POP MUSIC REVIEW : Picketts Charge Up Triple Feature at the Coach House

The middle act stole the show at the Coach House Sunday night when three relatively unknown, refreshingly unpretentious bands bands held court for a small but appreciative gathering.

The Picketts, a chooglin’ roots unit from Seattle whose debut album “The Wickett Picketts” is on Rounder Records, is helping to spearhead a movement toward rock ‘n’ roll played with old-fashioned energy and drive.

Christy McWilson is a sparkling and enthusiastic singer who by turns can summon the dulcet sound of Patsy Cline, the earthy quality of Wanda Jackson, the muscle of Linda Ronstadt and the melancholy of Kitty Wells. John Olufs is one peach of a Chet Atkins-inspired guitarist; close your eyes and his use of the volume knob and his intricate right hand technique would have you thinking you were listening to a pedal steel player.

Sunday, the quintet’s original material ran the gamut from hard-core honky-tonk to raging rockabilly to Flying Burrito Brothers-like country rock, but its near-unrecognizable rearrangements of seemingly inappropriate covers were truly amazing. In the Picketts’ hands, “Sukiyaki” sounded like the instrumental track from a Sergio Leone western; the Who’s “Baba O’Reilly” was transformed into a hillbilly jukebox ballad; the Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go” sounded as though Webb Pierce had written it, and Yoko Ono’s “Walking on Thin Ice” came off like a long-lost Hank Williams B-side.

The show’s headliner was James McMurtry, a singer-songwriter from Texas whose detailed, highly literate work owes more to Bob Dylan and John Prine than to such Lone Star State storytellers as Jerry Jeff Walker and Joe Ely.

Looking rather like Dracula (the Gary Oldman version) in denim and Converses, McMurtry-- backed by drummer Ron Erwin and bassist Ronnie Johnson--played songs hallmarked by a dry and cynical wit and simple but effective musical structure.

But he was somewhat less than engaging as a live performer. Standing motionless, his eyes invariably shut tight, his stage patter confined to a few mumbled sentences, McMurtry (whose father is novelist Larry McMurtry) offered no extrapolations as to what might be gleaned from his three well-realized if rather unexciting albums. The intellectual nature of his songs may best be appreciated at home, on CD with a lyric sheet to peruse--instead of coming as they did in the wake of the Picketts’ high-energy set.

To put it less politely, the guy was blown away by his opening act.

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The evening began with a set by local singer/songwriter Mark Davis and his group (Al Wolovitch on bass, Monte McConnel on drums, Todd Compton on violin and Matt Walin on electric guitar). Davis, who released a self-produced CD called “You Came Screaming” earlier this year, revealed himself to be a weaver of haunting hooks and melodies and a lyricist with great personal panache (even if he is a bit too self-absorbed).

His penchant for songs of urgency and despair evoke early Springsteen, and his sincerity as a performer was palpable. The longhaired scraggly bearded Davis well may be a talent to watch closely.