Last Friday night, area music fans braved below-freezing temperatures, trudging through slush and snow to witness the return of a local legend. Juliana Hatfield was back with a full band for the first time in two years, kicking off the U.S. leg of a tour in support of her new EP Please Do Not Disturb. Along with a cold picked up last week in Australia, Hatfield seemed slightly ill at ease--perhaps with the prospect of a national tour looming ahead, a new band member's aggressive stage presence (red-jumpsuited bassist Mike Welsh) or the daunting prospect of signing with a new label. Though she delivered an eclectic and technically adept set, Hatfield failed to electrify her listeners as she has done so often in the past. Abandoning her usual witty repore with the audience, Hatfield barely interacted with the mildly soggy mass of fans who ranged in age from early teens to '40s.

Starting in the late '80s with the seminal Boston indie-pop band Blake Babies, Hatfield has built a career around her girlish, often straining voice and simple, pop driven song structures. The recent release of Please Do Not Disturb, however, marked a sharp departure for the Boston-based artist. With its hollow, often menacing production, heavily distorted bass guitar and aggressive, direct lyrics, the EP opened up for her a whole new arena of musical possibilities. Hatfield's show reflected all of the strengths and weaknesses of the new approach.

Older songs, like the opening "I Got No Idols" and "Outsider," were revitalized by the new Hatfield sound. The latter, a bit sludgy and tentative on Only Everything, was transformed by an up-tempo delivery and hardcore bass (courtesy of a barefoot and ecstatic Welsh) into a tune which both excited and engaged the audience.

Other Hatfield standards did not fare so well under the new sonic regime, as evidenced by an uncomfortably crunchy and hurried version of 1993's "For the Birds." A delicate pop confection in its original form, the song ended up sounding like an accidental high-speed dub. Though Hatfield's examination of new sonic landscapes is laudable, it would be in her best interests to selectively, rather than globally, apply them. The same problem cropped up on Only Everything, a virtual concept album which could have easily been entitled "50 Minutes of Mid-Tempo Tube Distortion."

Given the amount of new material Hatfield has generated over the past two years, it was a little disappointing that music-hungry fans were not able to hear more of it. Of the 19 songs (including two encores) played during the course of the night, only three were unreleased. The rest of the set consisted of a mix of the past two albums, the new EP and a couple of B-side releases. It was unclear whether Hatfield was uncomfortable with the new material and unready to share it, or merely looking to give the crowd what it was looking for. Certainly the inclusion of classics such as "My Sister" and "I Got No Idols" made sense, but the set list might have been significantly improved by losing some of Only Everything's more tired fare such as "Dying Proof", a too-heavy version of "My Darling," in exchange for some fresh material.

Ironically, the most invigorating performance of the evening came with the first encore, for which Hatfield performed two 1989 Blake Babies standards, including a supercharged version of "Take Your Head Off My Shoulder." The song, originally bittersweet pop, was brilliantly re-interpreted as emotive pop-punk. That Hatfield's most bracing offering was culled from her oldest material, was surprising and somewhat discouraging.

The magic of Hatfield's music is far from gone, and at times the new material shone with the promise of her best early work. Stylistic variety, though, is still missing, at least from her live show. Until she is able to throw off some of the excessive restraint exhibited at the Paradise, Hatfield will be unable to communicate fully with her listeners. She gave the impression that she was putting forth only a small portion of what she had to offer, and a little more would go a long way