Disarming and Dangerous

If you still think Fiona Apple is too young at 20 to be singing about the stark, troubled themes in her music, you should have seen the audience at her concert Friday night at the Wiltern Theatre.

While twentysomethings dominated, there were large contingents of girls in their early teens who responded to each song with a fervor that suggested these largely autobiographical, confrontational stories were also their stories.

The reaction underscored Apple’s point in interviews that teenagers deal with issues of sex and self-identity much earlier than previous generations.

And Apple, despite the sophistication of her best songs, seems to thrive on stage in identifying with her young fans. On Friday, for instance, she did nothing to hide the little girl in her.

Early in the 80-minute set (which followed an uninvolving performance by the group Laika), the singer-songwriter seemed like a stereotypical Valley girl as she giggled her way through thanking two young fans who had sent her a choice e-mail message.

Later, Apple--who has been called everything from angry young woman to loose cannon because of her biting lyrics and outspoken comments off stage--also stepped away from the intensity of her vocals to reveal a sweet, disarming side.

Smiling sheepishly, Apple invited her older sister, Amber, on stage for a happy-birthday duet to their father, actor Brandon Maggart.

Both moments were refreshing because performers, especially young ones, often get so caught up in image that they lose--or at least refuse to show--the human touches that underlie their art.

In the case of Apple, who began writing some of her best-selling “Tidal” album when she was in her mid-teens, it would have been easy during her rapid pop ascent over the last year to become trapped in the “angry” tag that has been placed on so many female artists in the ‘90s. Instead, Apple has the confidence to exhibit a Judy Garland-like vulnerability.

Don’t, however, let that innocence obscure the quality and frequent depth of Apple’s work. While the songs are mostly set in terms of relationships, the common element is a search for self-affirmation. “You made me a shadowboxer, baby / I wanna be ready for what you do,” she sings defiantly in “Shadowboxer.”

In this and other numbers, Apple isn’t just lashing out at lovers, but anyone who doesn’t respect a person because he or she isn’t perceived as old enough or pretty enough or conforming enough. That view was underscored in her stirring version of Jimmy Cliff’s anthem-like “Sitting in Limbo.”

Backed by a five-piece band, Apple, who played piano on about half the tunes, performed each song with a conviction and customized phrasing that was commanding. When standing at the microphone, she often twisted and shook her body with the intensity of a belly dancer, but the objective didn’t seem aimed at seduction. Her moves were more akin to a performance artist celebrating her own self-worth.

The evening’s most affecting moment was when Apple was alone on stage, accompanying herself on piano on “Never Is a Promise.”

While some of her songs are a touch plain, the best combine the accessibility of traditional pop with the burning embers of ‘40s torch songs. Both elements shine in “Never Is a Promise,” a song of survival that is so touching and graceful that it served Friday as an electrifying demonstration of the artistic promise of this gifted and daring young artist.