POP MUSIC REVIEW : Chris Gaffney, C.J. Chenier Squeeze Out Some Satisfaction

In a splendid twin accordion blowout at Bogart’s on Friday evening, Orange County’s Chris Gaffney and Louisiana’s C.J. Chenier each squeezed so many hot notes out of their instruments that it’s a wonder they didn’t squeeze them dry. There was some fine, satisfying music making going on.

In his autobiography, the late producer John Hammond--who discovered Billie Holiday, Count Basie, Aretha Franklin, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen, among many others--marveled not that he was able to unearth all these talents but that such strong, fully developed performers could have gone unrecognized for so long.

One might well wonder that about Chris Gaffney. The longtime Costa Mesa resident is a remarkable country songwriter and performer, bringing a seasoned, singular voice to both those endeavors. Coupled with peppery, border-influenced accordion playing and a responsive band, the Cold Hard Facts, Gaffney is one of the most impressive country forces to emerge on this coast in years.

His excellent “Chris Gaffney & the Cold Hard Facts” album is difficult to find even in his hometown, and it has received scant radio notice. But Gaffney has been building a Bay Area following and was a hit at the Austin, Tex., South By Southwest Conference in March. With Friday’s rousing reception at Bogart’s, one suspects that his talents won’t be a secret much longer.

There was a strong sense of mood to each of the set’s 19 songs, from the anticipation and feel of rolling wheels brought to Chuck Berry’s “Promised Land” to the tragicomic two-step of Gaffney’s “Frank’s Tavern” and the deep domestic ache of “Silent Partner” and “Glass House.”

That latter number has the feel of a classic, one of those songs that even on a first listen seems like it has always been there with you. It’s an abundantly sad song, sketching a withering relationship. He sings, “Through a war of attrition and constant repetition, All the life had been torn from my heart, Now the weight is too heavy for one man to carry, Now my life barely imitates art.”

There is a vein of world-weary sadness running through much of his material, even in the evocative but playfully titled “Now When the Wind Blows Out of Artesia You Can’t Smell 1965.” But that somehow seems a necessary component of most musicians who also are capable of making free-flying celebratory music, which Gaffney also most certainly does.

His “Lift Your Leg” is a hard-rockin’ bit of country, rocked even harder Friday by the addition of ex-Blaster Dave Alvin on guitar. The Tex-Mex tune “I Never Grew Up” was a rollicking fun house, with Gaffney’s accordion skittering like a dust devil around the melody and guitarist Danny Ott somehow converting Jimi Hendrix’s “Third Stone From the Sun” into Norteno music on his 12-string electric.

The evening’s, if not the year’s, most playful lyrics were in “Still a Few More Honky Tonks in Town”--”Where bar-stool mountain’s majesties light up your painted frown” and where Gaffney opined that his mouth could use a haircut.

He and his hot band--Ott, keyboardist Wyman Reese, bassist Greg Gaffney, drummer Tucker Fleming and guest sax man Mike Overlin--closed with an “all-Joe Ely” encore that did full justice to the Texas maverick.

Like something cooking in a heavy cast-iron pot, C.J. Chenier’s set was slow in heating up, but once it reached the simmering point, it was unstoppable. For the first half of his 100-minute show, Chenier--son of the late Louisiana zydeco great Clifton Chenier--offered solid, danceable but ultimately commonplace Cajun fare, pale beside the accordion keyboard inventions of his father or the irrepressible grooves of John Delafose.

But after the set’s midway mark, Chenier and his Red Hot Louisiana Band steadily embarked on an inspired roll, which, at 1:40 a.m., culminated in Chenier leading band and audience members in a snaking dance line through the club.

Although Chenier’s performance had started out a tad stiff and calculated, sharing the stage with the dance-happy abandon of his comic sax player, Wilbert Miller, would loosen anybody up. Well before the show’s end, Chenier was yodeling and shouting and churning out boogieing one-chord vamps on his Italian squeeze-box.

Hank Williams’ “Jambalaya” evolved into a chanka-chank raveup, with guitarist Harry Hypolite joining the rhythm instruments by plucking and sliding on his muted strings while Chenier romped over his accordion’s keys. On that and two rhythm-accompanied instrumentals, the 32-year-old proved that he’s fully at home on his instrument, which he only adopted five years ago when his father’s health failed.

The elder Chenier had pioneered modern zydeco’s blend of Cajun and R&B; music in the ‘50s, and his son reasserted that it’s among the most irrepressible forms of dance music on the planet, with a crowded dance floor prevailing even during the beautiful, ballad-paced blues tune “I’m Coming Home.” Though raised in Texas, apart from his father and the bayou culture--he attempted only one French song in the show--C.J. did his father and the music proud.