Ely Makes His Album Pitch With Spanish Accent : Pop music review: Flamenco-flavored Coach House program is made up almost entirely from his latest release.

If nothing else, you’ve got to give Joe Ely credit for his earnestness. The Springsteen for the trailer-park set was sweating like a pig even before the first song of his Monday night set at the Coach House had been completed.

But the firebrand from Austin-by-way-of-Lubbock settled into a formula for being taken seriously some years ago, leaving behind the spontaneity and raw good-timiness of earlier days, when a belly full of rockabilly thunder and head full of hillbilly guile was all he needed to ignite a party.

Thankfully, Ely has at least abandoned the album-oriented-rock pandering of recent years, because Tom Petty he definitely wasn’t, no matter how hard he tried. But his latest, Spanish-flavored material is still a far cry from the full-throttle glory days spent with Lloyd Maines’ screaming slide guitar and Ponty Bone’s chugging accordion work.

Playing acoustic guitar and backed by Spanish flamenco guitarist Teye and bassist Glenn Fukunaga (what, no drums?!!!), Ely’s show Monday night concentrated almost single-mindedly on material from his recent “Letter From Laredo” album. The tales of hard-workin’ daddies, desert-spawned outlaws and other assorted no-’count losers were heartfelt and, as always with Ely, delivered with rare and honest intensity. But the show was largely thematic--a one-trick pony rather than a bucking stallion--and it suffered for lack of more material from Ely’s estimable catalogue of such gritty near-classics as “Dallas,” “Musta Notta Gotta Lotta” and “Mardi Gras Waltz.” To his credit, Ely at least sneaked in a blistering turn on “Me and Billy the Kid” amid the “I’m Supporting My New Album” set before the night was through.

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Appearing much younger and fresher in person than on the cover of “Laredo,” Ely cast his usual spell of intimacy at the Coach House, meeting the eyes of the audience with a near-confrontational stare, going off on screaming tangents of pure musical passion and obviously meaning every word he sang.

But guitarist Teye’s studied technique, though virtuous, was often at odds with Ely’s primal rawness, and blues and rock ‘n’ roll are apparently foreign concepts to the Euro-perfectionist’s sense of musicianship. Too, Ely’s obsessive preoccupation with Spanish-flavored melodies and minor-chord-dominated progressions grew tiresome as the evening dragged on.

Of course, an artist has a right--if not a responsibility--to change and mature with the passing years, and one cannot expect Ely to be locked into 1980 forever. But he still has too much to offer to settle into boring concepts while hunger obviously resides in his soul.

Have a shot of tequila, Joe.