The Saw Doctors: The Cure for Spiritless Rock

They’re beloved in Great Britain and Ireland. Years ago, the group even claimed the biggest-selling single (“I Useta Lover”) of all time in Ireland. Nevertheless, mention the name Saw Doctors to just about any American and you’ll be met with a blank stare.

That anonymity, particularly on the West Coast, can be attributed to the rockers’ infrequent stopovers here and the fact that the group has released only one album domestically, last year’s 17-track “best of” compilation, “Sing a Powerful Song” (Paradigm Records).

In its Orange County debut at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano on Friday night, the Saw Doctors served up a hearty, nourishing sample of what we’ve been missing. The band’s splendid, nearly two-hour set celebrated the inherent power of well-played, heartfelt, jovial music.

Perhaps inspired by a headlining performance earlier in the week at the Fleadh festival, an annual Irish music bash in Chicago, the 11-year-old, noisy little rock band from the Galway County town of Tuam simply soared. Its life-affirming, catchy numbers about romantic longing, national pride and everyday life in a small rural town were irresistible.

One sweet ballad, “Red Cortina,” recalls the wonder--and terror--of first love as lead singer Davy Carton crooned, “First love stays with you forever . . . and ever.” Another selection, the snappy, fast-paced “Hay Wrap,” is little more than a musical conversation of farm workers baling hay.

Still, the Saw Doctors (a name derived from travelers who earned money by sharpening saws) balanced the wistful, hometown-based material with songs having a more universal application. Of these, highlights included the tender love song “Wake Up Sleeping,” the hilarious, chatterbox-bashing “Blah Blah Blah Blah” and a playful war of words between the sexes titled “She Says.”

The charming innocence of the quintet (including adjunct band member Derek Murray) might come off as overly sentimental, perhaps even hokey, in less capable hands. But through sheer force of will--and a warm, unpretentious stage manner--the Saw Doctors managed to turn the normally saccharine into something winsome.

Adding to the group’s appeal was a full-bodied, harmony-laden sound with roots more in the classic American mold of the Everly Brothers or Beach Boys than in the Irish punk-rock of Stiff Little Fingers. Another plus was the versatile Murray, who spiced up the predominant guitar-bass-drum attack with his well-placed accenting on accordion and keyboards.

Now, there’s no denying that the group lacks the spiritual yearning of early U2, the soulfulness of Van Morrison or the raw, sometimes nasty bent of the boozy Pogues. But so what? The Saw Doctors’ positive outlook is earnest, and why not let an idealistic ditty as refreshingly unjaded as “What a Day” sweep you off your feet?

Although the show did lean primarily on lighter-weight fare, several songs tackled meatier subjects with insight and skill. Recalling contemporary protest singer Billy Bragg, Carton’s most impassioned vocal came during the homesick-driven “The Green and Red of Mayo.” Equally impressive, the somber “Sugar Town” told of the economic demise of the band’s hometown, while the introspective “Share the Darkness” unveiled anxious feelings of self-doubt and loneliness.

But the tone overall was celebratory and had the willing crowd dancing and singing along. If justice prevails when the Saw Doctors’ first domestic album of new material is released in October, these likable lads from west Ireland will be a well-kept secret no more.

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Opening act the Fenians, one of Orange County’s most popular Irish American rock bands, was greeted with the kind of fervor usually reserved for the headliner. But over the last nine years, the five-man band has built up a following through its steady local gigs. Not surprisingly, many of the Fenians’ most vocal supporters turned out for the band’s Coach House debut.

Still, the Fenians’ hourlong set of primarily traditionals and covers demonstrated why the group has yet to emerge from the bar-band circuit. Despite the solid musicianship of lead singer-mandolin player Terry Casey and whistler Tardu Yegin, the group panders far too much to the party-hearty vibe of its undemanding audience. In fact, with a motto like “Have Fun . . . or Get Out” emblazoned across their T-shirts, the Fenians are about as subtle as El Nino.

An appealing cover of Luka Bloom’s “Couldn’t Have Come at a Better Time” notwithstanding, there’s little sense of artistic reach or vision in the quintet’s repertoire. Surely these blokes would be better served by writing more original numbers--like their inspirational “Casey’s Jig”--than tossing out one more version of “Drunken Sailor.”