Steve Martin has become the comedic rage by the usual means: introducing a couple of readily imitable phrases into the vernacular (excuse me if I don't repeat them). More than that, his characterizations have made being an asshole fashionable again; all he lacks is a lampshade. For this, he deserves a humanitarian award. Now, when you do stupid things people think you're being paid for it.

Unfortunately, the least deliberately absurd thing Martin has done was committing his act to vinyl. The problem with Let's Get Small isn't that the routines are the same old stuff we've seen on the Tonight Show and Saturday Night; they are, but that's not the issue. The issue is that this isn't a funny record, mostly because Martin doesn't sound like Martin. (This has something to do with the recording quality.) Because so many of Martin's bits involve ridiculous voices, a purely aural presentation of his humor seemed to have possibilities; it turns out that seeing him do all that dumb shit is as important as hearing him.

Martin is also a far more conventional humorist than the content of his act suggests. That's why he's so perfect on TV and so mediocre here. The best comedy albums deal with the record as a stylistic medium as completely as the Marx Brothers used film; the Firesign Theatre, Lily Tomlin, Richard Pryor (at least on Bicentennial Nigger), even Cheech and Chong understand that their success on an album depends on enhancing what they do onstage. Because we're given a standard live Martin set here, he never gets a fair shot at showing what he could do with the medium. Chances are, he'll learn from the experience, and the next album may be a lot more listenable. (RS 252)

DAVE MARSH