If the Fox or the WB network had a soundtrack, Shawn Mullins would be its poster boy. Mullins is the kind of guy you'd expect to see doing guest spots on hit shows, playing at Melrose Place's Upstairs or serenading Buffy and her posse at the Bronze. A strumming Mullins would provide a likely sonic backdrop when the camera pans to an angst-ridden Dawson. Or he could wind down Ally McBeal's episodic travails alongside Vonda Shepherd at the bar downstairs. In all cases, the easy-listening single "Lullaby" would be the appropriate song choice. But one song doesn't keep you in the spotlight forever, and after last night's show, it's no wonder.

With his rose-tinted glasses (literal, not figurative) and a stocking cap shielding his eyes, Mullins looked comfy on stage with a three-piece backing band. He should be, considering he's been touring for the better part of ten years. But it was Mullins' spoken-word tendencies, which were barely audible, that ripped the stocking cap off his head and shades from his face to expose him for what he is -- a lyrically self-indulgent, Jack Kerouac wannabe.

Traveling across the U.S., Mullins picks up stories from the people he meets and turns them into songs. But marring his best efforts is a shameless tendency to thrust himself in the middle of his subject's lives, and in many cases, particularly in "The Gulf of Mexico," his entry feels more like an intrusion. And it never ceases. If there had been a sale on cliches at Kmart, Mullins would have cleaned them out for Friday (March 5) night's set. He inundated the twenty-something crowd with tale after tale of poor castaways and lonely wandering souls, from "Twin Rocks, Oregon" to "Anchored in You." Worst of all was "You Mean Everything to Me," which would have made even Air Supply cringe with lines like "So if there is anything at all/All you've got to do is call" and "love heals everything." The song started to get pumped up at the end, but just when you thought it was going to pop, it deflated, and was left dangling limply at the end of a chord.

The most telling moment of the evening came when Mullins played the song that's brought him all that recognition. Ironically, no one seemed to recognize it -- until he said "Rock-a-bye." To Mullins' credit, "Lullaby" is a groovin' song that you can't help but tap a toe to. It's a sorry child-of-Hollywood-excess story, but as long-winded as Mullins can be lyrically, he at least gives the chorus a hook that's worth talking about.

After a brief forty-five-minute set, Mullins encored with, "Shimmer," a plea for a utopian society. Once again, the audience was treated to sappy lyrics: "He's born to shimmer, he's born to shine/He's born to radiate/He's born to live, he's born to love/but we'll teach him not to hate." Mullins and the band did their best to shake things up, but it's another song that throws a punch that never hits. Like "Lullaby," it has a catchy melody, but its "let's embrace the world and love one another" message seems to come from the "I'd like to buy the world a Coke" school. Have his travels across the States turned up nothing deeper than a Boy Scout den meeting lesson?

At the end of the evening Mullins said in a humble voice, "I'm just happy to be here," and you don't doubt his sincerity. After years of working his ass off touring and putting out eight albums, his determination has paid off, and what started as a grassroots phenomenon has turned into a Hollywood success story. But even before his fifteen minutes times out, Mullins sounds old hat. He's charmed the pants off the music industry and the media with his one hit, but it's going to take more wit and originality than he showed here to keep his career from falling back asleep once that sweet little "Lullaby" ends.

MARIAN MONTGOMERY
(March 10, 1999)