I had a dream about the Jackson 5. I was addressing the audience at a luncheon of some sort but all I said when I stood up was that I was hungry. The Jackson 5 were at one of the tables and Tito came up to the podium with a sandwich of American cheese and lettuce on white bread, open-faced on a plate. I told him that rather than eat the sandwich I would preserve it and he asked me if I did that with all my food. Only when it comes from the Jackson 5, I said.

There's nothing particularly appetizing about an American cheese and lettuce sandwich, but the Jackson 5 are the only group left at Motown, and one of the few anywhere, who provide the sort of elemental, unrefined, even faintly silly stuff that made Motown so accessible, so irresistible from the beginning. Not elemental like The Blues, but like a cheeseburger, french fries and a Coke. Or like Wonder bread and a bright yellow square of American cheese — the dietary equivalent of Top 40 radio. Yet the Jackson 5 are far from trashy like, say, the wonderful Archie Bell & the Drells or the Shangri-Las; the age of innocence is gone, there is no more exquisite trash (although Betty Wright has her moments) and J5's boyish brashness has been polished to a fine semi-gloss. But the sophistication they've acquired is remarkably vital and without pretense; I mean who else could do both "Doctor My Eyes" and "Little Bitty Pretty One" on an album and make them seem not only perfectly natural but actually inspired choices? Clearly the Jackson 5 are not simply the pop phenomenon they once appeared to be; not just the cute boys with 73 pinups in every issue of Right On!; not only the one-dimensional idols of millions (sigh, scream). But they don't pretend to be anything else. So while everyone else is out here in hot pursuit of High Art or merely artiness (both of which seem to be determined, locker-room style, by the length of your album cuts), the J5 are still giving us the Real Thing — not quite the old Motown Sound but as close as you'll come to it these days — the sort of music that is not about extended bass lines or blues tradition or new synthesizer techniques. As Michael said (in "ABC"), "Get up, girl, show me what you can do." And no bullshit: If you can't do it in three minutes you can't do it.

Of the Jackson 5 "product" brought together here, Looking Through the Windows is the group's eighth LP. As usual, the album is a fine, creatively varied collection of material — mostly originals this time, but including the two covers mentioned above and one Motown Songbook selection, Ashford-Simpson's "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing." For the first time, however, production has not been completely under the supervision of "The Corporation" — who've been responsible for the J5 sound ever since "I Want You Back" — and Hal Davis, who joined as co-producer with the second LP. Between them, The Corporation and Davis take production credits on seven of the 11 songs, but, presumably to spice things up, a few other producers have been brought in. Executive producer remains The Man himself, Berry Gordy; don't ask me what he actually does.

Anyway, kids, it's just a fine album, although accepting it as such means accepting the fact that the fevered ecstacy of "I Want You Back" and "ABC" have passed. It's hard to sustain the pitch of explosive youth — Stevie Wonder never made another "Fingertips" — and, besides, shrillness gets grating. The Jackson 5 have matured, softened and pretty much abandoned grade-school simplicity or any obvious reference to their own youth. (Exceptions: "E-Ne-Me-Ne-Mi-Ne-Mo," one of the brighter, more exuberant songs here, announcing, "Gone are the games of yesterday/now the name of the game is love" and chock-full of references to children's games; and a rather throwaway message song, "Children of the Light " — "We're gonna build a world that is right/We can be the children of light" — whose platitudes crush a flimsy production.) But the group never outpaces its audience or itself and in gaining subtlety, they haven't lost a bit of their punch.

A delightfully sharp-edged "Little Bitty Pretty One" still stands out here. The J5 remakes of rock classics — like their earlier "16 Candles," a tasty "Rockin' Robin" on Michael's first solo album and Jermaine's audacious "Daddy's Home" — have all been done with heavy flash and a certain sense of exaggeration that cuts right to the heart of the song. "Little Bitty" begins with that gorgeous build, all that percussion and handclapping, and gives Jermaine, Jackie and Michael a verse in turn. It's full of energy but ... after playing the single constantly for several days, I found it lost nearly all its appeal, simply did not hold up. And I'm at a loss to explain this, since I still think, on an immediate level at least, that it's a very successful song even if I avoid playing it now.

On the whole, side one is much more satisfying. "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing" is lush and gutsy and quickly overcomes its trivial opening.

As throughout, the vocals are shared mostly by Michael and Jermaine, setting up a delicious contrast between the one's sharp, aching, still very young voice and the other's warmer, deeper style — together, like a raw diamond set in velvet. "Doctor My Eyes" is outrageous and brilliant, very jumpy and upbeat with frantic vocals that are quite a shock after Jackson Browne but finally win you over. The rock & roll device that has the group filling in with "buh-buh-buh-buh" here and there is so irrelevant to the spirit of the original song that you have to love it. The song's been totally remade in the Jackson 5 image and it works on those terms; but I still don't understand it. "To Know" floats off on a series of clouds but takes firmer shape toward the end to become one of the group's strongest, most convincing love songs.

