BY LEE ZIMMERMAN

It's a sad fact, but inevitably all too true. Any concert by Ray Davies, erstwhile leader of the Kinks and perhaps one of the greatest pop composers of the 20^th century, is bound to disappoint. Why? Because for every classic he offers in live performance, and no matter how ample his set, ultimately there will be several that he's forced to omit, much to the chagrin of diehard devotees who have followed his prodigious career over the course of some 45 years. Discouraging?  Yes... but how could it be otherwise?

That was indeed the case at Davies' late November stopover at the Fillmore in Miami Beach, the second night of an abbreviated national tour that gives him the first real opportunity to mix in a handful of selections from his belated solo career -- a career that Davies himself noted with some astonishment, mocked or otherwise, is a scant two years old. Nevertheless, it was clearly those Kinks Klassics that the faithful came to hear and their level of satisfaction was inevitably reflected by how fierce a fan they were.

After a frenzied opening set by Locksley, a young Brooklyn-based band that had the looks, the hooks and general persona that effectively made them dead ringers for Davies' own outfit early on, the man himself strode onstage to the cheers of the crowd, broadly acknowledging their hurrahs with an affable wave and good natured nod.  Performing as a duet with guitarist Bill Shanley, his steady accompanist since the Storyteller tours of several years back, Davies displayed his characteristically wry humor early on.  "I asked my agent to book me in some little clubs and coffeehouses," he remarked, glancing at the Fillmore's trademark chandeliers. "But this looks like a casino!"

Regardless, the intimate environs of the Fillmore -- recently refurbished as a world-class concert venue following years of decay as a second string venue for lavish musicals and the MOR mainstream -- was a perfect setting for Davies and his sit-down repertoire.  Peppering his songs with seemingly off-the-cuff comments and the occasional request (most of which seemed tipped towards the evergreen "Waterloo Sunset," which, reports say, was neglected the night before in Tampa, but happily performed here), Davies trolled mainly from the earliest entries in his extensive catalogue, opening with acoustic renditions of "I Need You," "Where Have All the Good Times Gone," and "'Til the End of the Day" before pausing for "After the Fall," "a song about retribution and guilt" culled from his solo debut Other People's Lives.  The Kinks Katalogue then got a second go-round with "I'm Not Like Everybody Else," "Dedicated Follower of Fashion," and "Muswell Hillbilly," interrupted only by another Other People's Lives offering, "The Tourist," which he claimed was written during his ill-fated residency in New Orleans.

Mostly though, this was a show peppered with nostalgia, a sentiment Davies was compelled to allude to repeatedly.  He waxed nostalgically about his brother Dave, with whom he bore a tempestuous relationship that became legendary throughout most of the Kinks' Kareer.  Having apparently mellowed, he dedicated the middle bridge of "Workingman's Café," the title tune from his most recent album, to his former foil and unflappable guitar slinger.  Not to be undone by undue emotion, he followed with a pair of songs about addictions, the rowdy sing-along "Demon Alcohol" and "The Morphine Song," penned while recovering from a gunshot wound suffered in the Crescent City after he attempted to abort a robbery.

In Dave's absence, Shanley proved an able sideman, whether adding a second layer of deft acoustic guitar or hammering out electrifying leads and strident instrumental riffs as needed to accent the sharper edges in Davies' designs.  A scorching solo in "Low Budget" and some riveting six string interplay in "20^th Century Man" showed without question that Shanley had indeed earned his salary.  Nevertheless, Davies himself was forced to concede that his old band still held a special poignancy and affection in the hearts of all who attended, and he gave the group a special shout-out as the show wound its way to a conclusion with a series of stand-bys from their earliest era - "Tired of Waiting," "Set Me Free," and "All Day and All of the Night," before concluding with a rowdy trio of tunes backed by Locksley - "You Really Got Me," a riveting "Victoria" and the inevitable "Lola."  They gave the crowd a limited revisit to the Kinks' trademark mayhem, animating the audience and priming them for an expected encore that never came. 

After nearly thirty songs and an hour and a half, most performers could be forgiven for leaving on such a high note, but therein lies the roots of dissatisfaction for the true Kinks kultists, the fan who's scoured every Kinks disc since the start, reveling in even the most obscure and neglected portions of the Davies discography, at least as viewed by the world at large.  So while the big breakthrough hits were purveyed thoroughly, huge gaps of Ray's repertoire went untouched.  For every "You Really Got Me" and "Lola," gone unaccounted were the entirety of the fabled Village Green Preservation Society, the optimistic illumination of "Days," even the elegiac elegance of "Celluloid Heroes."  

As the latter song suggests, you can, perhaps, "see all the stars as you walk down Hollywood Boulevard."  But sadly, you can't cruise down Memory Lane and expect to hear all the songs you want to in a single Ray Davies songfest.