POP MUSIC REVIEW : The Smithereens Are Strong but Not Special

The Smithereens gloss easily over the wreckage of love. Singer Pat DiNizio may write a lot of songs documenting romance sinking or drowned, but he and his New Jersey bandmates tend to focus instead on the energy and zest of the music to which he sets his sad tales.

DiNizio may approximate Elvis Costello’s nasal-husky vocal delivery, but his accounts don’t have the same impact. Probing wounds like a forensic pathologist, Costello details pain and suffering as he tries to gain insight into crimes of the heart. DiNizio is more like a mortician: Instead of probing deep, he patches and colors all the nasty emotional holes until what you notice isn’t the wound, but the handsome presentation of the body.

Tuesday night at the Coach House (where they play again tonight), the Smithereens for the most part delivered simple pleasures sans insights and heartaches during an impeccably tight and forcefully played 85-minute set steeped in their mid-’60s Brit-rock influences.

Even though the band rarely ranged beyond the narrow bounds of its driving formula, the repetition was enjoyable because the Smithereens’ basics are so solid: capable vocal harmonies and slashing lead guitar from Jim Babjak, steady drumming from Dennis Diken that would erupt in explosive surges at strategic moments and, above all, the walloping but supply melodic presence of Mike Mesaros’ bass.

The best moments came when the Smithereens stretched out on extended versions of “Blood and Roses” and “House We Used to Live In.” The drawbacks, aside from the glossing over of substance, lie in some of the extracurricular shtick that got interspersed with those admirable basics.

DiNizio declared at one point that “this is not the (expletive) Lawrence Welk Show” as he demanded that the sit-down crowd stand up (it complied). But the show had corny, calculated trappings that, if not quite Welk-like, smacked of the Las Vegas of the future, when the showrooms will resound with a classic ‘60s sound for the benefit of 60-something Baby Boomers.

There was no need for the choreographed, synchronized swaying and ax-swinging in which the Smithereens engaged. In peak moments, Mesaros and Babjak let the music whirl them about spontaneously. That was more interesting than watching them pump their instruments in unison and on cue.

DiNizio’s repeated coyote whoops between songs also came off as forced attempts at rabble-rousing. And what could be more calculated and simple-minded than devices like DiNizio capping the ballad “Cigarette” with a lusty puff on a cigarette?

Digressing from an acoustic flamenco-style guitar spot into the opening verse and chorus of the Kinks’ “Lola” was a good idea. But DiNizio couldn’t leave it at that. “Welcome to the wonderful world of the Smithereens once more, ladies and gentlemen,” he intoned, blowing pomp into a nice little musical surprise that should have spoken for itself.

Asides like those, and ill-advised sing-along versions of “Act Naturally” and “Yellow Submarine” during the encore, slowed the show when the Smithereens would have been better off building the unbridled momentum they have achieved in peak performances (their last stop at the Coach House in 1990 was one of them). This time they were strong, but not special.

Jack McDowell, leader of opening act V.I.E.W., belongs in Anaheim Stadium, not at the Coach House. No, he’s not a Springsteen-in-the-making; he’s a member of the Chicago White Sox starting rotation. The lanky, delicate-featured ballplayer is spending his off-season moonlighting as a rocker in a five-member band that includes another White Sox pitcher, Scott Radinski, on indiscernible bongos and a St. Louis Cardinals mound prospect, Lee Plemel, on bass.

V.I.E.W. looked and sounded like a typical, more or less competent campus rock band circa 1985: unassuming, introverted and suffering from a severe case of the R.E.M.-induced wistful jangles. McDowell’s voice was a high, thin, quavery plaint; his lyrics offered run of the mill youthful angst.

V.I.E.W. submerged the baseball angle, not mentioning its members’ day jobs. But its half-hour show could have used some of the confidence and fire that McDowell presumably brings to bear when pitching. Instead of throwing the high, hard one, V.I.E.W. played a dull game of slow-pitch softball.

Also appearing were Orange County rockers Standing Hawthorne, who mustered some effective surges but too often strained for drama in a monolithic, dark-hued set that echoed the likes of U2 and the Cure. Even a song called “Drop Trou” (as in trousers) failed to provide some needed lightness. As it turned out, the tune was an anthem full of determined striving, as self-consciously serious as everything else Standing Hawthorne played. The band gives a better, more varied account of itself on a recent CD that it released independently.

* The Smithereens and V.I.E.W. play tonight at 8 at the Coach House, 33157 Camino Capistrano, San Juan Capistrano. Tickets: $25. Information: (714) 496-8930.