POP MUSIC REVIEW : Jonathan Richman: Quirk on the Trigger : The Funny Yet Unmistakably Genuine Rocker Is Able to Switch Emotions Abruptly but Evocatively

“Jonathan, now don’t get all excited,” Jonathan Richman sang to himself near the end of his show Wednesday night at the Coach House.

“But I do!” he yelled. “And I am!” he shouted. “And I don’t hide it!” he added with a stomp, flashing his infectious grin and inciting a round of laughter from the crowd.

Then, in the blink of a moment, he was standing at the edge of the stage, guitar slung to one side, eyes closed, and his crooning silenced the room: “What I want to get is closer ... closer ... clooooo-ser.”

The two disparate moments that concluded his rendition of “Closer,” juxtaposed within seconds, illustrated just what it is that makes Richman such a compelling performer.

For one thing, barely a handful of his contemporaries are capable of switching emotions so abruptly yet evocatively.

But beyond that, Richman may be the only rock artist who can deliver such sappy balladeering in a way that unites the crowd in an instant of heartfelt tenderness.

Just as you’re about to burst out laughing again, the laugh gets squelched by the lump in your throat.

For years, Richman’s critics and fans have theorized and debated whether the quirky New Englander is joking or really is serious about his songs, seemingly naive celebrations of the simplest of pleasures.

The answer well may be that he is both kidding and not, alternately and at once--which is precisely what enables him to get away with things no one else would dare consider attempting on stage.

Richman’s approach is so funny yet unmistakably genuine that it is ultimately endearing, not campy. And so it was throughout his 75-minute, 20-song performance, on his second swing through Orange County since the release of last year’s “Having a Party With Jonathan Richman” album.

At 40, Richman doesn’t take his shirt off on stage anymore, but his sheepish exuberance strips him of the trappings that typically distance performer from audience.

Wednesday, the cozy Coach House was barely half-filled by a couple of hundred patrons whose level of participation never really went beyond politely clapping in time with Richman’s more rollicking numbers. Richman believes that rock ‘n’ roll means carpe diem ; he always has drawn his energy from his listeners. And--having attracted devoted cult crowds over the years, who call for favorite songs by tossing toy dinosaurs, insects and baseballs onto the stage--he might have easily been put off by this relatively stoic group.

Instead, he tapped whatever he could from the audience--strumming, dancing, joking and delighting in every laugh, hoot or clap he drew.

As he has for the past several years, he performed solo, taking the stage with only his guitar and his whimsy--without even a set list.

He opened with “The Girl Stands Up to Me Now,” one of five numbers he included from “Having a Party . . .” True to form, he changed the song’s tempo and tossed in a cappella verses as the mood struck him.

Later in the set, he beautifully strung together two songs that formed a natural pair, “When I Say Wife” and “Just for Fun.” Each takes a different approach to the idea that a couple can join together in a traditional union of love without becoming confined--and can still have fun with one another. The same idea informs Richman’s approach to music, as he ignores the usual strictures and concentrates on fun, intimacy and passion.

Most of other songs were drawn from albums released over the last three years. He recreated his 1991 update of “Down in Bermuda,” which includes a hilarious monologue about the song’s origin. He delivered the monologue much as it appears on last year’s recording but with such freshness that it seemed as though he was improvising the patter on the spot.

Richman ignored popular songs from his first two records, which he had been excavating in recent shows. But he did include such older gems as “Egyptian Reggae,” an instrumental that was a European disco smash in the late 1970s; “That Summer Feeling,” arguably his best song; “Give Paris One More Chance,” which included a new rap about his newfound love of the French capital upon his second visit, and a bilingual version of “The U.F.O. Man.”

Introducing the latter number, he told the audience that the reason he has moved from Boston to the West Coast was “to see more U.F.O.’s.” A prime viewing locale, he added, is the Twentynine Palms area: “If I were a U.F.O. guy, I’d land out there.”

He introduced a new song dedicated to his seminal rock idols, the Velvet Underground. Eternally anachronistic, Richman waited until 1992 to unveil a song about the band that inspired him two decades ago to form a group called the Modern Lovers, with whom he recorded an album that has been acclaimed as one of rock’s greatest ever. The chorus -- “How in the world were they making that sound? Velvet Underground”--is the very sort of clumsy rhyme that only Richman could serve up as an honest tribute.

As Richman’s set wound up at 10:25, the Coach House management immediately turned up the lights--hoping, perhaps, to usher out a sparse crowd that couldn’t possibly buy enough drinks to pay the bills for the night.

Undaunted, Richman trotted back out to squeeze in a quick encore, an oldies medley of “Rockin’ Robin” and “Rock and Roll Will Stand.” He performed the songs clapping and dancing, with neither guitar nor microphone, singing with the crowd, rather than to it. And laughing all the way.

The evening opened with a four-song impromptu set by Dave Sharp of the Alarm, who headlines at the club tonight. Like Richman, Sharp played with just an acoustic guitar and his passion, but his lyrics couldn’t measure up.

Before Richman’s set, Standard Fruit, a young Orange County band, played eight songs that were by turns interesting, funny and contrived. The band started out tightly, playing slightly countrified rock with R.E.M. underpinnings. Antics and exchanges between lead singer Denys Gawronski and guitarist Andrew Lowrey provided frequently humorous counterpoint to some nice guitar hooks.

But--perhaps too conscious of sharing a bill with Richman--Gawronski and Lowrey (both professional actors) appeared by set’s end to be trying too hard for a laugh, at the expense of material that deserved a better showcasing.