POP WEEKEND : John Prine’s Homey Touch Tells the Story

If he had more of a penchant for dramatics, for the grand emotive gesture, John Prine might command a bigger following.

Instead, he sticks to being authentic. Opening a three-night stand of solo concerts Friday at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano, Prine’s style was almost mundane: a rough, gravelly singing voice that falls squarely in the scruffy troubadour mold of the early Bob Dylan, and simple, serviceable folk-guitar strumming and picking.

With those homely tools, Prine fashioned poignant, detailed stories about heartbreak and loss, or humorous songs in which most of the laugh lines landed as unobtrusively as a fly fisherman’s casting.

It wasn’t the sort of performance that grabs and shakes a listener, but for those willing to take a mental step toward the stage and engage their attention and imagination, it carried plenty of rewards. With tapes rolling to record the show for possible use in a planned live album, Prine faced a full house of fans who knew his songs and their pleasures, and who were more than willing to be drawn in.

Prine came on with a spry gait and a big smile, lit up the first of many cigarettes and proceeded to create an intimate, song-swapping-in-the-living-room atmosphere by taking time early in the show for several unhurried song introductions.

A meandering, funny preamble to “The Oldest Baby in the World” covered everything from Nashville-style interior decor to how the song’s title was derived from a headline in the National Enquirer. But the song that followed was a serious, sympathetic look at a middle-aged woman’s failed gambits for affection in a world where “all the available men seem to think they want something younger.”

Prine kept to that pattern throughout the show, finding a balance between seriousness and humor. His other device for avoiding sameness--a basic obstacle in a one-man show--was to rock a little, with an occasional up-tempo strum a la Buddy Holly.

Still, the two hours that Prine played was long for a solo performance, and a strain of low-keyed uniformity set in toward the end that might have been relieved if he had been working with a second guitarist, as he often does.

In compensation, the solo setting focused complete attention on Prine’s greatest strength: his songcraft. The 33 songs he played spanned his recording career.

Pressed to pick highlights, one might point to the way Prine sang “Souvenirs,” and”Grandpa Was A Carpenter.” But for sheer intimacy and impact, there was “Storm Windows,” in which Prine’s voice rose in the pleading refrain from its subdued, grainy casing, like an ungainly bird managing to soar.

But above all, Prine’s show demonstrated that exceptional songs don’t need to reach for grand heights. They can be just as effective down to earth, written and sung in a way that gets uncommonly close to the life they’re attempting to portray.