* * *

With the tremendous success of the group, solo albums by individual members were of course inevitable — Jackie and Toriano (Tito) are reportedly forthcoming — how could Motown resist the temptation to produce not just one hot chart album but five of them. If you expected the solo product to be whipped up and pasted together, all pinup and no substance, you've underestimated Motown's devotion to the Jackson 5. Both of Michael's albums, Got to Be There and Ben, and Jermaine are slick, artful and every bit as good as the regular J5 product, sometimes better. Although The Corporation and Hal Davis are listed as overall producers for only one of the three albums (Michael's first, released earlier this year), they continue to predominate on all three and, as above, have set the tone for the other contributing producers. That is, bright, dancey, with special attention to chorus work and dense orchestration but always with an eye to showcasing the lead voice; no matter how dramatic the production, you have the feeling the singer, even little Michael, is riding it and in complete control — quite an illusion to create.

Even the inconsequential songs on Michael's albums have their appeal — yeah, it has something to do with his being a cute, young boy with a sweetly touching voice but he's not just a lovable jukebox baby. After "I Want You Back" nobody should need convincing, but — hand me a cigar — has this kid got talent? Look, anyone who can make me listen to — enjoy even — yet another version of "You've Got a Friend" has got talent. On "Got to Be There," Michael's voice echoes and swirls, whispers and cries out with this unbelievable purity: "Oo-oh what a feeling there'll be/ the moment she says she loves me." It's a weird combination of innocence and utter professionalism, real feeling and careful calculation that's fascinating and finally irresistible. Got to Be There also includes a perfect "Rockin' Robin," a slightly overwrought "Ain't No Sunshine" a stylishly revamped "Love Is Here and Now You're Gone" and another of Michael's best cuts, "I Wanna Be Where You Are": a supreme production, with shouting from Michael that equals his early work and a finish that always has me screaming loud enough to alarm the neighbors.

Ben, the cover of which Michael shares rather incongruously with a monstrous, lunging rat, contains a good deal more original material and, while it has nothing as luscious as "Got to Be There" or "I Wanna Be Where You Are," — it's on the whole a much stronger album than the first. The title song is lovely, no doubt, and Michael packs it with a surprising amount of feeling (his delivery of "They don't see you as I do/I wish they would try to" still tears me up) but it's all a little too thick for my tastes. I much prefer "What Goes Around Comes Around," a sort of "Didn't I Blow Your Mind This Time," full of hurt bitterness for the girl he is finally strong enough to renounce — but very danceable. That Michael can carry this combination off so smoothly and passionately (the contradictions!) is a sign of ever-increasing maturity. He also does real well by "My Girl," thanks to a lively arrangement and production job, and turns out an impressive "People Make the World Go Round" (the Stylistics' song with entirely new verses by Thom Bell and Linda Creed). In an album full of nice songs, "We've Got a Good Thing Going" is perhaps the nicest — very sweet and relaxed, Michael deftly conveying the wonder of love with undertones and something more; the Corporation's lyrics are fine: "Every day in every way she makes my motor purr/and I reciprocate, my life I dedicate to lovin' her." Note: "In Our Small Way" is repeated here from the Got To Be There album, an unusual move for Motown but you can hardly fault them since the song is one of the better let's-make-the-world-a-little-better tunes and Michael's spoken introduction is quite convincing.

Jermaine's album opens up for a full-length at-the-beach picture, stretched out in the brilliant sunlight, in white pants, bare chest and Big Smile. The record isn't as exciting. Jermaine simply doesn't have the range and assurance of Michael — he's just right on upbeat, bright numbers like "Live It Up," "That's How Love Goes," "I Let Love Pass Me By" and a terrific version of "Take Me in Your Arms (Rock Me for a Little While)" (after the Isley Brothers), but he's out of his depth, sometimes desperately, on other types of songs. "If You Were My Woman" is boring and "I Only Have Eyes for You" keeps slipping in and out of focus. He sounds weak and strained on "Ain't That Peculiar" and quite adrift in Paul Simon's "Homeward Bound" (with his "thoughts excaping") no matter how admirable the selection. So the success of "Daddy's Home" is all the more surprising. The idea of this 17-year-old referring to himself as "Daddy" is touching in itself somehow, but Jermaine sings the song with understated tenderness and an understanding that makes his failures with the other material particularly puzzling. Still, the good songs end up outnumbering the bad (six to four) and give hope that Jermaine will be able to come up with something more sustained next time. I really don't care if he sings selections from South Pacific as long as they put another picture on the cover.