Sliver of the Smithereens

SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO —  Pat DiNizio fought the law and the law shrugged.

Near the end of his hour at the Coach House on Wednesday, the Smithereens singer-songwriter, moonlighting on his first solo tour, elaborately brandished a lit cigarette and took a theatrical puff.

“Somebody come up and arrest my New York ass,” DiNizio sneered, his halo of smoke and portly form flouting California’s new legal realities and entrenched image-projection fantasies.

It was clear, however, that no risk was involved. DiNizio couldn’t get arrested in San Juan Capistrano, where fewer than 100 fans turned out to see him.

It was far from the packed and steamy shows the Smithereens used to play at the Coach House in the early ‘90s, and it proved how little the singer’s scruffily bearded face counts apart from the band.

But Smithereens fans should do more homework. DiNizio’s solo album, “Songs and Sounds,” has a couple of studied departures, but mainly it’s a bunch of above-average Smithereens songs with different players and a leaner, somewhat garagier approach.

DiNizio and his backing duo of bassist J.J. Burnel from the ‘70s British band the Stranglers, and drummer Tony “Thunder” Smith, from Lou Reed’s band, played the album’s dozen songs in order before throwing in the Smithereens’ career-making hit, “Blood and Roses,” for dessert.

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Smith, with his emphatic but nimble playing, was the closest thing to a lead instrumentalist; DiNizio’s guitar, rigged to emit simultaneously both dirty electric fuzz-tone and cleaner acoustic-style jangle, and Burnel’s bass mainly provided thickening.

The lack of a real lead guitarist was an occasional drawback. (DiNizio’s efforts were primitive without being fiery enough to make primitiveness a virtue.) Yet a good vocal mix ensured that catchy tunes and harmonies rose above the sludgy rock glop.

DiNizio’s husky / nasal voice is limited but is a good vehicle for the tension, angst and bitter complaint in his narrow-reaching but distinctive songs about relationships falling into eclipse.

His new album provides interesting layers of meaning in songs that posit the joys of the unfettered life but also measure the cost paid in impermanence and disconnectedness.

DiNizio’s performances were full of emotional commitment, especially on the wistful ballad “Liza,” a sequel to the heartbroken-daddy-phoning-from-far-away-at-bedtime scenario of Steve Earle’s “Little Rock ‘n’ Roller.” Mainly, though, the set was about sonic fun as the trio pounded away on variations of styles set down by the Who, Buddy Holly and the Byrds, among others.

Like all good pop burglars, DiNizio hides his tracks just well enough not to get caught red-handed. The semi-masses who grooved to the Smithereens’ peak late-’80s stuff would do well to sniff out his trail.

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We’ve written reams about how Kerry Getz, who preceded DiNizio, has everything it takes to light up the world of Lilith Fair; this time the Newport Beach singer-songwriter, usually a solo-acoustic act, got to prove it with a fine backing trio that offered a nice blend of sensitivity, clout and inventive guitar texturing.

A new song, “What Do You Want?” swelled into an urgent anthem chorus, with Getz’s rich, confident and nuanced voice riding above the band and showing a willingness to go for the big pop gesture. “Apollo,” the title ballad of Getz’s independent CD, and “Inhale,” which recently won her fourth place in a national song contest, were sublime as usual, but the big thrill ride came with the dynamically unfolding drama of “This Summer Afternoon.”

Opening act Paleface Jack was a real find: five guys in their 20s who played as if they not only knew about Mitch Ryder but also could capture the spirit of his raw, kicking roadhouse rock ‘n’ roll.

Singer Brandon McDonald isn’t a shouter like Ryder or a spitfire barker like Graham Parker, whose ‘70s British “pub rock” school also found an echo in Paleface Jack’s combination of tunefulness, chops and roughed-up spunk. Still, his smoother approach had its own presence and verve.

Guitarist Jeff Inabinet obviously has a major crush on Keith Richards, although the set-opening, too-faithful cover of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” took the Stones fixation too far. Bassist Jason Ribakoff was a bouncing little ball of exuberance.

Paleface Jack had the skills to lay down a good tune, then intensify it with probing, unpredictable instrumental workouts. Let’s hope this infectious band, whose average age is about 25, starts an epidemic of neo-pub rock to go with the prevalent O.C. strains of punk and ska.