No, there's no truth to the rumor that Kenny Rogers has been signed to make a film called Ersatz Cowboy. Yes, Parliament-Funkadelic artist Pedro Bell really has referred to a certain famous black pop group as the Common Bores.

Now that the flow of gossip has been staunched, work can commence on evaluating the latest releases by Rogers and the Commodores, pop superstars who dominate the middle-of-the-road in their respective genres. As Rogers' Share Your Love (quasi-country music from an overweight lightweight) and the Commodores' In the Pocket (semi-soul stuff from some clever pros cashing in) ascend the charts, they join all the hard-rock hacks (Journey, Pat Benatar) and pop-rock puffballs (REO Speedtricycle). The result is that the charts these days resemble a sour parody of popular music. If it weren't for Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl" – junk genius to the manner born–I'd be ashamed to be a pop fan.

As pop figureheads go, Kenny Rogers is pleasant enough: he's not arrogant, he regularly attempts to extend his range, and the only time he was truly reprehensible was twelve years ago, with "Ruby" in his First Edition days, when he impersonated a paralyzed Vietnam veteran who sang that (to paraphrase a superior song with a similar theme) he'd rather see you dead, little girl, than see you with another man. In concert, Rogers is better than his music. Sly and warmly self-deprecating, his stage persona is closest to James Garner's Jim Rockford: he muddles through a series of bad scenes with whatever honor he can salvage, and gets the job done.

Share Your Love is Kenny Rogers' first album since he transcended even superstardom last year with his multiplatinum Greatest Hits and the duper-hit "Lady." By now, Rogers is a minor deity to millions of country and pop fans. Like a benevolent god, he tries to play down his power on Share Your Love, and the result is modest, workmanlike product: a clean country-pop record with discreet string sections that make the singer's raspy croon sound even more fallible. Throughout the LP, Rogers comes out heavily for domesticated monogamy ("Through the Years," "Without You in My Life," the leaden irony of "I Don't Need You") and tacks on a Jimmy Dean-type talk-tune at the very end. The only conceivable excuse for "Grey Beard" is that it might serve as the theme song for a new Kenny Rogers TV movie in the tradition of his ratings-busting snorer, The Gambler.

In short, Share Your Love would be yet another example of that peculiar Eighties phenomenon, the platinum void, were it not for its novel commercial strategy: the employment of Commodores leader Lionel B. Richie Jr. as producer and frequent coauthor. This is very cagey, because Richie has mastered a crisp, efficient brand of pop sentimentality that's often eluded the schlockmeisters of country music (I'm thinking of producers like Billy Sherrill and Brian Ahern). By collaborating with Richie–and by inviting such supple voices as those of Michael Jackson and Gladys Knight and the Pips to provide backup vocals – Kenny Rogers has lent a certain cool authority to his bland pop craftsmanship.

Meanwhile, the Commodores' In the Pocket exhibits some of the worst traits of current MOR R&B: most depressingly, the tiresome me-man, you-lady condescension of the love songs and a lust for upward mobility that's expressed in the distressing visual pun on the album cover – the Commodores' logo sewn onto the right hip pockets of the band members' designer jeans. Who'd have thought that proficient pop musicians would ever choose to identify themselves with a Gloria Vanderbilt marketing ploy?

Structurally, In the Pocket is tediously predictable. Funky pop-rockers alternate with string-soaked ballads time after time. And while every lyric claims to hymn how beautiful a certain "lady" is, if you listen closely you'll realize that what's most important to the narrator is how he feels–the woman's reactions and emotions are invariably left unexamined.

This is what gives the LP's first smash, "Lady (You Bring Me Up)," its air of facile self-absorption. The Commodores have always been smoothie studs, yet in years past, their music was more sensuous. I'll always love them for the gratifyingly bold lewdness of 1977's "Brick House," which actually exhibited some concern for the pleasure of the sex object under discussion in the title.

But "Brick House" was four years ago, and since then the Commodores have cleaned up their act: those personalized designer jeans are a telling symbol. Most conservative of all is Lionel Richie, who's even writing and producing soppily dignified movie music now. His duet with Diana Ross, "Endless Love" (from the fatuous film of the same name), is a big, bloated Top Forty hit.

It's odd, in fact, that Richie has received the most attention in the group, to the extent that there's been a persistent rumor he'll soon leave for a solo career. Lionel Richie's voice isn't much stronger than a modulated growl, and the other Commodores write as many tunes as he does. Indeed, In the Pocket's two best numbers, "This Love" and "Been Loving You," were composed by longtime member Walter Orange. "This Love," in particular, is so good that it makes the band sound like the Spinners in their Thom Bell prime.

Love 'em or leave 'em, Share Your Love and In the Pocket define the sound of 1981 pop music. And if Kenny Rogers inadvertently speaks for many of his detractors when he sings "I Don't Need You," I'll still keep wishing that the Commodores pick "This Love" as their next AM-radio smash. (RS 353)

KEN TUCKER