Several years ago, under the title Cruisin' with Ruben and the Jets, Frank Zappa and the Mothers made an album of camped-up oldies-styled hokum. Many of Frank's fans apparently found the self-evident, good clean American fun of that record more palatable than Zappa's usual daunting quotes from Stravinsky/Varese, for a pro-Ruben groundswell of startling proportions soon started to materialize throughout the country.

Slowly at first, but then in increasing numbers, record executives, traditionally seismographic, cocked their highly trained ears to the ground. Everywhere they detected the same vibrations: "We want Ruben, we want Ruben...."

So a search was launched. Hi and lo, across the land, no stone remained unturned in an exhaustive quest for the real Ruben. Finally last fall, after months of considerable expense and arduous effort, Mercury records proudly announced the result of this unprecedented search: A real Ruben had indeed been located, one Ruben Guevara. A summit meeting with Mr. Zappa himself brought agreement that maestro Frank would produce Rube's first solo disk, and Zap even magnanimously agreed to license the name "Ruben and the Jets."

Sadly, Ruben's long-waited return to record packs all the wallop of a congealed cold cheeseburger. Drawn in three directions simultaneously, the "real" Ruben and the Jets suffer from indecision. They perform a couple of obligatory Fifties revivals, try their hand at some contemporary styles, but mainly rely on "originals" dressed up like doo-wop or Don and Dewey.

When Ruben's covers don't sound lackluster, they seem inappropriate; "Dedicated to the One I Love" for example, lapses into a blues-vamp coda. As for the Fifties-fashioned "originals," who needs the real Ruben's imitation Penguins when they can hear the real Penguins? Junky records are not made, they just happen.

The best cuts on For Real avoid blatant mimicry, but even potentially catchy tracks like "Show Me the Way to Your Heart" fall uneasily between rock (pure and simple) and camp (conscious and condescending). Zappa himself knows better, as his own brilliant productions on Freak Out's first record show. On the other hand, Ruben and the Jets do provide self-evident, good clean American fun fun fun. One nagging doubt remains: Are they only in it for the money? (RS 135)

JIM MILLER