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,
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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 Ahe
