A two-record concept album about conjugal love, "Here, My Dear" is a fascinating failure, as flawed as it is ambitious. In some respects it seems almost designed to be off-putting. (p. 122)

In the scope of its ambition and the lavishness of its production, "Here, My Dear" bears many resemblances to Gaye's 1971 masterpiece, "What's Goin' On," possibly the most eloquent evocation of social upheaval to come out of the Motown era. In that album, Gaye introduced a moody aural collage in which the brooding inner voices threatened to burst out of the production; the result was ominous, tense, exhilarating. "Here, My Dear" struts the same sort of echoy melange, thick with strings, horns, and chorus. The atmosphere is even more ruminative, the rhythms lighter.

But when turned to soap opera, as opposed to social drama, these textures become repetitive, even pretentious. True, there are some lovely moments…. But the...