Julian not to be confused with that Lennon

Geoff Carter

Monday, Aug. 16, 1999 | 11:14 a.m.

Hanging in the back of the House of Blues at Mandalay Bay is an "outsider" painting of The Beatles in full "Sgt. Pepper" getup.

It's a touching portrait, if a bit heavy of brush stroke, and lends an air of dignity to a room in which a portrait of former President Jimmy Carter also resides. It's in the back of the room, by the entrance to the ladies' room, where I spend a fair amount of time during gigs.

I only mention it because Julian Lennon played the House of Blues Saturday night, and he seemed to have a thing about the Beatles, mentioning them rather prominently before the Dave Clark Five-styled "I Don't Wanna Know." Later a dancing baby-boomer informed me that he was the son of late avant-Beatle John Lennon.

Go figure.

Seriously -- and I say this with all the respect due father and son -- Julian Lennon doesn't sound a damn thing like his old man. Whatever paternal comparisons Julian may still receive (he pointedly dedicated the Merseyesque "I Don't Wanna Know" to critics who persist in making the link) are likely made by critics who haven't listened to The High Llamas or Oasis closely enough: By God, all these English guys sound like The Beatles, if you listen hard enough.

Julian's identity problems don't begin and end at the famous footsteps he seems intent on tripping over. While it didn't exactly stun me, at least Julian's half-brother Sean's debut had a strong sense of identity, even if it's one borrowed whole from the Beastie Boys (owners of the Grand Royal label that released his record and -- in their own weird, "Revolution Number 9" kind of way -- budding Beatles themselves). Julian's problem is one of simple self-actualization: Does he rock, or doesn't he?

Either way he's very close. A pumped-up, bluesy rendition of "Too Late For Goodbyes" impressed, as did "Crucified," an Eastern-tinged art-rock number that strongly recalled George Harrison's maharishi-jive. (Later, while introducing the band, Julian puckishly introduced guitarist Matt Becker as "a master of the Harrisonesque slide guitar.")

It's the betwixt and between numbers that misfire: "Cold" could have been a real boiler with a little more angry resolve in the mix, and his unreleased ode to self-reliance, "No One But You," is stronger in intent than delivery.

Julian is a better than competent musician, and his songwriting gifts are developing apace as he distances himself from his you-know-what. But he really needs to knuckle down and focus; many of his songs drift close to the dreaded adult contemporary ghetto and settle in.

Once he's made a choice -- to either rip it up or turn it down -- people might believe him when he claims to have overcome the obstacles placed by lineage. As it stood, the House of Blues crowd was just one Beatles cover away from going completely nuts, and to Julian's credit -- or his detriment, depending on how you look at it -- he never delivered it.