That `Nearly Human' Guy Does It All

Todd Rundgren, at the 5th Avenue Theatre last night.

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No topic is too profound or too insignificant to escape the notice of Todd Rundgren, who's carved a career out of putting his philosophical puzzles to pop music.

In his first stop in Seattle in a decade, Rundgren was at the peak of his quirky and polished powers over the course of a 2 1/2-hour show last night at the 5th Avenue Theatre.

With the support of a delightful 11-member band, alumni from his 1989 album ``Nearly Human,'' Rundgren stepped out from his old hiding places behind the keyboards and guitar to play bandleader and singer.

The art deco confines of the restored venue afforded an ideal acoustical setting for Rundgren's striking vocals, particularly evocative on ``Parallel Lines,'' ``Compassion,'' ``Love of the Common Man'' and ``Can We Still Be Friends.''

Although the ``Nearly Human'' tour was heading into its final stops in Portland and San Francisco, the quality of Rundgren's voice gave no hint of the mileage. He darted from the sleek heights of his Philly falsetto to the harsh plains of his rock-bark with acrobatic agility.

Rundgren came on stage wearing a gray suit, his long hair styled in some Elvira-meets-Ron-Wood coiffure concept.

It created an interesting visual counterpart to the lyrics of his opening song, ``Real Man,'' one of his earlier experiments in

pushing the envelope of traditional masculinity.

Seldom does a rock singer with Rundgren's addiction to taking risks come off sounding as compelling in person as on recordings. But Rundgren playfully trod his musical tightrope with hardly a misstep.

Now 42, he comes across as more at ease performing than in some earlier incarnations in his idiosyncratic two-decade career.

His big new band displayed the off-the-wall theatrical sensibility of the Tubes, the nutty San Francisco group which Rundgren once produced and toured with. The presence of Tubes keyboard player Vince Welnick, plus a torchy backup singing trio of Michele Gray, Jenni Muldaur and Shandi Sinnamon, heightened the glam-camp impression.

Between songs, Rundgren carried on a post-modern social commentary. He managed to land verbal body blows to every dubious cultural icon from Mike Tyson to Milli Vanilli.

Rundgren, who titled an early album, ``Whoops! Wrong Planet,'' still seems to have a few axes to sharpen on what he regards as the hypocrisies of the commercial market.

``The thing that's shaken me up the most is `New Artist of the Year' - Milli Vanilli - just when the Grammys were starting to win back their credibility,'' he said.

``They could solve a lot of problems and avoid a lot of controversy if they had a `Best New Hair' category. That would free up a lot of the other categories for purely musical pursuits.''

The band Guns N' Roses also got thoroughly strafed in Rundgren's remarks. He proposed a parody of the Gunners, before swinging into a raucous rendition of the Utopia hit ``Love In Action.''

``Just close your eyes and imagine that Axl, Slash and the boys are up here,'' he said. ``Except, we're going to do it without the misogyny, misogamy and racism that usually accompanies their music.''

If Rundgren was more aggressively wacky than in his ``Tortured Artist Effect'' days, there was always a probing subtext running through the show.

The message was expressed most overtly in a medley that started with ``Lost Horizons'' and segued into a moving version of Marvin Gaye's ``What's Going On'' and ``Mercy Me.''