O.C. POP MUSIC REVIEW : All-Starr Show: Ringo’s Charm Is Bottom Liner

Ringo Starr spent most of his own show in eclipse behind helpful friends Saturday night at the Pacific Amphitheatre.

But at the very end, the fourth Beatle stepped out from behind his drums and put his own engaging stamp on the proceedings.

Starr, who winds up the first solo tour of his career tonight at the Greek Theatre in Los Angeles, got off to a flat start fronting his All-Starr Band. Decked in a ringmaster’s silver tux emblazoned with stars, he opened with “It Don’t Come Easy.” As he jumped up and down and swayed back and forth in an awkward dance, Starr had the uneasy look of an entertainer trying too hard to make up in enthusiasm what he lacks in natural gifts.

Starr’s song introductions were perfunctory, with the famous drollery that has given him his niche in pop culture nowhere in evidence.

“No No Song,” a novelty hit about saying good-bye to immoderate habits, received a hurried treatment in which the newly on-the-wagon Ringo failed to exploit the song’s comic possibilities. “Yellow Submarine” was forced and premature. Only a mood of fun and bonhomie could have made the old Beatles sing-along work, and Starr had established nothing of the sort.

At this point, Ringo retreated to the middle of three drum kits set up on a rear riser. He seemed more at home there, smiling and keeping the beat with a sway of his head and a flap of his ponytail.

He stayed there for the next two hours or so, singing four more oldies from his seated perch when pals Dr. John, Levon Helm, Rick Danko, Billy Preston, Clarence Clemons, Joe Walsh and Nils Lofgren weren’t taking their turns in the spotlight.

All that song-to-song baton-passing made for a non-cohesive, hit-and-miss set that consisted largely of chestnuts from the All Starrs’ collective past.

Then, at the end, Starr came back out front and put a warm shine on the night. Through a show-closing run of hits--”Photograph,” “You’re Sixteen” and an encore version of “With a Little Help From My Friends”--Ringo was a smiling, delightful neo-vaudevillian who capered about joyfully while making all the hokey moves that fell flat earlier seem somehow full of life--including profuse, Nixon-style flashing of the V-sign.

Starr also tossed out some nice deadpan Ringoisms. He sang “You’re not 16” to an audience that probably averaged more than twice that. And he mused wittily about the absurdity of the meaningless, pre-planned pop encore: “You know we’re coming back. We know we’re coming back. Show biz. Show biz is my life.”

As for the All-Starrs, the World’s Wealthiest Bar Band might have been a more descriptive name, as they knocked out predictable favorites with few attempts at risk or surprise. The basic song arrangements put a premium on solo prowess rather than sharp ensemble playing.

Vocal harmonies were occasionally creaky (Ringo sang about as well as ever, for what that’s worth). But each member except Walsh contributed some good moments to a 26-song set that lasted longer than two hours.

Preston was like an explosive off-the-bench scorer in basketball: He provided instant energy during his two numbers, “Nothing From Nothing” and “Will It Go Round In Circles,” sang some nice harmonies (especially on “With a Little Help From My Friends”) and, in a duet with Clemons, turned “You’re a Friend of Mine” into a spirited, comradely moment.

After Ringo’s awkward start, Dr. John lifted the show with the funky New Orleans parade anthem, “Iko Iko,” during which he strutted in an elaborately feathered Mardi Gras headdress. Later, in one of the evening’s quieter songs, he gave a wryly sentimental reading of the standard, “Candy.” As a piano player, Dr. John deserved more of the spotlight than he got: Although he was the most distinctive instrumentalist on the stage, he received the least solo playing time.

Danko and Helm, both alumni of The Band, harmonized in their familiar style on “The Weight” and “The Shape I’m In” (their old Band mate, Garth Hudson, turned up for a guest accordion turn on several songs). Along with Lofgren, the E Street Band member whose singing and guitar styles are both choked with impressive emotion, Danko and Helm provided most of the earnest passion in a show given over mainly to lighthearted songs, in keeping with Starr’s image as lovable jester.

Walsh turned in some good guitar work, but he squandered his spotlight moments. A slogging “Rocky Mountain Way” contained an awful vocoder guitar solo that sounded like vomiting. And for some reason, Walsh thinks his second-fiddle role as an Eagle qualified him to sing “Desperado” and “Life in the Fast Lane,” songs that other Eagles originally sang. Walsh’s stringy voice certainly was no qualification. Whatever happened to the James Gang, anyway?

Session drummer Jim Keltner was on hand as well, proving, in a troika with Starr and Helm, that more drummers do not necessarily make for more interesting drumming (Starr’s son, Zack Starkey, stepped in during his dad’s turns out front). The beat throughout was nearly as basic as 3 times 1.

In the end, luckily, Starr’s appeal was equally basic: He’s Ringo, and all he’s gotta do is act naturally.

Opening act Mason Ruffner was a hot, flashy-but-focused guitarist from New Orleans who wore a heavy Hendrix influence. Ruffner didn’t sing very well, but he rose above most of the blues-rock pack because of his ability to write melodic songs that sustain interest.