of soul flash that contrasts Armatrading's cool upper register with deep male voices.

But Armatrading is too much of an individualist (a stubbornly self-taught musician, a cross-breeder of forms and genres) to pander only to commercial expectations. The opening cut, "Woncha Come on Home" has the starkness and simplicity of a country blues — the single acoustic guitar parallels the voice down timeless traditional cadences. Armatrading's singing, like Dave Van Ronk's, is the more affecting for its forced harshness. This is no plea for lost love, it's a woman's panic, alone in the house, jumping at every noise, fearing shadows at the window.

Part of Armatrading's appeal (to her largely female, generally well-educated following) is that she's neither unapproachably strong nor unnecessarily victimized. Joan Armatrading presented an amorous adventuress with a sense of humor. She tolerated no emotional blackmail but was not unsympathetic to the lovers who tried to run their numbers on her. Much of that affection is missing from Show Some Emotion. The title tune, "Never Is Too Late" and "Peace in Mind" all preach rather than prod. Dancing, both a pleasure and an act of self-affirmation in "Love and Affection," becomes a moral obligation in "Never Is Too Late."

The results are depressingly impersonal, as though Armatrading assumed that wider acceptance could only be purchased by burying herself — not only as a player but as a persona. Luckily she doesn't take to retirement easily, as "Mama Mercy," "Opportunity" and "Woncha Come on Home" attest. But Show Some Emotion is caught between the longing for individuality and the struggle for the legal tender — neither the mainstream bid nor the personal statement it might have been. (RS 254)

ARIEL SWARTLEY