When a big-name band from pop music's checkered past decides to pick up their instruments and RAWK once more, skepticism is about the only common emotion that's evoked, in everyone from fans to casual listeners to critics. Who could actually believe that Blondie-- Deborah Harry, Chris Stein, Clem Burke and Jimmy Destri--might reunite and immediately pick up their unforgettable stride of critical and commercial smash hits from the early eighties? It's virtually unprecedented. Worthwhile reunions just don't happen.

Blondie's first new studio record in over fifteen years, No Exit, is no exception. It's not worthwhile. Yet it's still a bit of an anomaly, because the peaks and valleys in quality among its fourteen songs are truly something to behold. This record is simply confounding, with moments of classic Blondie brilliance slotted next to utter trash music. More than anything, it's a long, exhausting haul of an album. When it's over, you're kinda glad to be done with it, but something draws you back--not something phenomenal, but maybe just the inexplicable skips and jumps between genius and artistic failure.

The record's biggest weakness is clearly in the songwriting. It's a typical case of too many cooks reeking up the broth in a major way. Destri delivers big-time on No Exit, penning the record's two biggest triumphs, the triumphant "Maria" and the rocker "Nothing is Real but the Girl." Lyrically and musically, in every possible aspect, these are both worthy to stand alongside "Call Me" or "Rapture." Both are nearly perfect, especially "Maria," which is an unabashed Blondie classic.

But MAN, when you start tossing together lyrics by Harry and music by three or four other Blondie members or studio players, things go foul real quick. The title track is probably No Exit's biggest failure. An overwrought swipe from Bach's Toccata in D leads the listener into five minutes of muddy, soulless howling and rapping, featuring a mystifying cameo by Coolio, who also helped write the song. (Blondie may need Coolio's superstar cred at this critical juncture in their second career, but Coolio sure don't need Blondie for anything but a few choice samples, so why he'd lend his name and clout to such an abysmal failure of a song is anyone's guess.) There's also snore-worthy balladry ("Double Take") and a wasted venture into country-western ("The Dream's Lost on Me"), and don't even get me started on "Dig Up the Conjo," perhaps the least climactic closing song on a record in the history of pop.

When the songwriting doesn't suck like a thirsty newborn, it only rarely manages to rise above mediocrity, with the aforementioned "Maria" and "Nothing is Real" still the only stand- outs. Harry successfully evokes her smoky jazz work with the Jazz Passengers on "Boom Boom in the Zoom Zoom Room," and there's a compelling cover of "Out in the Streets," but otherwise, it's all pretty shruggable stuff.

More frustrating than any of the massive songwriting failures is the fact that the band still cooks like Hell itself. In terms of sheer musical chops, no one has missed a beat. The performances are magnificent from top to bottom--Harry's voice drips with sex, even in its fifties; Stein's guitar ducks and weaves and slaps you upside the ears; Destri's keyboards drop in unforgettable hooks at just the right moments; and Burke slams down a fat yet versatile beat. Unfortunately, they often deliver great work in the service of shit music, so you're left with gifted musicians toiling to make awful material sound barely decent.

That's too bad, because usually the entire reunion project will stink, or the songwriting will be up to par but the musicians will suck. This time, you've got Blondie, a great band that's still great, doing a great job with mostly crappy songs. When the pieces fall together, it's the seemingly effortless brilliance of Blondie's finest moments. When it doesn't, it's bad news indeed. No Exit is that most common--and most disappointing--of artistic failures: an incomplete one.