Jason and the Scorchers: Heat of the Night

Jason and the Scorchers haven’t lost their knack for turning hard-luck stories into raucous, blazing fun, nor have they relinquished the claim they staked a decade ago as the hardest-rocking twang band on Earth.

But neither has the quartet from Nashville shaken its own hard-luck story, judging from the scant turnout of about 100 Scorcher loyalists Tuesday night at the Galaxy Concert Theatre.

During their first go-round, from 1983 to 1989, the Scorchers put out a series of EPs and albums, two of which, “Fervor” and “Lost & Found,” rank with the decade’s best off-the-mainstream rock ‘n’ roll. At their brief but incandescent best in ‘84-85, the Scorchers melded Hank Williams to AC/DC with a blowtorch, succeeding in maintaining the lyricism and poetry of country and folk tradition while rocking almost ridiculously hard.

Predictably, they failed to find a home on country-allergic college radio, and the Nashville mainstream no doubt regarded these noisy local boys as if they were a plague of locusts.

Now the original lineup, which reformed in 1993, is back with “A Blazing Grace,” an album that partly recaptures the faded glory of a decade ago. A 75-minute Scorching of the Galaxy showed that the years haven’t taken the spirited physicality and go-for-it rawness out of the band’s live show.

Front man Jason Ringenberg was folksy and full of smiles, treating the tiny turnout as a cup half-full (or, more precisely, one-sixth full) rather than half-empty. If he couldn’t regard Orange County fondly (he noted jokingly that he might inject a little more anger into his vocals than usual, because his ex-mother-in-law lives here), he and deeply drawling guitarist Warner Hodges certainly showed a fond regard for their small contingent of local fans.

They rewarded the loyalists with a show that harked back to the Scorchers’ winningly chaotic heyday. Hodges, dressed in tight black jeans and boots with dangerous-looking spurs, took the role of guitar-slinger literally with a patented move: He slung his instrument around his right thigh, over his left shoulder, and back into playing position as if he were twirling a baton.

In peak moments, Ringenberg could be seen stomping about the stage in his cowboy hat, using his microphone cord as a lariat or a jump-rope and generally acting like a square-dancer who has gotten it into his head to veer off into a one-man car chase.

The encore found him jumping into the audience to sing and blow harmonica while stomping along the horseshoe arc of one of the Galaxy’s tier-front railings--a notable feat of daring and agility.

The elfin drummer, Perry Baggs, bashed mightily (a tad too mightily on a couple of mid-set ballads) and added high harmonies while bassist Jeff Johnson thumped away calmly. Hodges, an embodiment of scruffy cool, may have set back the anti-smoking movement by doing his best Keith Richards imitation, chomping a cigarette in one corner of his mouth while singing harmonies out of the other.

Along with the visual feast came a rewarding musical program that featured both storming, metal-strength rock and twangy country balladry (Hodges is one of the few guitarists who on the one hand could fit in playing slash and burn licks with Motorhead or, on the other, fall in with sensitive fills behind Merle Haggard or George Jones).

Ringenberg struck a plaintive, sweetly lamenting note during the ballad segment with “Pray for Me Mama (I’m a Gypsy Now)” and barked his way through a steam-rolling take on the John Denver nugget “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” With the shifting dynamics of “Broken Whiskey Glass” (still the band’s signature song) and the anthem “Harvest Moon,” Jason and the Scorchers had it both ways, the country lyricism along with the revved-up raucousness.

Their Nashville-based touring partners, Webb Wilder and the Nashvegans, were pushed back to a too-late closing slot as the Galaxy added two local bands as openers in hopes of boosting the gate. Wilder is a big, broad-built singer who adopts a comical, cartoonish persona, dealing out a sideshow barker’s patter along with well-played roots-rock after the pattern of the Rolling Stones, Rockpile and the Fabulous Thunderbirds.

There is plenty of talent in his band (bassist Kelly Looney was outstanding with his supple runs and biting tone), but the late hour and the dwindling crowd gave the 85-minute set the feel of a professional but uninspired run-through.

Wilder could have helped matters had he offset his distancing comic persona with more passionate singing on a couple of darker songs that called for it: covers of Mott the Hoople’s ballad “Original Mixed-Up Kid” and the Flamin’ Groovies’ trenchant scream from junkie-hell, “Slow Death.” Excellent versions of both can be found on “Town & Country,” Wilder’s willfully diverse but entertaining new album of 14 obscure cover songs.