The commercial success of these records would have been all but unimaginable a year and a half ago; their synthy, burbling tones and unconventional female vocalists would have made radio–and consumers–run for cover. But bolstered by the novelty-minded KROQ in Los Angeles, these discs are at the forefront of the new-music assault. And if this is the revolution, give me Pat Benatar.

I don't mind that Missing Persons' Dale Bozzio is an ex-Playboy bunny, or that she dresses in clear vinyl, or any of that sexploitation stuff. She deserves to be judged on her merits as a singer. Unfortunately, she has none. Her ditzy, atonal hiccuping only accentuates the ardently pretentious stupidity of the group's lyrics. "Without my window, who am I?" she asks querulously on Spring Session M's most awful cut, "Windows." Beats me. The band, spearheaded by Dale's husband. Terry, on drums, does demonstrate some ability to bust through the synthesizer heavy-metal barricade, as in the punchy "Walking in L.A." But, as everyone in Missing Persons must know by now, it's what's up front that counts.

Berlin is a trio whose first single, "Sex (I'm a ...)," tries to revive a notorious rock subgenre: the orgasm record. The result is a fleetingly imaginative litany of sexual role playing sung by vocalist Terri Nunn over music that would make great accompaniment for basketball highlights on television. The rest of this minialbum isn't much better. Purveyors of orgasm records in the past have gone on to some pretty impressive careers – Sylvia "Pillow Talk" Robinson founded Sugar Hill Records, and Donna Summer became a legitimate superstar – but I don't hold the same hopes for Berlin. Vocalist Nunn, who looks like a cross between Pia Zadora and Benn, is credited on the record for "vocals, BJs." which suggests just how contemptible this enterprise is. (RS 392)

CHRISTOPHER CONNFITY