POP MUSIC REVIEW : Doobies Are on a Track Bound for Inconsequential

Inconsequence, thy name is Doobie.

The Doobie Brothers came out of Northern California biker bars in the early ‘70s and hit it big by combining a CS&N; harmony sound with a slicker, glossier version of the country, blues and pop fusion achieved by their more authentic betters, the Allman Brothers Band and Little Feat.

A listener could be mildly diverted taking up the Doobies’ behest to “ooh waah, listen to the music,” but it’s hard to imagine anyone being deeply moved by it. Songs about rockin’ down the highway and finding mellow times in black water bayous might have had some value as a hum-along accompaniment to life during the Nixon and Ford administrations, but that’s about all (anyone who thinks that the Doobies’ fluffy version of “Jesus Is Just Alright” is a deep statement of belief might do well to check out the Byrds’ earlier, psychedelic recording of the song, which conveys a real sense of spiritual struggle).

Michael McDonald had some soulful moments with a later, revamped version of the Doobie Brothers, but the band that stopped at the Pacific Amphitheatre Friday night was the older strain of Doobies that reunited in 1989, fronted by singer-guitarists Tom Johnston and Patrick Simmons.

The longer the Doobies go, the more inconsequential they get. On its first comeback tour, the band had only one album’s worth of pleasantly empty new songs to nudge aside with the oldies their fans came to hear. Now they’re on the second album of their second life, so the gaps between music that could enliven the crowd were longer still.

When the first strains of a vintage song appeared, the people jumped to their feet and partied. The newer songs, except for “The Doctor,” a hit knock-off of “China Grove,” were taken as mass pit stops by the audience. Ten of the show’s 22 songs came from the two comeback albums, “Cycles” and “Brotherhood.” Most of the comeback material was packed into a middle segment that eased along as placidly as a scoreless ballgame. A couple of lighter-textured new songs worked well enough: “Rollin’ On” was a credible statement of the Doobies’ take-life-as-it- comes-and-love-your-neighbor credo, and “The Train I’m On” (when in doubt, this band sings about highways or trains) was a pleasantly breezy take on the Allmans’ lighter side.

When Johnston introduced yet another new number, one of the younger Doobies fans wasn’t buying it. “(Expletive) no, I want to hear your (expletive) oldies,” shouted the indignant fellow in the T-shirt and long, scruffy hair. “Oldies! Oldies! Oldies, man, oldies!”

Old or new, almost everything the Doobies played was marred by out-of-control rumbling from Tiran Porter’s bass. It was like listening to the party upstairs buzzing through the floorboards at 3 a.m. Simmons’ thin, reedy voice and Johnston’s high, stringy bleat didn’t need that competition.

Otherwise, the Doobies embodied their modest virtues well enough: fluent, dirty-sounding guitar leads from both front-men, some full-textured backing harmonies (the five old-line Doobies were augmented by three other singer-musicians), and the occasional meaty guitar riff, such as the one propelling “Without You,” the set’s peak rocker.

As for the Doobies’ bland stage presence (tossing drum sticks to the audience was the big visual event of the night), well, the song says “Listen to the Music,” not “Watch the Band.”

“See you next year,” Simmons said at the end, in one of the button-lipped Doobies’ more talkative moments. If they do come back, they might consider doing it in an oldies package tour that gives them just enough time to play the six or eight songs that fans really want to hear.

The Fabulous Thunderbirds’ opening set was played at less than full throttle, as singer Kim Wilson turned in a relatively restrained performance. But the veteran Texas blues-rock band’s subtle approach offered some pleasures not usually found in their rough-and-tumble genre. For instance, the T-Birds thumped out Muddy Waters’ “Manish Boy” with a spare, unforced assurance that was free of typical bluster.

Guitarist Duke Robillard brought a light touch to the Chuck Berry school of guitar playing, whose pupils, Keith Richards being head of the class, customarily favor a thick, oily chordal crank offset by sharp, jabbing notes.

Instead of hammering, Robillard nimbly teased and tickled, achieving a coy, curvy, almost feminine feeling in his solos on “Let’s Rock This Place” and “Look at That, Look at That.” Robillard’s nimble but still-rocking approach succeeded better than a raw attack in capturing the sly playfulness that is the essence of Berry’s rock ‘n’ roll vision.