Copyright 1993 The New York Times Company The New York Times June 10, 1993, Thursday, Late Edition - Final SECTION: Section C; Page 20; Column 1; Cultural Desk LENGTH: 553 words HEADLINE: Review/Rock; The Deliberately Derivative, From Jellyfish BYLINE: By JON PARELES BODY: Rock can be the noise of primal passions, but it doesn't have to be simple. From the Beatles and the Beach Boys down through Queen, Squeeze and XTC, rock has also been a medium for ingenuity and duplicity. Ever-so-clever pop constructions, full of key an d tempo and textural changes, can carry equally clever lyrics that defy the simple pleasures of their sugar-coated tunes. Rock's most lapidary songwriters are willing to trade a show of spontaneity for a show of precision and whimsy, demonstrating just ho w elaborate a song can be. Jellyfish, a band from San Francisco that performed on Friday night at the Academy, proudly joins pop's lineage of tuneful tricksters. Its songs cheerfully invite listeners to spot the derivations: the bouncy chords from Squeeze, the falsetto voice over rumbling drums from the Beach Boys, the vocal-harmony glissandos from Queen, the arrangements from the Beatles's "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." Its verbal strategies are close to those of Squeeze; songs from Jellyfish's two albums, "Bellybutton" and "Spilt Milk" (both on Charisma , used big words and fragmented narratives to address topics like the resemblance of rock fan clubs to televangelists' fund-raising ("Joining a Fan Club"), getting away with betrayal ("All Is Forgiven"), a philandering principal ("Now She Knows She's Wrong," which rhymes "D.N.A." and "P.T.A.") or masturbation ("He's My Best Friend"). To its models, Jellyfish adds a fondness for excess: more sudden shifts, pushier drums and guitars, more bursts of vocal harmony. There's no pretense of a song unfolding naturally or expressing a simple emotion. The idea is to cram the music with ideas, turning each song into a Rube Goldberg contraption of pop, daring to incorporate the information overload that pop used to hold at bay. Although many of its models are studio groups that overdubbed their way toward perfection, Jellyfish manages to carry its songs to the stage. Abetted by keyboards that can sound like a harpsichord one moment and a carillon the next Jellyfish can recreate some of its studio sounds, and the four band members supply precise vocal harmonies, for a phrase or a single note. Andy Sturmer sings while standing at a drum kit, socking out the beat. Roger Manning, his songwriting partner, plays keyboard and guitar; at the Academy, he wore a shirt tied at the midriff and bell-bottoms, in fine early-1970's style. Yet while Jellyfish thrives on excess, its concert came across as overbearing. Part of the problem was a strident sound mix, centered on Mr. Sturmer's drums, that made the songs pound even where they were supposed to lilt. And part is built into the song s themselves, which are nearly relentless in their display of craftiness. A little breathing room, perhaps even a touch of humor, would make a lot of difference. Antenna, a trio from Bloomington, Ind., preceded Jellyfish with a set of collegiate-rock songs that moved in unhurried, sweeping crescendoes from folk-rock fingerpicking to bashing on the verge of heavy-metal. The songs are straightforward, not bothering with the obfuscations of much collegiate rock. Antenna's guitarist, John Strohm, and bassist, Jake Smith, sang about love and uncertainty with an unaffected earnestness that made Jellyfish seem even more contrived.