The stuffed monkey hanging beneath the cymbals was not particularly evocative, but after the Pat McGee Band's 15th consecutive love song of the night, it was difficult to focus on anything else.
Although originality lurked in the occasional guitar solo or improvisational jam at the band's Tufts performance on Wednesday night, for the most part, the Richmond, VA sextet never got beyond its fascination with folksy guitar riffs and romantic nostalgia.
It's hard for a crowd to be enthusiastic at a venue like Dewick-MacPhie, so it's unfair to blame Pat McGee for the infectious lethargy that spread throughout its late-evening set. But to be fair to Dewick, the band deserves credit for at least some of the yawns: its unrelenting sentimental tunes were interrupted with only one cover song, perhaps two jams, and a short solo act by the eponymous band leader.
When it's good, the Pat McGee Band stands tall among its colleagues in the "college band" genre. Though you wouldn't know it by his dyed-blond hair - an incongruous touch for a singer who sounds more good ole boy than MTV punk - McGee uses melodious vocals that match his plaintive lyrics wonderfully. And the lyrics themselves are wonderful, stories of lost love that make a listener almost long for heartbreak.
Listening to "Hero," the difficulty was not matching an experience with the story, but sifting through the catalogue of failed relationships to find the best match. McGee sings, "She'll be your hero when the lightning falls/She'll tend to your head down and break down walls/She'll promise you heaven and drag you through hell/She'll never look back you might as well," while the audience mentally composes romantic prose or hate e-mails to distant exes. In "Runaway," you can't help but cheer for McGee when in awestruck confusion he implores, "Runaway, runaway, runaway to me/Darling won't you stay with me."
The sound produced by the McGee six was not much fuller than the music of opening soloist Howie Day, but there were some highlights from band members. Brian Fechino, on electric guitar, added excitement to the bridge of some otherwise predictable tunes, and Jonathan Williams' keyboard and vocals gave needed distraction to McGee-watching. John Small's bass, however, was missing in action, but the unified crew turned inspiring during Pink Floyd's "The Wall," when fans first awoke to sing along.
The group generally succeeded in transferring its soft sound from the studio to its given stage, and McGee, whose vocals dominate the music, had little trouble recreating his recorded hits. Unfortunately, the concert was perhaps too similar to the CD, with the band demonstrating little interest in showmanship. McGee did not often address the capacity crowd, and ignored ceaseless pleas for "Rebecca," the band's most popular song, until a less-than dramatic midnight encore.
And sadly, "Rebecca" did not arrive at Tufts unblemished. The song is a complicated marvel of harmony and guitar, but with Pat McGee singing with a feigned, hip lack of enthusiasm, and attempting an impossible one-man harmony, the encore was the last page in a comfortingly monotonous musical bedtime story.
They've got Guster's bongos, Dispatch's lovesick sweetness, and The Dave Matthews Band's caucasian, visor-wearing fan base. And it hits pretty close to the mark. In "Lost," when Mr. McGee sang "I am lost myself over you," there was a distinct risk of captivation. Yet at the night's end, the overarching message from the band seemed was one of desperation: You might not fall in love with our music, but please sing along, and maybe you'll fall in love with us... or your ex-girlfriend.
