Pavement at a Crossroad : Palace appearance thrusts group from cult performers to major musical forces, surprising themselves as well as the audience.

Even as they poke their heads warily into the glare of wide acclaim, underground heroes Pavement hang on to their reputation as a willfully contrary band, still willing to subvert their potential popularity with performances that indulge their experimental urges and slacker ambivalence.

But there wasn’t any attitude getting in the way on Thursday at the Palace, where the quintet staked a claim in the front ranks of new American bands. The show was focused and straightforward but never dull or predictable, and the band’s vigorous playing enhanced the attributes of its recent “Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain” album.

Pavement, which formed in Stockton five years ago, has evolved far beyond its initial dissonant mission and now it has roots in some key arteries of American pop--primarily country-rock and the Velvet Underground. Throw in some punk, Devo and chirpy, buoyant pop, plus a nod to maverick visionaries such as Captain Beefheart, and you have a lot of room to maneuver.

Stephen Malkmus’ voice is wobbly but determined, troubled but amused as it sings about isolation, family conflicts and the uncertainty of committing to a rock ‘n’ roll life whose promise is in doubt. Instead of the usual Angst -ridden approach, these themes are often stated with a charming obliqueness, and there’s a resonance to their self-referential imagery that matches the exhilarating lift in the music.

It all came across sounding great at the Palace, with the rhythm section strong and driving and co-founders Malkmus’ and Scott Kannberg’s guitar interplay edgy and inventive. Woozy harmonies and off-kilter beats kept things off-center enough to keep you on your toes--this is lively, alert music that follows impulses and retains rough edges, and in the manner of the best rock bands the musicians seem to be tapping a force that surprises them as well as the audience.

The enthusiasm and energy of the playing and the physicality of percussionist-backup singer Bob Nastanovich were tempered somewhat by an air of reserve in the on-stage posture of Malkmus, the band’s focal point in concert. Pavement might be reaching out, but it’s not about to completely abandon its touch of mystery--the members have discarded their old silly synonyms, but their names aren’t mentioned in the record company biography.

Many cult bands inevitably arrive at this crossroads where some kind of accommodation between independence and ambition, accessibility and integrity must be reached. The notion that music is best when it remains obscure is repeatedly disproved, but it’s still an alluring one. Pavement’s rejection of it is almost as exhilarating as the music they make.