You might think it inauspicious that the first two songs on Ron Sexsmith’s latest album, his 12th, contain the word “nowhere.” To say that Sexsmith’s career hasn’t fulfilled the potential suggested by his songwriting gifts and the amount of critical buzz thos gifts engendered back in the 90s is saying nothing, of course. After all, he’s made it to 12 albums, all of which feature professional production and arranging. Besides his clever turn of phrase, his greatest strength has been his talent for tune, a Paul Simon-ish ability to avoid repeating melody lines too often. As to the charge that he was born too late, well what did being a boomer do for John Prine? Fortunately, the punningly revelatory title, “Forever Endeavour,” isn’t the best thing about his new album. It’s the mix of jaunty and melancholy, the way Mitchell Froom’s production complements rather than overwhelms the singer’s modest performance style, the refusal to accept aging as a losing proposition. He’s still got somewhere to go.

Fuji is a place he’s gone to often since he first played here back in 1999, the premiere year at Naeba. Thanks to regular touring here he’s cultivated a fan base that one usually doesn’t find in Japan for modest male singer-songwriters. So I wasn’t surprised at the size of the crowd that showed up for his 2 pm gig at the Red Marquee (given how punishing the sun had become, I think a good portion of the crowd were simply seeking shade). What surprised me was how much of the encouraging shouts and heartfelt applause was coming from males. Girls I get, because even if you don’t appreciate Sexsmith’s verbal facility you really do believe that he believes in love, or at least it determined to make himself believe in love. Maybe more guys like that sort of thing than you’d think.

Sporting a powder blue jacket and a bit of a paunch, Sexsmith’s awkward stage presence is compensated by a sureness of vocal command and a very sympathetic band who never overreached, even on the token rockers. Sexsmith’s characteristic jaunty “thank you’s” between songs belied the melancholy those songs conveyed. He really does enjoy himself, and it was clear from his reaction and that of his musicians that they were extremely moved by the audience’s response. When he played his one bona fide hit–actually, a hit for the woman who co-wrote it with him, Feist–”Brandy Alexander,” there was a rush of pride in the applause afterward, as if they were so happy he could gain recognition in the larger world, meaning outside this shed of adoration. Of course, he’s a successful solo artist, and if he hasn’t achieved the kind of general fame his fans think he deserves, that’s OK. It just means there’s more of him for them. -Phil