POP MUSIC REVIEW : Round Trip Has Some Ups, Downs : Waylon Jennings’ full-circle performance at the Crazy Horse featured some still-relevant songs but was tarnished a bit by an unadventurous itinerary.

Waylon Jennings clearly appreciates the cycles of life. Why else would he have titled his 1979 album “What Goes Around Comes Around” and his ’88 effort “Full Circle”?

His early show Monday at the Crazy Horse--the first of four Monday and Tuesday--captured the upside and the downside of such cycles.

Noting the circular nature of his recording history, Jennings, 56, cited his return to RCA after eight years away, an event marked by the release of a double-CD boxed set of 40 of his songs from his previous stint with the label, an affiliation that lasted about 20 years.

Saying he is very pleased with the project, he pulled a handful of songs from his RCA years into a medley that gave fair treatment to each, rather than quickly hitting a key verse or chorus and moving on.

Another sign of the full-circle mood of the evening was how remarkably accurate his song “Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way” remains nearly 20 years after he first recorded it.

Back then, such Texans as Jennings, Willie Nelson and other “outlaws” were just getting a boot in the door of the Nashville-dominated country-music industry. That song, and the movement it characterized, provided a much-needed jolt to a status quo that had left all but a select few musicians artistically straitjacketed by slick production and stock sentiments.

As Jennings’ song put it:

Lord, it’s the same old tune, fiddle and guitar.

Where do we take it from here?

Rhinestone suits and big shiny cars.

It’s been the same way for years.

Now that country is more popular than ever, the same kind of predictability has left anybody not willing to conform out in the cold. So his selection of that number midway through the 65-minute set served as more than a trip down memory lane.

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On the downside, much of his set was afflicted by restricted parameters as he hewed closely to the same set list on which he has relied for several years.

Throughout his career, Jennings--like Johnny Cash and Emmylou Harris--has eschewed the round-up-the-usual-suspects approach to choosing material by other writers. That has been evident in his early support of such unsung country songsmiths as Billy Joe Shaver and Rodney Crowell as well as his willingness to record songs by such rock-world figures as Los Lobos and Neil Young.

But on Monday, the emphasis was on songs he has done countless times (“Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys,” “Good Hearted Woman”), performed competently but without inspiration, and to the exclusion of his worthy recent material that country radio has bypassed.

A perfect example from his most recent album, 1992’s “Too Dumb for New York City, Too Ugly for L.A.,” is “Just Talkin.’ ” The song runs counter to the love-it-or-leave-it mind-set that still afflicts too many country musicians’ attitudes toward the good ol’ U.S.A. But no doubt it still would have been cheered for capturing the frustration of so many average Joes and Janes over the way the political process has taken on a life of its own:

We got a lot of politicians

Up there on Capitol Hill.

Ain’t it funny how they prosper

While the country stands still?

But instead, the only song Jennings drew from the latest album was the borderline novelty tune “Smokey on Your Front Door.” Hank certainly didn’t do it that way.

Jennings’ rich baritone, of course, is still a thing of wonder, as he demonstrated anew with a haunting version of Bob McDill’s “Amanda,” about a man who regrets the things he hasn’t been able to give, or be, to the woman he loves. Likewise, his signature guitar-driven sound, as instantly definable as Cash’s, carries him a long way. But there was a time not so long ago when Jennings wouldn’t have been satisfied to be carried.

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His five-man band hemmed him in as often as it helped him soar. Steel guitarist Robby Turner was his chief ally, turning in several colorful, unpredictable solos that amplified the yearnings or uncertainties Jennings was singing about. But drummer Jeff Hale dragged songs down periodically with uncomfortably square rhythmic foundations.

Jennings’ wife, Jessi (Still Not Lisa After All These Years) Colter, joined him late in the show and put far more emotion into the obligatory performance of her 1975 hit “I’m Not Lisa” than anyone could have expected her to, given that she has sung it at most every Jennings show since Gerald Ford was President.