Pop : Brooding Intensity From Bush

Gavin Rossdale, the lead singer of the English band Bush, is the latest in a long line of deliberately dark and brooding frontmen that stretches all the way back to Jim Morrison.

In the quartet’s show at the Roxy on Friday--the fledgling group’s first L.A. appearance since its debut album became an alternative-rock hit--that legacy proved to be a mixed blessing.

On the one hand, it was hard to deny Rossdale’s stage presence or vocal prowess. Projecting expressions of lust, envy and bitterness from under his wavy locks, he cut a compelling figure. On the other hand, he constantly wavered from the cathartic to the gratuitous.

His stated yearning to “fit inside” the object of his obsessions, for instance, and his declaration that “there’s no sex in your violence” (a reference to the Jane’s Addiction mantra “sex is violent,” perhaps?) were certainly provocative, but the purpose of the provocation remained vague.

There was no ambiguity about the music. Wielding a potent blend of beefy vocals and pungently distorted guitars driven by a searing rhythm section, the band pumped the show full of throbbing, vein-popping energy.

With the exception of the Clash’s “Janie Jones” (saucily introduced as “one we wrote and gave away”), Bush’s set was composed of material from the “Sixteen Stone” album. The plucky “Little Things” accelerated to a visceral close, with Rossdale shrieking with primal intensity at the closing line “little things that kill.” A blazing rendering of the band’s radio hit “Everything Zen” ignited the contingent of stage divers. The well-tempered anger and anguish of “Come Down” smoldered effectively, and “Glycerine,” performed solo by Rossdale as an encore, packed a poignant, gritty punch.

Though he borrows heavily from the stylebook of Eddie Vedder and the Afghan Whigs’ Greg Dulli, Rossdale’s passion lacks the heartfelt grandeur of the former; his bitterness lacks the suave allure of the latter. What remains is a lot of strategic gestures that titillate--and without more of an emotional focus, the band’s powerful playing left little lasting emotional impact.

Bush could perhaps do with a few lessons in raw feeling from openers the Toadies, who launched into their surging set of brash and acridly melodic tunes as if the hounds of hell were on their trail.