Antiseptic pretenders to the Alabama throne, the five-man band Sawyer Brown first slid into national prominence in 1983, when they fooled the judges of Ed McMahon's Star Search into thinking that flaccid country rock was the future of contemporary music. The group, which borrowed its name from a Nashville street sign, follows Alabama's formula of dense vocal harmonies slathered over churning rock guitars and keyboards, all of it set to a danceable beat. But Sawyer Brown's themes on Buick are less involving than anyone's, veering from the hopelessly boring (women in cars, in ''My Baby Drives a Buick'') to the ridiculous (trying to score with ''Superman's Daughter''). This is the epitome of ersatz country: never remarkable, never inspired, and — with any luck at all — never to be heard from again. F
Add your comment
The rules: Keep it clean, and stay on the subject or we might delete your comment. If you see inappropriate language, e-mail us. An asterisk * indicates a required field.