Opinion: Willie Nelson's Scrapbook

The country music industry, despite its best efforts to maintain an aw-shucks, down-home appeal, is a well-honed machine that is both sophisticated and efficiently formulaic.

Its songwriters crank out polished and well-constructed tunes the way Detroit used to produce cars in the mid-'50s, and its performers are well versed in the art of giving their mostly working-class audiences what they paid all that hard-earned money to hear.

Willie Nelson, who opened the 1997 Absolut Vodka-Seagram's Tonic Waters series to a standing-room-only crowd at Guild Hall on Sunday, is no exception.

Like A Pro

On the last stop of his tour, Mr. Nelson and his six-member band, Family, performed what was probably a rote song list heavily laden with Mr. Nelson's own hits - "Good-Hearted Woman," "Crazy," "On the Road Again" - tributes to other country stars like Merle Haggard and Kris Kristofferson, and a smattering of chestnuts - "Georgia On My Mind," "All of Me," and "Stardust."

It didn't seem to matter to him that the crowd, except for a few die-hards, was anything but country. Or, for that matter, that most people in the audience probably had little trouble coughing up the $70 for a seat or a chance to lean against the wall in the cozy John Drew Theater.

Mr. Nelson, dressed in black sleeveless T-shirt, jeans, and running shoes, handled his chores like the old pro he is, acknowledging each round of applause with a wide grin and pausing, like Elvis with his hankies, to hand out a couple of his trademark red bandannas to two children in the front row.

Thrown Away

But that effort to be all things to all people also undermined Mr. Nelson's performance. Truly outstanding gems like "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" were often sandwiched between lesser songs or given cursory treatments that turned them into throwaways.

His cover of Steve Goodman's "City of New Orleans" included only half the verses, and his phrasing was off on others, including Mr. Kristofferson's "Me and Bobby McGee," which overshadowed the nice groove his band had laid down.

The breakneck pace required to cram as many hits as possible into a 90-minute show also unfortunately hemmed in Mr. Nelson's musicians. The level of competence required to play regularly with a star of Mr. Nelson's caliber is generally conceded to be far greater than that of many musicians who probably make a great deal more money on the rock circuit. But, except for a few moments, Mr. Nelson rarely let his band members strut their stuff.

Weathered Guitar

As a result, a concert that got off to a rousing start with "Whisky River" rarely was able to get a full head of steam under it. It was if Mr. Nelson, with a stable of horses that could finish 1-2-3 in the Kentucky Derby, was content to let them graze in the paddock.

What little instrumental interplay there was focused on Mr. Nelson's own guitar playing. He's damn good. Although he plays an old beat-up classical guitar with nylon strings that give it a warm, bluesy tone, Mr. Nelson picks it hard, producing melodic solos overflowing with notes.

His muscular approach has obviously taken a toll on his instrument. What was a small opening worn beneath the sound hole from his powerful downstroke when he last appeared here, at the 1992 Back at the Ranch concert, has grown considerably. It gives one pause to wonder if Mr. Nelson, who seems as intertwined with his guitar as bull briar vines are to trees in the woods, will be able to carry on once it gives up the ghost.

Save The Oldies

In any case, he will still have his voice. A hard-edged twang - close your eyes and you can almost picture Ross Perot on stage - can turn into a resigned whisper or scrape bottom at his command.

Despite his insistence on playing the big hits, Mr. Nelson was able to surprise. He joked that he was going to put out a reggae album, and, referring to his prodigious output, added, "Maybe it's out already," before launching into dignified, restrained, and, thank God, not rushed covers of Jimmy Cliff's "Sitting in Limbo" and "The Harder They Come."

Late in his show, Mr. Nelson also paused long enough -and found it necessary to apologize for some reason - to play a stripped-down version accompanied by guitar and piano of "She's Gone" from his most recent release, "Spirit." It's a lovely, haunting, and soulful song that begged the question: Why doesn't an artist of Mr. Nelson's stature feel free enough to concentrate on his newer material and consign the oldies to the attic to be pulled out and worn only on special occasions?

Eager To Please

Maybe the answer lies in the country aversion - born with the Grand Ole Opry and carried on today - to taking for granted the people who pay your meal ticket.

However, that desire to please, which often comes across as artificial, can also be genuine. Even with a long ride back to his home in Texas ahead of him, Mr. Nelson was accommodating, waiting in his customized tour bus at least a half an hour after the show while 25 of his newest old friends from East Hampton, including some of Guild Hall's season ticketholders and a few awestruck fans, climbed on board. He handed out autographed glossies, posed for snapshots, and planted a kiss or two on a beaming cheek.

The man looked tired. Tired, but pleased.