Pop Music Review : Del Amitri: The Mad Scatters of Rock ‘n’ Roll

Del Amitri is either kind of average for a very good band, or very good for a merely decent band.

The Scottish pop-rock band operates with a made-up name that even front man Justin Currie had to confess makes no sense to him. That’s fitting enough for a fish-nor-fowl band that is hard to pin down because it is not bold enough to forge a strong identity yet is savvy and skilled and committed enough to make appealing music of its own while living in the shadow of the more striking bands it evokes.

In a four-album career dating back to 1985, Del Amitri has won some critical respect without really qualifying as a critics’ darling and has scored a couple of rock-radio successes without breaking through to major stardom.

True to form, Del Amitri played a praiseworthy but not exceptional, flawed but not flimsy show Tuesday night at the Coach House, before 400 or so fans whose cheers suggested that not everyone holds such reservations about the band.

Pluses in the 90-minute set, most of which was devoted to songs about troubled relationships, included the stormy opener “Food for Songs” and the dark, mid-set rocker, “Crashing Down.” Both brought to mind the clenched, lean, dramatic delivery of Free, the early-’70s English band that exemplified pop-spiced blues-rock at its best.

The slow, straining lament, “One Thing Left to Do,” could have been a Badfinger number, while the brisk, catchy, pure-pop tune, “Roll to Me,” had guitarists Iain Harvie and David Cummings doing their best Lennon and Harrison imitations as backup singers behind Currie, who was doing his best chirpy Paul McCartney.

Lapses included the arena-rock stage shenanigans and posturing that turned “Hatful of Rain” into an arid gulch, and a bland, by-the-numbers cover of the Beatles’ “Come Together” that made for a disappointing denouement to the brooding, wind-swept, groaning-feedback passage that had developed quite promisingly at the end of “Crashing Down.”

Currie had trouble rising to true soul-man splendor late in the show on “The Last to Know,” in which his R&B-style; vocal vamping appeared to be an impromptu, unsuccessful attempt to rescue the sputtering song after Harvie’s guitar fell silent because of technical difficulties. The singer also struggled during “Here and Now,” when the number’s extreme high-range demands overtaxed his usually solid falsetto.

Among the other contradictions: Harvie’s peevish reaction to the audience early on, followed later by relaxed, joshing banter with the crowd and fellow band members. Also, a truly odd ensemble look featuring a handsome, Mellencamp-like lead singer, and a bespectacled, graying keyboards player, Andy Alston, who resembled the balefully droning schoolteacher from “The Wonder Years.”

The rambunctious Harvie looked like a refugee from another band--a longhaired, craggy-faced, floppily mustachioed fellow who would have been at home in Black Sabbath or Molly Hatchet. In an encore vocal turn on Motorhead’s hard-rock burner, “Ace of Spades,” Harvie made it clear that he really wanted to be Lemmy Kilmister.

Of course, given Del Amitri’s scattered approach, Harvie within moments of doing his best hard-rock heathen imitation was crooning sweet folk-pop backup vocals as the band closed with a warm, relaxed acoustic reading of “Be My Downfall.” Maybe an indeterminate name does suit this vaguely likable band best.

Second-billed Melissa Ferrick, a Boston-based folk-rocker, came on strong with a big voice of many dramatic hues and a rattling, percussive, acoustic-guitar style. Ferrick, who just released her second album, “Willing to Wait,” has plenty of talent and verve as a singer and guitarist, and a fiery presence on stage.

What she still doesn’t have is strong enough material: Though much better than her performance at the Coach House two years ago, her set, for which she was accompanied only by an electric bassist, suffered from lack of melodic focus and a tendency toward stentorian declamations and youthful self-obsession.

*

Also appearing was Fuzzpop, a young Orange County band that needs a lot of work but showed some potential.

Fuzzpop’s ‘80s college-rock style recalled some of R.E.M.’s initial coattail-grabbers on the Georgia and North Carolina scenes. A couple of wistful, mid-tempo numbers at mid-set showed that the four-man band knows how to write a decent pop melody and place it in a coherent structure, and a concluding basher, “Growing Up Behind the Orange Curtain,” displayed some riled-up grit.

But the rhythm section needs much tightening to drive the band with authority, and singer Jim Harrell needs to expand his range and vary his throaty inflections. Guitarist Bryan Boots (his real name) was the most advanced player; Fuzzpop came closest to clicking when his lyrical, emotion-tinged leads provided a second melodic voice.