Long on Gags, Too Short on Vitality

Looking more like computer nerds than rockers, John Linnell and John Flansburgh have turned a geeky image--and no little pop savvy--into a still-thriving enterprise known as They Might Be Giants.

Since the two Johns formed the group in 1985, they have gained loyal followers who wholeheartedly embrace the New Yorkers’ propensity for fun and weirdness. They sing about a person who explodes after staring at a statue (“The Statue Got Me High”), our expansion-minded 11th president (“James K. Polk”), space travel (“Planet Moon”), hairpieces (“Purple Toupee”) and “Santa’s Beard.” They Might Be Giants even wrote a song about themselves (“They Got Lost”).

The group also has benefited from a few irresistible singles, including “Don’t Let’s Start,” “Particle Man,” “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” and the absolutely charming “Birdhouse in Your Soul,” which features the classic line “My story’s infinite/Like the Longines symphonette.”

Still, what became apparent during Saturday night’s long gig at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano is that quirkiness and whimsy can take you only so far, so long. A variety of stage props and goofy chatter are fine, but over time, bands rise and fall on the quality of their material.

They Might Be Giants has a new live album out called “Severe Tire Damage,” featuring the single “Doctor Worm.” But the group artistically peaked in 1990 with “Flood,” and since then has produced more misses than hits.

There certainly was no hiding that fact during a tedious set that stretched nearly two hours. For every “Birdhouse” or serious-minded “Your Racist Friend,” the group, which includes five touring members, played three or four other forgettable selections that failed to engage the listener. Most of their presentation consisted of uninvolving songs that passed uneventfully by.

Making matters worse was the murky sound mix that buried the majority of Linnell’s vocals. This was particularly troublesome because his distinctive, nasally voice gives the group much of its texture and personality.

Still, none of these deficiencies seemed to bother the young, enthusiastic, party-minded throng that packed the club. In fact, with the encouragement of Flansburgh, many willing fans formed one long conga line and snaked through the aisles during the concert’s final number.

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Following an opening set of overly derivative pop-rock from local band Just Plain Big, second-billed Michael Shelley served up an impressive 30 minutes of intelligent, emotional and catchy pop. Backed by bassist Mike Randall and drummer David Green--both on loan from L.A.’s Baby Lemonade--the New York-based singer-songwriter-guitarist combined the pop craft of Nick Lowe with the manic depression of Morrissey in unexpectedly winning ways.

The low-key Shelley convincingly played the role of the lonesome loser during several songs of unrequited love, including the tender “Think With Your Heart” and the heartbreaking “Jigsaw Girl.”

But he wisely ventured beyond that familiar terrain to express a bit of cautious optimism in both “Surfer Joan” and a warmly nostalgic tale of summer love on Coney Island entitled “Rollercoaster.”