JAMES : BOSTON AVALON 10.2.94

Setlist : Sometimes, Heavens, Tomorrow, P.S, Five-O, Come Home, Goalies Ball, Lullaby, Laid, Say Something, Honest Joe, Low Low Low, Sit Down, Out To Get You, Ring The Bells, Maria, Born of Frustration, Sound

Jim Sullivan, The Boston Globe

At this point, no one can legitimately claim to have just "discovered" James. After all, the British band is 11-years-old - ancient mariners sailing in the alternative rock ocean, if you will - but the band has, mostly, maintained a low profile. They have been semi-stars in England - and touted by both Morrissey and Neil Young - but their early albums on Sire in the US barely made a dent. Their first appearance locally was in late 1992 when they opened up for Tom Tom Club and Soup Dragons at the Channel. While James made a strong mark in concert - passionate, creative, built of U2-like stock - and the concurrent album, "Seven" (on Polygram) struck a chord, they seemed to fade back into the woodwork. Too un-definable? Too fey? Too British?

Who knows? But recent times have been good for the sextet, fronted by rag doll-like singer Tim Booth. Their current, Brian Eno-produced album "Laid" is a hit and they sold out Avalon a week ahead of their 90-minute set last night. And they were, in a word, sublime.

All right, you're trapped in Criticsville so more adjectives will, of course, follow: uplifting, elegaic, panoramic. Mostly, James is all about a journey, musical and emotional. Last night, it started on a soft, spiritual-romantic plane with "Sometimes (Lester Piggott)" ("Sometimes when I look deep into your eyes/I swear I can see your soul") and "Heavens," and it coursed through the quietly accusatory "P.S" (with its "You liar . . . You're sour" punctuations) before, mid-set, moving back to the spiritual and atmospheric with "Come Home" and "5-0" ("Will we grow together?/Will it be alive?/Will it last forever?)." Then, another arc that included the sensual pop bounce of "Laid," the techno throb of "Honest Joe," the anthemic, U2-like reach of "Sit Down" and the closing of the regular set, a spacey, synth-and-violin driven piece called "Skindiving," a song that would not be out of place on Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here."

We're talking bredth and depth. We're talking head and heart. We're talking about a band that can crisscross the emotional spectrum and sell neither despair nor euphoria short or cheap.

There's a sense of integrity and, you might gather, a moral purity to this band. It's not unlike the vibe you'd sometimes get from early R.E.M, U2 or Waterboys. And, there's not any pompous, tilting-at-windmill rockisms - aka The Alarm syndrome.

With James, there's nothing in the least that's showy. Booth flopped listlessly in the breeze until the encore, when he donned a dress (for the first time on stage, he said) and did a bit of whirling-dervish stuff. Basically, James' songs tend to climb slowly, sometimes from an acoustic guitar base, and reach a series of glorious crescendos. Sometimes, it's a double percussionist's climax; sometimes it's a flavor added by a slide guitar (a rarely heard flavor in this genre); sometimes, it's the bond you feel when a heartfelt singer admits, "We feel nothing at all," or, alternately, "What I need is you."

James' sound is the sound made by a velvet hammer.