Even though they have few challengers as kings of blue-eyed soul, Daryl Hall and John Oates desperately want to be rock & rollers. Ever since their big hit, "Sara Smile," pressured them to maintain their commercial success without succumbing to formula, Hall and Oates have been edging away from harmonious pop-soul toward guitar-heavy rock. Now, I'll admit to preferring vocal cords to power chords, but this team's rock & rolling has always struck me as, ah, unconvincing. A hardware display. Unintentional parody. Braggadocio–like that of the preacher's kid who cusses loudest to prove he's not a wimp.

Until now. With Along the Red Ledge, Hall and Oates finally establish their hard-rock credibility, and without sacrificing commerciality either. Figuratively speaking, it's as if the pair had abandoned their usual models–Philly soul and Todd Rundgren technorock–for one that incorporates both factions, namely Phil Spector. The classic "Be My Baby" bass-drum triplets that kick off "The Last Time" are a big hint, but the entire LP employs an uncharacteristically thick mix–a wall of sound, if you will–that can handle the duo's dazzling Gamble/Huff and puffing and as many guitars as anyone could possibly want. (This last is no minor feature: besides Oates and regular sideman Caleb Quaye, guitar credits include Rundgren, George Harrison, Robert Fripp, Dick Wagner, Steve Lukather and Rick Nielsen, all of whom must be participating in the twenty-one-guitar salute, "Don't Blame It on Love.") Not that the whole record is a Spector cop, it just doesn't sound like trademark Hall and Oates. The switch in producers–Christopher Band out, David Foster in–is presumably a major factor.

Along the Red Ledge's opening track, "It's a Laugh," introduces some subtle changes in texture that permeate the album: an electric guitar conspicuously completing the melody; sax, organ and silky oohs blending into a fairly dense background; Daryl Hall's singing somehow less slick, though the vocal arrangements throughout are as careful and nifty as ever. The heftier sound of "Melody for a Memory" and "The Last Time" is a partial preparation for the shock wave of side two's kickoff, "Alley Katz," in which Hall and Oates meet the Clash and don't back down. Punk sincerity and hilarious lyrics. "Don't Blame It on Love" and "Serious Music" keep stomping (with witty cribs from Queen and 10cc, respectively), but then things fall apart with the John Oates' throwaway, "Pleasure Beach," and a precious closing ditty, "August Day."

Rock & roll may be here to stay, but the LP's best cuts–"I Don't Wanna Lose You," "Have I Been Away Too Long"–are vintage blue-eyed soul. The swirling strings, staccato backup vocals, irresistible dance beat and Hall's thrilling, ethereal falsetto clearly carry on the "Sara Smile"/"She's Gone" tradition. (I can already hear Tavares covering "I Don't Wanna Lose You.") And, truth to tell, I don't think the new record holds a candle to Daryl Hall and John Oates, on which the twosome's gossamer soulfulness wasn't the exception but the rule. Nevertheless, Along the Red Ledge should be hailed as an important step for Hall and Oates, even if it's in a direction that everyone may not be inclined to follow. (RS 279)

DON SHEWEY