When Cooler Heads Prevail, So Do These Blues : Blues specialist Chris (Hammer) Smith and crew turn in a generally satisfying performance, full of vim and vigor, at El Matador.

Chris (Hammer) Smith works hard. Friday night at El Matador, the blues specialist delivered a 90-minute first set that ranged from a Little Walter Jacobs slow ballad to Joe Zawinul’s funky “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy.” Along the way, he injected vim and vigor, not to mention plenty of body language, into every number he and his quartet played.

Occasionally that gusto got out of hand, as on the closing “Goin’ Down.” Then what had been clean-edged blues with a well-defined sound turned in the direction of chaos. But for the most part, restraint prevailed, resulting in a generally satisfying performance from Smith, who played a variety of harmonicas and also sang.

“Mercy,” which Zawinul recorded with alto sax great Cannonball Adderly in the mid-’60s, was a good example of how Smith and his crew--Osee Anderson on guitar, Luis Oliart on bass and John Goodall on drums--used a wide array of sonic shadings to get a song across instrumentally.

It also showcased the leader’s versatile and ingratiating blues harmonica style, which revealed influences of such notable harpists as Big Walter Horton, Junior Wells and Paul Butterfield.

As Smith, whose debut album is out on Agenda Records, initially rendered the tune’s catchy melody, he produced high, reedy tones from his harp. He pressed the harmonica against the microphone, around which he cupped his hands to vary his tiny instrument’s sound. Then, loosening his grip and slightly opening his hands, he emitted thicker, more-organ-like tones, moving quickly between two notes by shaking his head back and forth as he blew.

Anderson soloed first, beginning with a clear, ringing sound that recalled B.B. King. He played notes that he held elastically for a beat or two, then offered a quick figure that seemed to spin in place, followed by a speedy vacillation between a pair of tones.

After a while, the guitarist, who leads his own quartet Sunday nights at the Studio Cafe in Corona Del Mar, suddenly shifted his approach, getting a throbbing, electronically boosted sound as he trilled two notes, a la Jimi Hendrix. Then Oliart and Goodall, a steady-as-a-rock duo who continually buoyed the front men, gradually began to raise the tempo, and Anderson got louder still, playing sequences that consisted of only a few notes and that led to a rousing climax.

Smith, who played rhythm guitar when Anderson was improvising, then took the spotlight with his harp, playing thin, quiet-yet-piercing sounds over a subdued band. Then he left the bandstand, and the microphone, behind and walked into the crowd, issuing brief, bluesy statements that were only a notch above a whisper. He emphasized these utterances by bending backward on some notes, then leaning forward, knees bent, on others.

Returning to the bandstand, Smith once again used the mike to propel his ideas, which, like Anderson’s, got louder as the band played faster, culminating in the song’s 12-note final phrase.

Smith’s tenor voice, which sometimes had the appealing, gravelly quality of the late Butterfield, was often out in front. Vocal highlights included the moody Jacobs’ tune, “Everybody Needs Somebody,” the set’s only slow blues, and the more upbeat “Driving Me Crazy.” On the latter, Anderson’s sound was massive as he played chordal passages and the leader’s harp recalled a distant train’s moaning whistle.

Less-rewarding selections were John Mayall’s “Room to Move,” which didn’t seem to go anywhere, “Got My Mojo Workin,’ ” where Smith and Anderson used that worn-out “come on, clap your hands together” device on the audience, and the bombastic “Goin’ Down.” A few more emotional numbers, such as the Jacobs selection, would give Smith’s show some needed balance.