O.C. POP REVIEW : New Heartland Hero Rocks Coach House

An amiable, small-town Midwesterner with show biz savvy and a winning sense of humor--heck, Henry Lee Summer could grow up to be President someday.

For the time being, Summer is working on growing into the next big thing in heartland-style rock ‘n’ roll. Judging from his romping, confidently rocking and rapturously received show Wednesday night at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano, Summer has a chance of becoming a real people’s choice.

Hailing from Brazil, Ind., the lanky, blond Summer fits squarely into the Bob Seger-John Cougar Mellencamp school of mid-America rock--catchy, big-beat music sung in a throaty voice with rootsy, soul-R&B; inflections.

Summer falls far short of those heartland exemplars as a songwriter: His music can’t approach the staying power, seriousness or emotional depth of Seger’s and Mellencamp’s best work.

But Summer measured up nicely as a performer, putting on an engaging, spirited show delivered with an unflagging sense of fun.

Summer projected the kind of personality that most Americans find hard to resist. He was natural and unassuming--a likable guy-next-door who seemed as comfortable with his audience as a high school kid is with his regular band of buddies. He joshed with his band over a couple of small musical screw-ups (Summer could afford to be humorous on that score because the six-member backing ensemble was otherwise first rate).

He involved the audience in good-natured, humorous give and take. He told wry stories about his small-town past, the sort that most people can identify with, even if they grew up in big cities. Summer was not afraid to play the part of a dancing fool with shakin’-all-over moves that were silly enough to be disarming and energetic enough to generate genuine heat.

That kind of easy relationship with a crowd is the mark of a pro. You could see Summer’s barroom apprenticeship in Southern blues joints and as a regional act in Indiana bearing fruit as he worked an audience that he always addressed--without a hint of smarminess--as “friends.” Summer had the savvy to be chatty early in the 90-minute set, winning the crowd’s allegiance, then let the meaty, beaty music keep coming almost without interruption once he had the crowd eating out of his hand.

A few songs had a pop-slickened edge that made them sound too calculating (Summer’s current hit, “Hey Baby,” fell into that category). But for the most part, he and his band churned out freewheeling, rootsy rock, lending it a good sense of dynamics that allowed for some impressive surges on such numbers as “My Turn Train” and “Roll Me.”

Borrowing a trick from Mellencamp, Summer had two female backup singers to lend punchy, soul-style support to his own rangy vocals.

Summer left ‘em dancing in the aisles by encoring with a couple of the Rolling Stones’ greatest hits--”Brown Sugar” and “Satisfaction”--then showed his deep-roots allegiance with a high-energy reading of B.B. King’s “How Blue Can You Get?” He ended with “My Louisa,” a fine original stomp with plenty of Stones and soul-music references.

The real kings-of-the-rock-heartland will probably not have to worry about making room for Summer at the top, unless he begins to show a heretofore-absent streak of originality. But in a genre that made a big star out of an honest plodder like Bryan Adams, there ought to be a prominent spot somewhere for a zesty performer such as Summer.