Scotty McCreery at the Beacon Theater The central sound of Scotty McCreery is something like a deep "yeah" without the "y," and it was the first one he made on stage at the Beacon Theater on Friday afternoon. "Eaahhhhhhow y'all doing tonight New York!" It connotes ease, security, gravity and mystery, and finds idiomatic equivalents in the phrase "might as well" and a lopsided smile. Todd Cassetty Scotty McCreery, singing his own material and covers, on Friday at the Beacon Theater. It is a low-register rattle of the vocal cords shifting in and out of a tone. It flickers between singing and what speech analysts call a vocal fry, and Mr. McCreery uses it to lead toward or away from his other favorite effect: a short, quiet melismatic roll. This two-part device connects some of the greatest slow-tempo singers in country music - Merle Haggard, Keith Whitley, Randy Travis. It creates a wall of unknowability, but it's also a power move, the sound of a man trying to establish his dominion. And it can be a form of resistance. Mr. McCreery, from Garner, N.C., is 19, a freshman at North Carolina State, and still has about a quarter-tank's worth of unconditional love from the young female fans he gathered by winning "American Idol" two seasons ago. They were there at the Beacon, screaming a little at the swells, crying a little when he sang a concerned mother's words in the songs "Letters From Home" and "Dirty Dishes." He has made two records since his victory: "Clear as Day," full of summer-vacation love songs, and "Christmas With Scotty McCreery," a holiday record so unconcerned with cool that it is in fact kind of cool. He probably should be thinking about innuendo, controversy and base broadening but is still working on his gentlemanly affect and telling fish-out-of-water "Idol" anecdotes that end with him proclaiming himself country to the bone. So his show at the Beacon - a Hurricane Sandy benefit that donated $5,000 to the Christian relief organization World Vision, and that started at 5:30, early enough for some of his fans and their moms to be home by dinner - felt heartening. Here's a guy who shines a steady beam. Here's a guy fronting a trebly and efficacious little country band, heavy on Telecasters and steel guitar, a guy who knows what he likes and won't be distracted. He was dull, but dull with conviction, definition and finish. He did not practice the eye pops and sideways microphone technique that impressed "Idol" judges in early May 2011. Those were effective, and weird, but a temporary aberration of a serious person. He's not quite appealing to record collectors, but to the extent that he is responsible for his own repertory, he is doing a version of that, something about getting close to the tastes of one's father and perhaps one's grandfather. Outside of his album tracks he sang songs from the early to mid-"90s: "The Dance," by Garth Brooks, a silver-lining reflection after a breakup; "Check Yes or No," by George Strait, about a man who feels uxurious 20 years after his wedding (reminder: Mr. McCreery is 19); and "T-R-O-U-B-L-E," by Travis Tritt, a sexy argument for abstinence. He sang "That's All Right," Elvis Presley's first single; he assumed a young Elvis stance to sing it. He sang the early 20th-century folk anthem "Man of Constant Sorrow," leaning on the drone notes hard and well. Next to Pia Toscana, the stagy and skilled "Idol" contestant who joined him as a guest for a shuffle-rhythm, rockabilly "Holly Jolly Christmas," Mr. McCreery was a gargoyle of stoicism. "Isn't she beautiful?" he asked the audience. Polite applause. "Isn't he handsome?" she gamely replied. Screams. The only hint of a possible changed future lay in the encore, a song he performed during his "Idol" season, Montgomery Gentry's "Gone": more rock than country. There was a recorded house-shaking explosion sound after the lyrics "gone like a soldier in the civil war," and on the chorus Mr. McCreery screamed the words, betraying his own steadiness and scorching the air. It felt strange: a whole different temperament, a more vengeful person. I'd like to see who that is, if only for a minute. But I'd rather see further refinements of the persona Mr. McCreery has already established. I sense more behind the wall.