POP MUSIC REVIEW : Emotion Missing in Kenny Rogers’ Neighborhood

If he really knew when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em, Kenny Rogers either would take “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town” out of his deck of songs, pronto, or learn to sing it as if it meant something.

The Mel Tillis composition detailing the emotional agony of a crippled Vietnam vet and his wife is a gem, a devastating account of the wages of war. Rogers recorded it beautifully with the First Edition in 1969--marking one of the few times he has had anything to do with music that reaches beyond the superficial.

Now the country is at war again, and every sentient American dreads the relevance of a “Ruby.” Rogers, either too obtuse or too caught up in being the breezy entertainer to notice that relevance, turned “Ruby” into a jaunty, joking, clap-along number Saturday night at the Celebrity Theatre, utterly divorcing it from all meaning embedded in the song. In better times, it would have been merely airheaded. In these times, it bordered on being offensive.

Rogers’ mangling of “Ruby” was indicative of his overall approach, in which songs became so much fodder for an evening’s light entertainment rather than inherently valuable capsules from which feelings and experiences might unfold.

The only aim evident in Rogers’ late show Saturday (the second of his five weekend performances at the Celebrity) was to keep his fans reasonably diverted for 70 minutes. It’s not an unworthy goal, but it is a meager one, in reach of any savvy lounge singer. Rogers was up to the task with his gruff-but-thin Everyman’s voice, his catchy middle-of-the-road and pop-country repertoire and, most important, his affable, comfortable manner.

Rogers interacted with his full-house audience as if they were all old buddies getting together for an annual reunion in which good-natured ribbing is the common ground for establishing bonhomie. But bonhomie is all you get: The ground rules of the reunion preclude dredging up anything too personal or emotional.

Rogers certainly wasn’t pressing too hard. He ambled about the perimeter of the circular stage at a slow gait, mustering the occasional husky crescendo but mostly delivering his lines colorlessly. Lush, synth-heavy orchestrations painted in the musical spaces that his insubstantial voice left blank. Some tunes were pleasant enough, in a generic sort of way, while some (especially a leaden version of Bill Withers’ “Lean on Me”) were butchered.

Give the white-haired, white-clad, 52-year-old Rogers a few more years and a different cut of beard and he would look a lot like Colonel Sanders. He already has his own recipe for musical fast food: bland, reliably familiar dishes presented in a clean, cheery setting with some snazzy decor (namely, the green lasers and stage fog used during a couple of songs). Millions of Kennyburgers have been sold, but anyone hungry for depth and commitment in a performance will leave the joint with that empty feeling.

The Sweethearts of the Rodeo also kept things light in their seven-song opening set, but they conveyed a sense of delight in and commitment to music that escaped Rogers. The harmonizing Sweethearts, sisters Kristine Arnold and Janis Gill (Vince’s wife), didn’t have much depth in their repertoire, but at least they were alert to the basic emotions and situations their country-rock songs expressed, and their singing was impeccable. Arnold, who sings lead, showed off a rich, tawny tone and an endearing coltish streak as she jostled playfully with her sister and two-stepped and strutted around the wide-open stage.