MUSIC REVIEW : Campy Spellbinder : Screamin’ Jay Hawkins puts horror props to good use, but the music makes the show matter.

The expected big moment, that anticipated blood-curdling rendition of “I Put a Spell on You,” wouldn’t come until late in his first set. But it hardly seemed to matter in this latest appearance of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins at the Palomino, where the grim rocker kept things rolling at a fast and hilarious pace.

In the first of two shows Saturday night at the North Hollywood club, Hawkins performed with all the campy horror and sexual innuendo that have defined his career, at least since he recorded that old voodoo hit in 1956. So when Hawkins finally climbed the stage, after a brief set of rock ‘n’ roll chestnuts by his own backup quartet, he was well-prepared to mortify and mollify, to amaze and amuse.

He seemed properly dressed for the role--as always during his frequent appearances at the Palomino--with his rust-colored outfit cut from an African batik, frilly lace at the cuffs and collar. Around his neck was draped a rubber snake; in his left hand was Henry, a plastic skull mounted on a cane. And on Hawkins’ piano were other ridiculous horror props: toy spiders, a battery-operated severed hand, more plastic skulls.

He put all of this to good use, of course. But ultimately it was the operatic volume of Hawkins and the fine playing of his band that made the show matter. In fact, it often seemed less a performance of songs than a series of classic rock and blues riffs, with a generous bandleader insisting his players stretch out their solo parts: “One more! One more! One more time!” Hawkins shouted again and again.

Otherwise, Hawkins’ humor was the night’s central ingredient, infecting song titles and lyrics with a wry and raw--though never graphic--sensibility. He sang “Happy Birthday” to a friend in the audience as if it were a funeral dirge, pounding the keyboard ominously, eyes bulging.

At other times, Hawkins didn’t seem to need any lyrics, choosing instead to sing and slur and blurt and growl a variety of sound effects. Or he’d mumble plain nonsense, as when he prayed to some supreme being: “Give me a woman with six breasts on her chest; give me a woman with hair dripping to the ground; give me a woman with hair dripping with gravy.”

At that, Hawkins turned to his band and said, “I can’t believe I said that.”

Opening act Florida Slim & the Hurricanes performed an agreeable enough re-enactment of ‘50s-style rockabilly, with all the expected elements of stand-up bass, jeans, sideburns and greasy hair.

Both a tribute and campy show biz, the Hurricanes’ act sounded serious during dramatic ballads and proper rockabilly numbers, though the guitars could have used some extra volume.

And yet, it might have been the band’s truer nature that emerged near the end of its set with songs like “White Trash Princess” and “Dr. Nick,” which repeats the legend of Elvis Presley’s own physician. But the end didn’t come until the band’s thumping version of “Viva Las Vegas,” which led singer Florida Slim to climb onto a nearby table and shake himself out of his shirt.