POP MUSIC REVIEW : Jazz Butcher, Chilton at Roxy

Pat Fish, leader of the English quartet the Jazz Butcher, seems to be afflicted with the kind of edgy intelligence that leaves him feeling vaguely embarrassed to find himself in show business. The favored solution to this quandary is the ever-popular ironic stance, and yes, at the Roxy on Thursday Fish and company came across with so much droll sarcasm that one imagines they probably lace their shoes with irony.

A new-wave Xerox of the Kinks, the Jazz Butcher has released six LPs that are unusual in subject matter--vegetarianism is a favored theme--but deeply average on every other score. Though the group’s live act is as run-of-the-mill as its records, one certainly couldn’t fault Thursday’s show for its energy level, which verged on hysteria, nor for the group’s good intentions.

Clearly eager to please, the Jazz Butcher even went so far as to congratulate the Lakers. Good vibes failed to disguise the fact that Fish is a merely adequate writer and vocalist, and that the Jazz Butcher is a pop pastiche of overly familiar elements. The jingly-jangly guitars, the lovable mop of hair--haven’t we seen this a hundred times?

Opening the show was Memphis’ other great musical son, Alex Chilton. Chilton has traveled 20 years of rough road and comes to us now a sanctified, slightly bruised and beautifully seasoned musician. Backed by an excellent rhythm section, he turned in a down-and-dirty set of Southern swamp-rock highlighted by a handful of nifty outside tunes.

Chilton has impeccable taste in trash, and on Thursday he salvaged “Volare” and “G.T.O.” from the junk heap. As last year’s “High Priest” album showed, Chilton has the vernacular of throwaway pop down so pat that he’s able to write ‘em as well as he picks ‘em. File him under unsung genius.