POP MUSIC REVIEW : Walker Takes a Sentimental Stroll Through the Country

There seldom is heard a discouraging word on Jerry Jeff Walker’s range, but with his wellsprings of warmth and his weathered voice, the leathery old singer from Austin made just about every sentimental word ring true Thursday night at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano.

Walker’s repertoire in a generous, 100-minute solo show kept coming back to a few themes: the pleasures and virtues of the cowboy way of life in general and the state of Texas in particular, the grace of having a good woman’s love, and the statement and restatement of an easygoing personal philosophy summed up in a line from a new song called “Lucky Man”:

Ain’t it funny how things fall in line, if you take what life gives.

The new tune was Walker’s least convincing of the show, mainly because his delivery was too delicate and he mumbled some of the words. Maybe he isn’t as comfortable with it yet as he is with the string of 25 or so other longtime favorites that made up the set.

For the most part, the deep, grainy, lived-in quality of Walker’s voice lets him get away with sentimentality that would sink other singers in schmaltz. A comment he made in one song introduction was telling: “When you’re young and you make things up, they call you a liar. But when you’re old . . . you’re an artiste.”

Walker’s art lies in his ability to sound like the voice of experience, “the eyes of age,” as he put it in his most famous song, “Mr. Bojangles.” If he has more faith in happy endings than most realist songwriters, Walker does acknowledge that “what life gives” along the way is not always so pleasant.

Most solo singers in the troubadour mold talk a lot to generate intimacy with their audience. At the Coach House, the nearly full house was so clearly on Walker’s side, singing and clapping and whooping and hollering on the boisterous numbers and listening raptly on the quiet ones, that there was no barrier to break. Rather than intrude on that connection with a lot of chatter, Walker showed his savvy, his sure feel for performance, by just going from song to song without interruption. He saved a few wry observations for the latter part of the set.

Walker never was a great vocalist, and his range was narrower live than on his recordings. But his deep, grainy singing was always expressive, and his lyrics were meaningfully phrased, even when they came in a little off-key.

Walker ducked some of the high-note passages during a fine reading of “L.A. Freeway” but substituted avid strumming so they wouldn’t be missed. On the next song, “Mr. Bojangles,” Walker plucked at his guitar intensely enough to break one of the bass strings. That left the song sounding thin as Walker soldiered on, but the moment exemplified his continuing commitment to his material.

One of Walker’s best moves was bringing along his protege, Hal Ketchum, as his opening act. The 35-year-old singer from Texas had a clear, emotive tenor, as well as a knack for melody and a well-turned lyric.

Ketchum’s 45-minute set of folk- and country-based originals started slowly, but each of the last five songs was immediately grabbing. Besides the usual affairs of the heart, Ketchum drew on Western history and the life of his grandfather, an embattled farmer, to weave songs that were strong in every respect. The singer’s down-to-earth stage manner was a little too humble and reserved but not without wit. In short, Ketchum fits the bill as that proverbial name to remember.