Even the lesser Ashford & Simpson albums—such as the current one—have an undeniable, if often inarticulate, poetry to them. Despite their diffuse focuses, lapses in judgment and cloying Tin Pan Alleyisms, something about them sticks in your memory. There's a breadth and depth to the duo's ornately romantic vision and a power in Ashford's lyrical insights into love's paradoxes that not even Ashford's and Simpson's uneven vocals can destroy.

It's tempting to lay all the blame for the duo's problems on Nick Ashford, as others have done. His overwrought, off-key forays on the ballads contrast badly with Simpson's clean, clear approach, just as his slightly awkward lyrics are rarely a match for Valerie's melodies and arrangements. But there are deeper problems. A former roommate of mine noted that the first Ashford & Simpson album reminded him of perpetual foreplay: despite all the sound and fury, nothing really happened. Four albums and four years later, the problem persists; they still need to outgrow their fixation on becoming another Marvin and Tammi or Astaire and Rogers and come to terms with being themselves. Perhaps the major problem with this record is that Ashford & Simpson treat their own lyrics as if they were written by someone else, which creates an unnatural distance. In fact, interpretations of their material by Chaka Khan, Sylvester and Millie Jackson are often more forceful and less contrived than the originals.

The saving graces of this album are the luminous moments on "Top of the Stairs" and "Too Bad," when the combination of dreamy vocals and lush orchestral arrangements seems to light up the screen, making you feel as if you're in an MGM musical. At these times the darkness and complexity of Ashford's and Simpson's romantic strivings are awesome. Perhaps the Broadway musical score they once talked of doing will allow them to focus their talents and insights in a cohesive, palatable entity. (RS 254)

RUSSELL GERSTEN