The Boston Globe
February 10, 1992
Robyn Hitchcock Goes Mild
by Jim Sullivan
Not all the world loves a cult hero. But certainly a core group of the Rock 'n' Roll cognoscenti do, which is fine and good. But for the cult hero in question, life on the fringes may have its real frustrations: how much critical praise-cum-limited-commercial-success can you take?
Robyn Hitchcock -- a lanky English singer-songwriter-guitarist, the former leader of The Soft Boys -- is at that crossroads. He has a resume that becomes a cult hero most: a semi-legendary status, a sneaky wit, and an expansive worldview. An undeniable charm and, yet, a certain impenetrable quality.
Hitchcock began Saturday's sold-out show at Avalon in true cult hero form. He and his backing duo, The Egyptians, hit the stage and Hitchcock launched into a discourse that seemed mostly about the large globe of tendril-like light positioned near the back of the room -- which Hitchcock termed "a flickering brain." He noted, "We'll be collecting stray thoughts and using them again." Then the band kicked in. Typical Hitch! But, as it turned out over the course of the 100-minute set, not-quite-so-typical Hitch (and somewhat problematic Hitch).
Hitchcock, 39, is a quirky, abstract Pop tunesmith with a love of Psychedelia, a knack for jarring imagery, and a flair for engaging melody. He's oft perceived as a more-together Syd Barrett in that he shares with the ex-Pink Floyd avatar a sense of whimsy and experimentation -- but hasn't plunged off the deep end and wound up a recluse living in his mother's basement. (This is a prime Barrett legend.)
In fact, Hitchcock's material is becoming more direct over time -- both lyrically and musically. And while "Oceanside" and "So You Think You're In Love" -- the first two songs of his latest CD Perspex Island and the opening selections Saturday -- are gorgeous, sweeping songs; they're a tad slight in the edge-and-emotional-resonance department. They're a little obvious, airy, blithely buoyant.
While no one begrudges Hitchcock his happiness, consider this juxtaposition that occurred near the end of the show. First, a mostly acoustic version of "My Wife And My Dead Wife": an old, obscure gem where the protagonist wrestles between the alluring vision of his drowned wife and the reality of his new one: "I'm trying to decide which I love the most/The flesh and blood or the pale and smiling ghost". It's haunting, obsessive, and sly. Next up, the first song of the final encore, "Ride" (where the refrain was straight from Cliche Central: "If you don't love yourself, what's the sense of someone else loving you?"). Yes. But clank.
It was that kind of hit-or-miss set. The first half was electric. The next segment was mostly acoustic (a bit solo). The last electric again. Highs and lows came in each. One problem is comparative reasoning: Hitchcock is often more compelling as a solo act. His 1990 set at Nightstage had more spunk and character than did Saturday's set; where he, bassist-pianist Andy Metcalfe, and drummer Morris Windsor created a lot of lulling, pleasant waves; but not many big breakers. Exception: "Ultra Unbelievable Love", where Hitchcock speed-shifted his lead guitar playing into overdrive during the coda, earning a major ovation.
The show was heavily weighted toward material from Perspex Island, and thus it wasn't surprising that jangly pleasantness and mild, feel-good romantic vibes ruled the roost. There's nothing necessarily wrong with either, but Hitchcock's gone much further. This concert wasn't much of a journey: it was more a gentle massage.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE