songwriters have not been found, so the lesser material of Jackson Browne (his lovely but hard-to-interpret "My Opening Farewell") or songs poorly suited to Raitt's abilities ("Runaway," the LP's severest embarrassment, and Paul Siebel's moralistic "Louise") are supposed to suffice.

Even worse, when Raitt has a forceful tune to work with—Earl Randall's spicy "About to Make Me Leave Home" and Eric Kaz' "Gamblin' Man" are two—her vocal approach is so stilted, so affectedly guttural and contralto that we have a hard time remembering what it was we once liked about her singing.

Sorely missed also are the musicianly interactions that used to occur on nearly every track. Raitt's flawless intuitions used to goose her accompanists into new licks and patterns (has John Hall ever bettered his playing on Give It Up?). Now she's abandoned her flowing naturalness for a plodding roughness which, unfortunately, matches producer Paul Rothchild's singular lack of imagination.

Bonnie Raitt is simply too talented to make an awful album. Perhaps, though, that easy avenue to success has inhibited Raitt's understanding of what she must do to be better. And she can be better than this. (RS 239)

PETER HERBST