POP MUSIC REVIEW : Oh, Yes He Can : David Crosby’s Relaxed Stage Manner Offers a Welcome Contrast to the Polish of His Recent Albums

David Crosby is rock’s answer to David Lynch. How long you are willing to indulge him de pends a lot on whether you are fascinated, repulsed or merely bored by his uncompromising, thoroughly individualistic inner view of the world.

The fascinated made up the bulk of the near-capacity crowd Thursday at the Coach House, where Crosby opened the first of a two-night stand. These forty- and fifty-something fans bellowed approval at every Crosby anecdote, every flourish on his guitar, every rock classic he played during the hour-and-45-minute set.

His performance came in sharp contrast to the tone of his latest album, “Thousand Roads,” a work so polished and edge-less he nearly sounds like the progeny of a Crosby named Bing rather than one of the defining voices of the Woodstock generation.

But outside the studio and accompanied only by guitarist Jeff Pevar, the senior partner of Crosby, Stills and Nash loosened up considerably.

It was a welcome move. His relaxed, genial banter offered a counterpoint to his lyrics, which usually sound like entries from the diary of a man who has nothing to hide and nothing to be especially happy about. His songs aren’t always particularly poetic, nor even enlightening, but they are honest. Sometimes to a fault.

In the new album’s title track, for instance, he sings, “There are a thousand roads up this mountain, you can get lost in a minute if you try.” That’s pretty much what happens to anyone who tries to find a coherent story line or lyrical linear progression in his compositions.

Usually he follows John Lennon’s exhortation and turns off his mind, relaxes and floats downstream. And most of the crowd sounded thoroughly content to bob along with his stream of consciousness.

That’s not to say the 52-year-old singer-songwriter showed any musical flab. (We’ll take the high road and not discuss any other kind.)

He arrived on stage bright-eyed and bushy-lipped, chipper and ever-ready with a quip or a personal story to share. It’s too bad he so rarely finds a way to channel that spontaneity and sense of humor into his albums alongside the brutal honesty.

*

Truth be told, his voice was in fine shape, although he didn’t often hit those signature milk-curdling fortissimos. He unleashed one during the encore of “Long Time Gone,” when an irritating howl of feedback tried vainly to upstage him. Throwing back that long-maned head, Crosby vocally belted the wayward sine-wave into submission.

Surprisingly, he also gave the brush to his new album by performing only two songs from it--the other was “Hero,” his semi-hit collaboration with Phil Collins--and nothing from its 1989 predecessor, “Oh, Yes I Can.” But by including three unrecorded songs, he managed to prevent the evening from feeling exclusively like a journey through the past.

Still, the Woodstock-vintage Crosby was well represented by renditions of “Wooden Ships,” “Deja Vu,” “Guinnevere” and the aforementioned tale of late-’60s political disillusionment, “Long Time Gone.” It was a timely choice just four days shy of the 30th anniversary of President John F. Kennedy’s assassination. It was equally sobering to realize that the song is older--24--than many of these fans were when it was new .

Guitarist Pevar deserves credit for a good 50% of the sparks generated, and for keeping Crosby from sinking into the terminal reverie the weighs down the “Thousand Roads” album. His blistering solo in “Wooden Ships” egged his Rock and Roll Hall of Famer pal into displaying his skill as a rhythm guitarist. Crosby rippled off a pattern of strums and chokes that nicely approximated a Latin percussion section.

In other songs, Pevar employed slippery electric slide work, wah-wah, neck-bending and other effects, not for their own sake, but nearly always in the service of a lyrical image or emotion.

Since his release from prison several years ago after serving time on drug and weapons convictions, Crosby has made much of the second chance he has received, and how lucky he feels even to be alive. Although he has much in his checkered past to ruminate over, it would be nice to hear him write at least one song that sounds infused with the joy of the living.

*

Singer-songwriter Susan James, who has been reviewed in these pages recently, earned a chutzpah award for including her idiosyncratic version of “Eight Miles High” in opening the show for an ex-Byrd.