Out of ‘Nowhere’: Excellent Rock

Git outta Dodge, Paleface Jack. Yer kind’s not wanted here.

*

So might go the opening line of an Old West outlaw saga based loosely on the plight of this gloriously talented, scrumptiously catchy yet incredibly overlooked Orange County rock ‘n’ roll band.

Dodge City--a.k.a. the music industry--is busy these days cultivating metal bands that go hippety-hop and “alternative” bands that make punk go poppity-pop. There apparently is no room for unhybridized rock ‘n’ roll, a strain that in some quarters is believed to be in danger of extinction.

So git outta Dodge, Paleface Jack. Orange County, spawning ground for pop-punks, metal-funks and skasters, doesn’t reward your kind, and Hollywood isn’t buying.

The only genre label that fits this exceptional debut CD is just-plain-rock. Paleface Jack singer Brandon McDonald sounds like a less glitzy Michael Hutchence of INXS, guitarists Jeff Inabinet and Eric Torcasio can burn like a wildfire or paint sweet acoustic filigree in perfectly coordinated tandem, bassist Jason Ribakoff leaps in with flowing, gurgling or driving lines that are a treat in themselves, and drummer Jesse Oquist is a sparkplug who fires without fail. And because they’re in their 20s, they should be able to get their handsome mugs on MTV someday.

There is hardly a moment on “Out of Nowhere” that doesn’t tickle the ear and make the toes tap or the body sway. The only lapse on the 11-song CD is the last 2 1/2 minutes of “Lacey,” a good five-minute sad ballad about a fallen woman that through static repetition gets drawn out to nearly eight minutes.

“Superstar” gets the CD off to a heavy but never muscle-bound start that’s redolent of bluesy British rock a la Cream and early Fleetwood Mac, with McDonald sardonic in the role of a celebrity on an ego trip.

Then a quick change of pace with the zestful “Fly With Me,” a sunny, light-stepping ditty about interracial romance that sounds like a Hootie hit we all must have missed.

Next is “Pretentious,” which stakes its claim to unpretentiousness with a chorus that goes “Na-na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na” and probably will be as hard to remove from my head as a nasty computer virus from a hard drive.

Soon they’re hitting you, bam-bam-bam, with the album’s three peak tracks, all in a row: the indelibly melodic six-minute-plus ballad “Margarita Firefly,” followed by “Milwaukee,” a folksy, bittersweet acoustic nugget with tasty bottleneck guitar and a canny synthesis of the coursing-stream riff from Bob Dylan’s “Tangled Up in Blue” and the country-inspired Byrds, circa “Wasn’t Born to Follow.”

Then comes the title track, a zooming rocker in which McDonald sings through a bullhorn about an everyday guy’s frustrations and fantasies: “I need some money, I hate these bills / And I fear they dry me like a desert sun / I need some style, so I can walk down the street / And make the ladies’ heads turn.”

By the time this delectable, varied platter of rock ‘n’ roll ends with an unlisted acoustic folk song--an Old West outlaw saga of violence, vengeance and guilt--one wants to believe that Paleface Jack, given lots of hard work, business smarts, perseverance and luck, will get its wish about paying those bills and turning those admiring heads.

(Available from Paleface Jack, 4141 Ball Road, Suite 187, Cypress, CA 90630; [213] 486-4511 or torcasio@flash.net.)

* Paleface Jack, Ostin’s Pocket and U.S. Crush play Thursday at the Galaxy Concert Theatre, 3503 S. Harbor Blvd., Santa Ana. 8 p.m. $8-$10. (714) 957-0600.

Mike Boehm can be reached by e-mail at Mike.Boehm@latimes.com.