Every so often a record comes out that hits deeply, in a very special way: worldly, but with spiritual overtones. Examples include Percy Sledge's "When A Man Loves A Woman," Aaron Neville's "Tell It Like It Is," B.B. King's "The Thrill Is Gone," and now Joe Simon's Drowning In the Sea of Love, produced by Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff.

Simon is a singer whose past work has been in the Southern rhythm and blues idiom, with an emphasis on almost country-like ballad material. He is famous for his mellow, restrained, but extremely forceful vocal presence and his ability to interpret a lyric. Gamble and Huff are Northern rhythm and blues and pop producers whose past efforts–especially with Jerry Butler, a singer to whom Simon bears obvious stylistic resemblances–have tended toward an elaborate and sometimes grandiose production style. Drowning In the Sea of Love is a constant search for a common meeting ground between Simon's rich, deliberate singing style and Gamble and Huff's nervous, dynamic, baroque production. As a result it has many awkward but somehow poignant moments: Simon trying to sing over the instrumental break in "Night Owl," and seemingly not knowing exactly where he is, or Simon trying too hard to do a shuffle number, "Let Me Be the One," which really isn't suited to him, and yet somehow pulling it off.

On the whole, Simon and Gamble and Huff work astoundingly well together. The first few times through, the album's rough edges and some misguided melodramatic effects are distracting. But after that, first Simon's voice and then the album itself win you over completely. For they uncannily capture, with great delicacy, some very subtle moments, like those times in life when sadness and isolation are mysteriously transformed into something else–a strength and fullness, and a belief in potentialities.

Like so much recent black music, it is basically a down record. (The only upbeat song, "Glad To Be Your Lover," is also the least successful.) None of the album's many love affairs work–sometimes the singer blames himself, sometimes the girl, sometimes neither. But there is always grief–he is always left feeling alone. One of the best songs, "The Mirror Don't Lie," builds up to a climactic: "You never had a door slammed so hard in your face before." Simon savors lines like "Your love is cold as ice," and the album ends with a fadeout on: "I'm in a sad mood; I'm down here in misery."

Sometimes the sadness is transmuted into wistfulness. "Night Owl" is a wonderful song–perfectly capturing, in its rhythms and rhymes, that feeling of being up at four in the morning, completely isolated from everyone else yet somehow in harmony with the world. "If" is a vocal tour de force, a charming statement of bewilderment. The chorus is: "If it wasn't for this, and it wasn't for that, the world would be a better place." Unfortunately the song deteriorates in the middle, getting lost in elaborate, uninteresting chord changes without returning to the chorus.

On their two Jerry Butler albums–The Iceman Cometh and Ice on Ice–Gamble and Huff made every cut into a major production, using every instrument imaginable and juxtaposing male backup singers with female backup singers in the same song. Some cuts, like "When You're Alone and Waiting," were creations of microscopic detail–every possible thing that could happen did (wrong number on the telephone, footsteps going to an apartment across the hall) and every psychological nuance of the situation was developed. The production's energy and versatility were matched by Butler's. For every loneliness or suicide song, there were three or four about Jerry trying to go out and get his women, no matter what the obstacles–songs like "Never Give You Up," and "Western Union Man."

By comparison, on Drowning In the Sea of Love everything is toned down. Fewer instruments are used; arrangements are simpler. A wailing saxophone replaces the sound of a string and woodwind ensemble, a low mournful backup group replaces the high-pitch, high-energy girls' group on the Butler record. The emphasis here is on subtle interplay–and generally the results are sublime, though there are a few songs with almost lackadaisical arrangements. Strings are so often superfluous on soul records that the string arrangements here seem almost miraculous for their rightness. The toning down fits in with the intimate, contemplative feel of the record (and also with Simon's less versatile, though richer, voice), but I somehow still miss all that extra pzazz they put into their Butler albums.

Butler and Gamble and Huff split up over two years ago, and since then Jerry has been producing his own albums, with a little help from his friends, Gerald Sims, Donny Hathaway and James Mack. In the process, he's been trying to develop new talent in the way of musicians and songwriters. His second album in this vein, Sagittarius Movement, is a little thin, but very likable.

Jerry Butler always had a sentimental side to him. Gamble and Huff almost kept it in check, though some of his songs with them, like "I Stop By Heaven" and "Walking Around On Teardrops," were perhaps a bit excessive. On the lesser songs on this album, like "Simple Country Girl," schmaltz emerges full-blown, and becomes rather boring.

The production is often imitation Gamble and Huff, but not as good. The record is loose-sounding by comparison, but is counterbalanced by the nice relaxed feeling it generates. Only half the songs measure up, but the good ones all have something special about them.

"Walk Easy My Son" has the old, churchy Gamble and Huff-style backups. The women relentlessly pursue Jerry. Every time he says something, they come back with a "Yes it did now" or an "I remember," and it creates a beautiful harmonious feeling. So uncanny that I've been playing the song every morning for the past two weeks.

"Ain't Understanding Mellow" was the recent hit single, a duet with Brenda Lee Eager. It tells of an affair she had with another guy, and how she told him, and things worked out, and ain't understanding mellow? It's simple, with sensitive lyrics and fine singing by both her and Jerry. The song, like the album, has an unpretentious warmth that you rarely hear in recorded music nowadays. If that sort of thing appeals to you, or if you're a Jerry Butler fan, then you'll like Sagittarius Movement. (RS 108)

RUSSELL GERSTEN