POP MUSIC REVIEW : U2 Producer Bids for His Own Rock Acclaim

How can someone’s name appear on rock albums as respected as U2’s Grammy-winning “The Joshua Tree,” Peter Gabriel’s “So” and Bob Dylan’s new “Oh, Mercy” and still be relatively unknown in pop circles?

It can happen if you are the producer of the albums rather than the artist. But it’s time to get to know the man who produced or co-produced those albums: Daniel Lanois (pronounced Lan-WAH).

Arguably the most acclaimed new record producer of the late ‘80s, the singer-guitarist is now out to demonstrate that he is an artist in his own right, and the evidence on Monday at the Roxy was, for the most part, convincing indeed.

In his Los Angeles concert debut, Lanois demonstrated enough soulful and original musical sensibilities to suggest he can become one of the most prized record artists of the ‘90s--not necessarily a major seller, but someone who makes the kind of consistently absorbing and influential records that feeds the artistic heart of pop music.

There were moments in his 90-minute set that reflected some of the colors and character of a few of the acts whose albums Lanois has produced--especially the more ethereal side of U2 and the storytelling drama of Robbie Robertson.

Yet the artist that Lanois’ music most often brought to mind was someone with whom he has not worked: Ry Cooder.

Lanois--who was born of French-Canadian parents in Quebec and played in R&B; and rock bands briefly before getting involved in record producing--uses words like water and river/sea in his lyrics the way Bruce Springsteen once employed night and streets.

They seem to best communicate for him the mysteries and wonder, the darkness and beauty of life itself. But his words--as haunting as they can be on “The Maker,” the spiritually tinged centerpiece of his debut Opal/Warner Bros. Records album--often seem like afterthoughts.

The primary lure of Lanois’ songs is in the instrumental design, a quality shared by much of Cooder’s best music.

Both men can serve up engaging versions of other people’s songs. Yet they are at their most moving and profound when they weave ethnic and roots-conscious styles (from Cajun to country and blues in Lanois’ case) into their own soundscapes. That’s why he can move back and forth vocally between English (the dominant language) and French without disrupting things.

On his album, “Acadie,” Lanois injects these original compositions with a sense of intimacy that is so emotionally haunting that you get the feeling the whole album was made in the late-night isolation of a mountain cabin--where the music itself becomes your only companion and it seems to become an absolute channel for your thoughts and emotions in the manner of the most revealing stream of consciousness.

Some of that intimacy was lost at the Roxy as Lanois and his three-piece band played with such high-volume force that some of the nuances of his music got buried under the sonic assault. The intensity worked on his more upbeat songs, including “Under a Stormy Sky,” a sort of Cajun cousin of Creedence’s “Bad Moon Rising.” But it more often interfered with the natural grace of the music.

To compound matters, Lanois--who sings in a soft, somewhat understated manner that ideally fits the warm spirit of his best tunes--turned over the microphone to his band members for dishearteningly mediocre versions of such overly familiar tunes as Hank Williams’ “Jambalaya” and the O’Jays’ “For the Love of Money.”

But when Lanois stuck to his own material and kept the volume in check, the magic of the record reappeared--especially on the encore, where he was more relaxed and played with a disarming sweetness and honesty that made you think he had slipped back into the spell of that mountain cabin.

With greater confidence and experience live, Lanois--looking Monday like a 19th-Century river boat captain, his hair falling over his shoulders and a black, knee-length coat--may learn to be able to weave that magic more consistently.

The Roxy program opened with a brief but well-received performance by singer-songwriter Sam Phillips, who was backed on acoustic guitar by T Bone Burnett. Phillips (formerly known as Leslie Phillips) sings in a sensitive and dramatic manner that suggests intense feelings and meaningful exploration. While consistently intelligent and stylish, her songwriting often fails to communicate any original, memorable emotions.