Only 20, Shepherd plays like a veteran

Geoff Carter

Monday, June 8, 1998 | 1:42 a.m.

Flipping his long blonde hair out of his face, trying in vain to keep his blue velvet shirt from sliding down his shoulders and dropping to his knees occasionally, Kenny Wayne Shepherd looked every bit the venerable rock star when he played Sunday night at The Joint inside the Hard Rock hotel-casino. He reminded his audience of someone who has been plying his trade since the first Woodstock.

And the most amazing part: even if he wanted to, Shepherd couldn't enjoy half the amenities his hosts had to offer. He's all of twenty, you see. Which raises the question: is the genius coming from him, or through him?

Any conjecture about Shepherd's being a musical Ouija board was short-lived due to circumstances; the man inadvertently burned the Joint down within twenty minutes firing off the most amazing blues/rock guitar this side of Hendrix.. Shepherd's sidemen are talented indeed - gravel-voiced twenty-five year-old Noah Hunt sang his heart out on "Gone (Long)", and keyboardist Jimmy Wallace has probably forgotten more about blues piano than most of us will ever know - but Shepherd practically ditched them all the first time he slid into one of his solos.

Shepherd likely doesn't mean to bury his sidemen, but his talented hands have other ideas. The blues stomp "Shame Shame Shame" was the musical equivalent of a UFO sighting; one was compelled to turn to the nearest bystander and ask, "Jeez, did you see that?" And their face would tell the story: mouth hanging slightly open, eyes closed, head bobbing.

Shepherd's playing is so wild, so fluid that you need not look at him to see him playing. You can close your own eyes and see him - on his knees, head thrown back, grinning as his own sound elevates his soul. Shepherd's bravura set was a full-blown event, one not to be missed.

Openers Todd Snider wielded some thunder of his own. Not to be outdone by the main attraction, Snider let loose a fusillade of barroom-rock rave-ups drawn from his latest record, "Viva Satellite." So charming was the young rocker - a Jimmy Buffet protege - that his spiel nearly superseded his playing. But his vamp on Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Fortunate Son" and his Elvis-style karate moves were both means to an end, and Snider's set was as raucous and entertaining as a saloon full of brawling lumberjacks.

Snider's anti-expansionism anthem, "This Land Is Our Land," pretty much sums up his approach - ponderous subject matter with clever twists ("Heaven knows we need this land for super bowls / subway rides, remote controls, pesticides / gang related homicides") and enough rock bombast to get the point into anyone's thick skull.

Opening the show was pop/folk trio Uma, whose smart, spare sound beggars attention. Their set evoked everyone from Dylan to Michael Penn with modest grace, and their album, "Fare Well," is a must-have. Yet one had to wonder: what was this quiet, introspective coffeehouse outfit doing in front of a pair of speeding freight trains?