POP MUSIC REVIEW : k.d. lang Charts Her Own Course at Amphitheatre

Singer k.d. lang, she of the uniquely lowercase name and brilliantly uppercase voice, is a consummate entertainer solidly grounded in the great show-biz traditions, and certainly no shock therapist.

For all the controversy that’s occasionally cropped up over her recently revealed homosexuality, her vegetarianism, her musical shifts, etc., she ultimately quests merely to win you and woo you with song, like many a less provocative balladeer over the decades.

Still, she’s a playful one, this pro, enough so to slyly savor toying now and again with expectations--of genre, gender, what have you.

“There’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you, something that’s been on my chest for quite some time,” she announced Friday in the first of two Universal Amphitheatre shows, slowly and mock-dramatically enough that everyone knew just what kind of gag was coming.

“So I’m just gonna conjure up the gumption and spit it out. I . . . AM . . . “ A drum roll began amid the anticipatory audience whoops. “I AM A . . . LLLLL AWRENCE WELK FAN!”

And, of course, there was great rejoicing in the land over this coming out--which served as introduction to lang’s recent, Parisian-flavored song “Miss Chatelaine,” complete with twin bubble machines on the drum riser at full blast.

But not before lang mused on other secret “rumpus room” TV influences, like Bobby and Cissy: “I could never figure out which one was Bobby and which one was Cissy,” she said, as if a light bulb were going on over her stylish pompadour: “Maybe it was that that influenced me most.” Other possible influences that came readily to mind during the superb two-hour show: Patsy Cline (of course), for her rootsy charm; Judy Garland, for her sustained notes and grand gestures; and, for wet bangs, spot-shimmying and pure smoldering sex appeal, Elvis.

But clearly she’s charting entirely her own course--one that looks to be moving more toward the “exotic fare to titillate the musical palette” she promised early in the show (as heard on her new album), and away from testing “the boundaries of country music” (her earlier stock-in-trade), which also composed a major part of the program.

Heretofore lang’s career has rested on a “new traditionalist” brand of country with a good dollop of knowing, affectionate archness, owing almost as much to Minnie Pearl’s values as Cline’s. And a highlight of her set has always been--and remains--her campy version of “Johnny Get Angry,” complete with a minute-long mock-collapse in mid-song.

Her languid new album, “Ingenue,” though, is a pretty severe left turn, in effect a concept album about utter, unadulterated obsession, with hardly a moment of levity amid its hyper-romantic themes and no obvious country touches among its sophisticated stylings. The tortured, super-earnest lang represented therein would hardly seem to square with the good-time gal of her known stage persona.

Somehow, she nonetheless pulled off the mixture of past and present, smartly grouping “Ingenue” selections together in twos and threes to sustain mood and waiting till the end of the show to trot out her most raucous older material.

Plus, there’s enough in her back repertoire--from Roy Orbison’s “Crying,” her reading of which is always one of the eight wonders of the pop concert-going world, to “Pullin’ Back the Reins”--that is of a tonal piece with her new songs to make the transitions between old and new langs not all that awkward.

This six-piece edition of her band, the Reclines, was in such fine form that catalogue selections seemed completely transformed and, without exception, superior to their recorded versions--especially “Didn’t I,” made here into Middle-Eastern country, and the delightful set-closer “Big Boned Gal,” which sounded positively orchestral, like a fun-house Aaron Copland fever dream.

Even the most die-hard meat-industry activist would be hard-pressed not to switch-hit and walk away from this one a closet . . . LLLLLLL ANG FANATIC.

SAN DIEGO PERFORMANCE

k.d. lang performs Tuesday at 8 p.m. at Copley Symphony Hall, 750 B St.