POP MUSIC REVIEW : Raven Turns Out to Be a Turkey : His Crazy Horse show, which attempts to mix Cajun, country, pop and Caribbean music, just doesn’t fly, resulting in a diluted mishmash of styles and a nondescript delivery.

Just about anyone who’s ever been to a Cajun-zydeco festival can tell you that keeping your feet still is normally about as impossible as passing up the alligator jambalaya. Indeed, bayou-bred music has been known to set legs a-stompin’ so feverishly that entire lawns can be uprooted in less than an hour.

At an Eddy Raven concert, though, the only time you’re likely to stomp your feet is to see if they’re still awake.

A native of Lafayette, La., Raven attempts a mixture of Cajun, country, pop and Caribbean music, but during the first of his two shows at the Crazy Horse on Monday night, what he really turned out was a diluted mishmash of all those styles in an act that was part Elvis, part Jimmy Buffett, part Huey Lewis and all too nondescript.

From the opening bubble-gum calypso throwaway “Shine, Shine, Shine” to the final encore--”Little Sheba,” a sultry rocker off Raven’s “Temporary Insanity” album that actually might have been something in the Eagles’ hands--Raven was just so much cream cheese.

Pseudo Cajun-country rockers (“I’m Gonna Get You,” “Right Hand Man,” “Bayou Boys”), calypso-flavored Buffett-like B-sides (“Joe Knows How to Live,” “I’ve Got Mexico”), dime-a-dozen pop rockers (“Leon and Maggie” (off the new “Right for Flight” album), “Sooner or Later”)--some 21 songs were rendered in little more than an hour. That should give you an idea of how much--or little--depth was involved.

At 46, Raven can boast an adequately powerful, suitably raspy voice that manages to drive some of his songs: “I Know That Car,” for instance, is a pretty ballad that conveyed some genuine emotion (as opposed to the Bill Murray variety), and “Too Much Candy for a Dime” is an upbeat, infectious country rocker that made up in exuberance what it lacked in originality.

But too much of the time, Raven was busy posturing, or racing through the lyrics (muddling them more than once), while his songs went by the generic wayside. “Thank God for Kids” drew cheers, but one suspected that the crowd was reacting to the subject matter, and not Raven’s somnambulant delivery (being pro-kids, after all, is even more can’t-lose than being anti-drugs).

Raven’s band, meanwhile--Rich Eckhardt on guitar, Dave Fontana on drums, David James on bass and Mike Foster on keyboards and saxophone--was even more nondescript than its leader (which might explain why Raven never bothered to introduce the musicians by name).

Many of the tunes dovetailed into mush; the sound mix was so muddy that it was possible only occasionally to recognize any particular instrument. Even during guitar solos, when Eckhardt would go through all the appropriate writhing, spotlighted motions, it was impossible to pick out his riffs among the cacophony of rattling keys and heavy-handed backbeats.

Perhaps the band’s biggest contribution was as a mirror to the audience: Most times, the musicians looked nearly as bored as the paying customers.