THE SINGER, IN THE ALLEY, WITH A GOOD SET OF PIPES

ROBERT PALMER Clues

(Island)

Terri A. Huggins

Robert Palmer is starting to live up to the potential of his first album. The fact that we’ve had to wait through six years and four bad records for him to renew the promise is excusable; Clues is better late than never.

Sneakin’ Sally Through The Alley was a close-to-wonderful debut, with Palmer freely mixing traditional r&b, reggae and Lowell George while exhibiting a distinctive and exhilirating vocal style (okay, let’s be frank—the fact that he is outrageously good-looking didn’t hurt). But in the follow-ups Palmer never managed to provide a focus for his widely divergent material, and ultimately threatened to deteriorate into a soul poseur. There is nothing inherently wrong with white people being un-funky, and even trying too hard can have its charm. Condescension is as offensive as being asked to suck a jar of Miracle Whip through a marzipan-coated straw. Flashy clothes and suggestive album covers do not a Teddy Pendergrass make...or a Bryan Ferry for that matter.

With Clues, Palmer seems to have given up being the Fredo Corleone of Soul. The album is comprised of five Palmer originals, a Lennon-McCartney cover, and two tracks touched by the icy hand of Gary Numan. Let’s get the latter material out of the way first. If Robert Palmer wants to hand around with guys who look like Beaver Cleaver dressed up for Halloween, that’s his business; if he chooses to allow his choice of company to influence his music, that’s his problem. And if he expects me to listen to a song called “I Dream Of Wires” with a straight face, he deserves my guffaws. As to Palmer’s version of “Not A Second Time,” the title says it all.

Clues’ successes lie in Palmer’s originals. “Looking For Clues” is the opening track, and it is a stunner—buoyant enough to carry the listener through the album’s weaker moments, and establishing a firm, accessible base for Palmer’s excursions into techno-rock. All those years spent striving to be a ranking soul brother pay off here, as Palmer lays down a pulsing, relentless bass and percussion line complemented by twitchy guitar and hypnotically detached vocals. “Johnny And Mary,” the album’s first single, is much of the same—its surface serenity interrupted by enough well-timed jolts to keep you on your toes.

I suppose the obvious danger here is that Palmer could get carried away in the slickness of high tech rock and decide to battle it out with Ric Qcasek for leadership of the Velveeta Underground—that band of terminally bored and boring rockstars who process the music of Lou Reed & Co., making it bland enough to be palatable to the faint of heart and feeble of mind. Hopefully, he’ll be able to build off the base of Clues’ promises—and deliver.