POP MUSIC REVIEW : Redd Kross Growing Up--but Not Slowing Up

Once the kiddie corps of the Los Angeles alternative-rock scene, Redd Kross has grown up--but luckily not too much.

After more than 12 years on the circuit, founding brethren Jeffrey and Steven McDonald are still in their 20s. Already they’re waxing nostalgic: Redd Kross’s show at the Coach House on Wednesday night opened with “1976,” a spirited remembrance of the trashier side of ‘70s pop culture.

This is a band that used to be caught up in youth’s snide irreverence, cracking pop-insider jokes at every turn. But on its new album, “Third Eye,” Redd Kross has expanded its outlook on pop by adding a more serious dimension. Such songs as “Annie’s Gone,” “Where I Am Today” and even the breezy “Bubblegum Factory” suggest that the escapist joys of a catchy tune can be a lifeline in a sea of grown-up troubles. On stage, the anguished, Replacements-like “Where I Am Today” received a particularly clenched performance, proving that Redd Kross is now a band intent on delving deeper into pop’s expressive possibilities.

Even so, Redd Kross willingly flipped to its back pages and doodled all over them with a purple Magic Marker. A big chunk of the 80-minute show was devoted to lighthearted garage-rock mayhem and fond cover-band spoofs of such ‘70s pop icons as Paul McCartney, Elton John and Fleetwood Mac.

Robert Hecker’s exaggerated falsetto punctured McCartney’s schmaltzy “My Love,” and new member Jeri Fenelli’s mock-ecstatic expression as she played Elton’s “Funeral for a Friend” on keyboards tweaked the original’s stentorian grandeur.

But Redd Kross also showed a knowing affection for the music it made fun of. Some nice three-way harmonies softened the blow to “My Love,” and by the time the epic “Funeral” was through, it had evolved into a well-played appreciation for the song’s soaring melody and graceful architecture.

Redd Kross applied that mixture of irony and involvement to its own songs during a long medley of “Linda Blair” and “Elephant Flares.” It began with a joke as Fenelli, an animated bopper who would have made a great Bangle, Go-Go, or Shindig dancer, played the “Tubular Bells” theme from “The Exorcist.”

It also ended with a joke, as Hecker and the McDonald brothers offered their extended guitars to the crowd in mimicry of a phallic arena-rock ritual. But in between the band blazed through a propulsive psychedelic rave-up that thrived on power rather than laughs.

The show was hampered somewhat by an unsympathetic sound mix that pumped up new member Brian Reitzell’s loose, garage-style drumming and submerged the singing. It wasn’t enough, though, to dampen a catchy pop-fest from a band that is maturing without forgetting how to have a good time.

As a preliminary treat, Redd Kross had its sound man play a tape of the Zombies’ wonderful, undeservedly obscure 1968 album, “Odyssey and Oracle,” during setup time. There isn’t a finer pure-pop masterpiece extant (every song measures up to the famous final track, “Time of the Season”). It was indicative of Redd Kross’s affection for good pop that it would expose its fans to a particularly rich trove from the past. With influences like that, Redd Kross has a chance to contribute its share to the pure-pop legacy, too.

Second-billed Screaming Trees could have the potential to become a major player on the hard-rock scene. With its smart combination of influences--vocal dramatics and dank moods from the Doors, heavy, insinuating riffs from Cream, blast-force guitar a la Husker Du--the Seattle band would be a boon to the mainstream: a brainier, less bombastic answer to the Cult.

But it won’t get there unless somebody or something lights a fire under singer Mark Lanegan.

Just as he did in October, when Screaming Trees opened for Social Distortion at UC Irvine, Lanegan turned in a wan performance, devoid of energy and lacking the least inclination to dramatize a song. Once again, guitarist Gary Lee Conner stole the show. If Kathy Bates’ “Misery” maniac had Leslie West’s baby and brought it up to stomp in Angus Young’s footsteps, the result might be something akin to this mound-like attack dog of a guitarist. While Lanegan drooped against his microphone stand and sang with a tepid husk, his buddy Gary Lee got some serious ya-yas out.

Opening band Bazooka, a sax-driven, rock-meets-bop trio reviewed recently at greater length, confirmed that it deserves the raves it has gotten on the local scene.

Like Redd Kross, Bazooka mainstays Vince Meghrouni and Tony Atherton devoted their misspent youth to a humorous, spoof-minded rock band (El Grupo Sexo). Now they are playing more exacting music, but without sacrificing a sense of fun.