On their debut album, Kansas City's Rainmakers seem determined to bring us down home and back to basics – just like seventeen other groups this year. But what separates the Rainmakers from the rank and file are lead singer and songwriter Bob Walkenhorst's lyrics – wry, astute and disturbingly obsessed with a nation that turned on in the late Sixties and seems to have tuned out ever since. With an abundance of quotable lines like "The generation that would change the world is still looking for its car keys," Walkenhorst may be rock & roll's answer to Emerson.

If the Rainmakers' message is to be believed, something sure is rotten in the state of Missouri. "Everybody's drunk/And everybody's wasted/And everybody's stoned/And there's nothing's gonna change it," Walkenhorst declares in "Drinkin' on the Job." He also sings of suicide ("Doomsville"), getting old ("Long Gone Long"), exploding rocket ships ("Rockin' at the T-Dance") and presidents who drop the bomb indiscriminately. But it's not all bad news: While the Rainmakers seem the antithesis of the "let's party" attitude, the group's first single is the dance-happy "Let My People Go-Go." With Motownish brass provided by the Memphis Horns, the song delivers God's very best sacred words: "I did not put you here to suffer/I did not put you here to whine/I put you here to love one another/And to get out and have a good time."

Much of this lyrically provocative album is intended to anger the rock audience, and it probably will. The antiwelfare "Government Cheese" is a reactionary bit of rock & roll, and the almost martial inquiry of "Information" sounds like one of those "It's 10:00 p.m.-do you know where your children are?" spots. In "Big Fat Blonde," a hysterical look at male sexuality, Walkenhorst's ranting vocals sound so desperate that even the humor seems twisted.

In fact, it took me at least five listens to get used to Walkenhorst's caustic voice, but it was worth the effort. Although Terry Manning's imprecise production has left the Rainmakers sounding a little like Rank and File ("The One That Got Away"), a bit like Big Country ("Long Gone Long") and a lot like a mélange of other bands, the group's talent remains obvious. This is one of the year's most thoughtful albums from one of the most original bands the heartland has to offer. (RS 488)

ELIZABETH WURTZEL