isn’t stuck in a time warp than Donovan P. Leitch.

The garlands and colored robes Donovan donned in the ‘60s later turned into heavy baggage that a simple image make over won’t shed. And it isn’t just the old psychedelic look that leads most people automatically to associate the Scottish-born singer with the Summer of Love. It is the mystical slant and the paisley poesy of many of his hit songs.

You can’t sing a verse like “Color sky Havana lake/Color sky rose Carmarthen/Alizarin crimson” (from “Wear Your Love Like Heaven”) and expect people not to form some lasting assumptions--especially when the dippy lyrics are swept along in a melody so lovely that a music fan’s mental jukebox will replay it at the slightest prodding.

But at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano Sunday night, Donovan showed that he is more than a ‘60s period piece. His 80-minute solo concert was made of sturdy, enduring stuff: an exceptional gift for melody, an evident joy in performing, and the ability to craft a diverse set with only a voice, a guitar and a harmonica. At 42, sans robes and flowers, but still sporting his familiar, bushy halo of hair, Donovan was no flower child but an adept folk-rock troubadour.

Not that Donovan seems abashed at having been what he was in the ‘60s. One of the show’s highlights was a half-sung, half-narrated segment during “Hurdy Gurdy Man” in which Donovan recounted how he wrote the song during the famous Indian sojourn in which the Beatles and other pop stars sought enlightenment from the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.

Not that there never was a tendency to be precious--or that there still isn’t.

But things were set right with a version of “Sunshine Superman” that took on as much rocking rhythmic drive as a song played on a single acoustic guitar is likely to attain. The show didn’t flag after that, as Donovan alternated between his ‘60s hits and newer songs that he still is struggling to have released. Most of the oldies came across with energy and freshness, except “Atlantis,” which sank under a twin burden: it is virtually impossible to strum a guitar while simultaneously reciting the song’s opening spoken poem in its proper cadence, and Donovan, a bit deeper and thicker of voice than he was 20 years ago, shied away from the high-note demands of the refrain.

Most of the new songs Donovan performed were ballads offering philosophical advice. None stood out on first hearing, but they sustained interest and served notice that Donovan still can craft appealing melodies. Together with Donovan’s bankable crowd pleasers from the ‘60s, they made for a comfortably lovely time.