POP MUSIC REVIEW : Philadelphia Rappers Call the Wrong Plays

A rap act that doesn’t get ‘em dancing in their seats succeeds about as well as a swing band that papers the hall with wallflowers.

While D. J. Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince have been rocking the pop charts lately with a Top 10 album and a Top 20 single, the duo from Philadelphia was only sporadically able to rock a less-than-half-capacity house Friday at the 2,500-seat Celebrity Theatre in Anaheim.

After a promising start, Jazzy Jeff (Jeff Townes) and the Fresh Prince (Will Smith) found themselves playing to an audience that appeared generally unmotivated, with crossed arms and stationary bodies outnumbering flapping limbs and shaking booty.

It wasn’t a case of the rappers being confronted with an inert crowd, either. Los Angeles homegirls J. J. Fad had energized the substantially white and Latino audience with a short but zesty opening set of stylish raps and romping choreography that was a cross between Motown dance steps and a high school pompon squad.

J. J. Fad also opens for Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince Wednesday at the Ventura Theatre and Thursday at the Wiltern Theatre.

On their current album, “He’s the D. J., I’m the Rapper,” D. J. Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince offer wry rap confections that come across on the strength of Smith’s ability to create a disarming wise-guy persona. Besides the usual rap braggadocio, the duo comments on the lighter side of teen-age life, taking up such concerns as video games, the inscrutable behavior of girls (with a bit too much misogyny for comfort) and the more comical aspects of parental stodginess. On record, at least, Smith could pass as a rapping Ferris Bueller, charming with a witty, conversational delivery that lends itself to extended rhymed storytelling.

In concert, he was more like an inept basketball coach, calling all the wrong formations and taking timeouts when he should have been going for the fast break.

Disc jockey Townes powered the early moments of the 45-minute set with a record-scratching solo that started with heavy beats, then glided into slinky funk as he demonstrated a good sense of rhythmic architecture. Unfortunately, Smith, who was calling the shots, reined in his partner before he’d finished, ordering a halt with a brusque “stop, that’s enough.”

Before long, the domineering Fresh Prince was calling a halt after each number, so he could harangue a nonchalant Townes between songs about how the upcoming number would make or break the show. This may have been intended as smart, rehearsed repartee, but it turned out to be a tiresome, pace-killing device.

Townes’ deejay work took a back seat in the second half as Smith delivered such hit raps as “Parents Just Don’t Understand” and “Girls Ain’t Nothing but Trouble,” failing to handle any of them with the light touch of the recorded versions.

The Fresh Prince gave himself and Jazzy Jeff a last-gasp pep talk before performing their current hit, “A Nightmare on My Street,” a parodic tribute to the “Nightmare on Elm Street” horror films. “If we drop this record (i.e., play this song) and the crowd don’t go wild, I think we pretty much had it, pally wally,” he said.

Just like the victims of Freddie Krueger, resident slasher of the “Nightmare” series, the Fresh Prince’s worst fears were confirmed.