Pairing Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway, Atlantic's two masters of antiseptic soul music, was a fantastic if obvious commercial idea. The hope that Roberta would pull Donny along on her coattails, the way Marvin Gaye did with Tammi Terrell, has been completely realized. To that extent Roberta and Donny have enjoyed considerable success.

Working together, Flack and Hathaway save each other from the worst excesses of their solo albums. There are none of those excruciating tenminute cuts that both these artists are so fond of. All the songs here fit into the conventional three - to - five minute range, with the exception of a semi-classical instrumental, "Mood." Roberta manages to add some lightness to Donny's unremittingly tortured vocal style, while Hathaway, with his long background as an arranger and sideman on soul sessions, contributes a little flair to the dirge-like treatment Roberta is prone to render love songs. Nonetheless this record is every bit as boring as both Flack's Quiet Fire and Donny Hathaway Live, and, in some ways, worse.

On the original "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," Marvin followed Tammi's "My love is alive" with a spontaneous, exclamatory "whew" that made the record. There's none of that warmth and rapport, so necessary for duets, on this record. Both of these singers show off–holding notes for a long time, doing all kinds of tinkly things on the piano, but generating no feeling for each other. Roberta does some lovely things with her voice, But Donny's whiny, pretentious style is most always annoying When they sing the same line together, it feels like he's literally weighing her down with his drabness.

They're so busy with their fancy arrangements and vocal tricks that they exert almost no effort to interpret the lyrics. For instance, in "Baby, I Love You," there's a line: "I'm gonna stop you from saying goodbye." In their twangy version, they choose to emphasize the word goodbye, repeating it over and over again, thus working against the actual intent of the lyric. That's just sheer ineptitude.

Another problem is dynamics. They build to a point, but then never deliver anything real, anything for us to latch onto. The entire album is always safe, sterile, almost academic in its commercialism.

A few of the songs would make good cocktail lounge music. Their current single, "Where Is The Love," is pleasant enough, but sounds like Stevie Wonder under a heavy dose of thorazine. The rest of the songs are worse. "Be Real Black For Me," a song they wrote for themselves, does have a lovely chorus, but flounders in the verses. Their rendition of "You've Lost That Loving Feeling" is particularly bizarre. The lush treatment of the old Phil Spector song is periodically interrupted by a riff similar to the one in the Rolling Stones' "Bitch." It makes no sense at all.

All in all, a pretentious and vacuous album. Currently Number Four in the charts, so there! (RS 115)

RUSSELL GERSTEN