On each ticketholder’s table Monday at the Vic there was a flier declaring “Free Leonard Peltier!”
Otherwise Jackson Browne’s political agenda of hopeless causes-which dominated his music for the last decade-was on sabbatical, and it was back to the state of mind known as California. The singer-songwriter knows that interior geography better than just about anyone, how the ’60s dreamers became the walking wounded of the ’70s.
If there’s a misconception about Browne’s music, it’s that the melancholy melodies and moonlit lyrics should come with a complimentary razor blade. From “Late for the Sky” to “Sky Blue and Black,” Browne’s songs are populated with guys who are up way past their bedtime, wrestling with problems they’ll never solve.
Yet the music pulls the singer through any hint of self-pity. In “Late for the Sky,” Browne’s still-strong voice rang out over his piano, then was joined by Scott Thurston’s harmonies while Mark Goldenberg’s guitar nodded in empathy from the shadows. Then there was the rumble of Mauricio “Fritz” Lewak’s drums that brought “For Everyman” to a transcendent close, like a fault line splitting the heavens.
All but ignoring his politically charged ’80s material, Browne devoted nearly half the show to songs from his recent, inward-looking album, “I’m Alive.”
“Looking up and down this road/I’ve been here before,” Browne sang. On this return visit, the songwriter added a few pop twists to lighten his introspection: the reggae lope of “Everywhere I Go,” the doo-wop harmonies of “My Problem is You,” the Latin inflections of “Too Many Angels.” The songs sounded almost pleasant in contrast to the brooding beauty of the early classics.
There were also reminders of Browne’s harder-rocking middle period. “The Pretender” and “That Girl Could Sing” benefited from the thwack of Melissa Etheridge’s rhythm section-drummer Lewak and bassist Kevin McCormick-and Browne punctuated “Running on Empty” with a Springsteenish leap.
“In case you haven’t noticed there’s a theme to tonight’s show,” Browne deadpanned during the encore. Hands in pockets, the male musicians in Browne’s backing band joined him on stage for an ode to onanism, “Rosie.” Alone again, naturally.
The humor took some of the sting out of the finale, “All Good Things,” which reminds, “The thrills have to fade.” Somehow, Browne seemed almost reassured by that inevitability, his music renewed.
Opening was the Story, a promising female duo that struggled to be heard above the din of an audience too busy ordering drinks to pay attention.
