O.C. POP MUSIC REVIEW : 12 Bands, Lots of Harmony : Disparate Crowd of Punks and Cowboys, Rockers and Rebels Enjoys a Great Day of Rockabilly at 8-Hour Hootenanny Festival

At the tail end of the Cramps’ Hootenanny Festival appearance Saturdayafternoon, the band’s cadaverous singer, Lux Interior, suddenly decided to strip down to his spandex briefs and ruby high-heel shoes.

For those familiar with the usually nocturnal horror-rock outfit, it was like spotting Count Dracula sunbathing in his underwear in Central Park. But somehow this strange vision seemed to befit this eight-hour rockabilly marathon, set amid the plentiful sun and greenery of Santiago Canyon’s Oak Canyon Ranch.

After all, there was nothing more odd than going to a concert and finding a crowd consisting of pompadoured rebels, black-clad gothic rockers, hard-core punks and Stetson-wearing cowboys.

These disparate groups even managed to commingle in a friendly and even supportive manner. This atmosphere of brotherhood was best demonstrated when the very traditional country sounds of the Lucky Stars received a warm response at the secondary stage from a crowd heavy with tattooed toughs.

Overall, the performances of 12 bands represented a qualitative mixed bag, which is almost a given at most rock festivals. However, there was no disputing which artist walked away with the most converts. Though second billed, the Reverend Horton Heat blew in like a Texas tornado and had little trouble capturing the hearts and minds of the locals. Heat has star potential because he’s not merely content to revive the familiar strains of rockabilly; he seems bent on reinventing this well-worn form.

The singer-guitarist, raised in Corpus Christi, Tex., and his powerhouse two-piece rhythm section delivered an exceptionally potent show that seemed as spiritually indebted to punk trailblazer Black Flag as it did to rockabilly pioneers Gene Vincent and Elvis Presley.

Combustive numbers such as the galloping “Five-O Ford” and the hillbilly rocker “Baddest of the Bad” were played with a nimble intensity that’s difficult to accomplish. Most rockabilly bands would disintegrate into sonic chaos if they tried to kick out the jams with this type of force.

The trio’s playing is so taut and electric (burly bassist Jimbo Wallace is a monster on upright bass) that it’s easy to forgive Heat’s predilection for extended instrumental jams. It’s little wonder that this up-and-comer has found an audience among alternative and traditional rockers alike.

Dressed in a smart blue suit and silver bola tie, this too-hip cat came across as appealingly gracious and seemed genuinely honored to be playing on the same bill as the Cramps and the Blasters.

Unlike Heat, the Cramps appear to be in a holding pattern. The veteran psychobilly act has become the Ramones of the horror-rock set. The group’s sound and image hasn’t changed much since it first began prowling the rock scene back in the late ‘70s. And at this point the quartet seems content on cashing in on its once solid reputation for melding roots-rock instrumentals with Interior’s ghoulish vocal histrionics.

This doesn’t mean the Cramps didn’t have their moments at the Hootenanny Festival. Old faves such as “Goo Goo Muck,” “She Said” and “New Kind of Kick” were given fairly spirited readings. But the more recent material, such as “Mean Machine,” seemed like toothless attempts at recapturing old glory.

Interior’s semi-decadent, semi-kitschy Iggy Pop-meets-Boris Karloff persona appears to have worn itself out. In an era when many rock artists such as Eddie Vedder use their music to explore their inner psyche, Interior’s distancing act seems passe and a little silly.

The Blasters’ appearance offered a few scattered rewards. First and foremost, the still grimacing Phil Alvin remains a soulful rockabilly vocalist capable of enlivening either a rave-up (“Marie Marie”) or a funky slow song (“I’m Shakin’ ”).

Yet, partly because of an erratic sound mix, the Downey-bred band only occasionally hit the bull’s-eye during its performance.

Unlike during its early-’80s heyday, there also isn’t the sense of urgency and excitement surrounding the Blasters. Without Dave Alvin--Phil’s superb guitar-slinging and songwriting brother, who flew the coup in 1986--there are serious questions whether the band can again be the creatively commanding unit that produced several scorching rockabilly records over a decade ago.

Singer-bassist Lee Rocker and his backing duo preceded the Blasters on the mainstage and chipped in the type of polished but musically bland performance that defined Rocker’s popular ‘80s group, the Stray Cats.

It might have been because of the bandleader’s ego or a poor sound mix, but the electric guitar (the essential instrument of rockabilly) was sometimes obscured by Rocker’s heavy bass pluckings.

To his credit, however, Rocker resisted any urges to resuscitate any Stray Cats hits.

Of the bands performing on a secondary stage (sitting in a very small concrete area near the food court), Big Sandy & His Fly-Rite Boys proved most engaging.

The Orange County quintet played a fluid and old-fashioned set of country-fried music that was far more Hank Williams than Garth Brooks.