You'd think that Joe Henry would be sick of the whole Madonna thing. Try, just try, to read anything regarding Henry that doesn't mention his idiot sister-in-law. It's impossible. Motherfucker is newsworthy more because of Madge than his own music. And, I imagine that sucks.

But if Henry's recent activity is any indication, being related to Madonna is a badge to wear proudly. He penned her surprisingly popular, "Don't Tell Me," and consequently, caught himself a wad of royalty cash. As a bonus, Henry has included his version of the song (renamed, "Stop," as in, "Don't ever tell me to stop") on his newest record, Scar. And it's the first single. Oh, the novelty.

And novelty is all it is. If the song's lack of luster wasn't redundantly clear the first 5,000 times we heard it on the radio, Henry's version proves that the song has all the might to make "This Used to Be My Playground" sound like a gut-wrenching masterpiece. This is not for lack of trying on Henry's part; musically, the song has little to do with the electro twang slop Mirwais laid down for Madonna. Henry raises the song to a level of innocuousness with a Latin-tinged take that comes complete with clopping drumbeats and strings fit for tangoing. Of course, the song's inane lyrics remain intact.

The bulk of Scar is equally bland. Henry, you see, belongs to that segment of the recording population that we like to label, "adult alternative." Essentially, this means he's a fairly skilled musician who writes MOR songs that suffer from sappy overproduction. He's always sat somewhere between Leonard Cohen and Don Henley in the singer/songwriter cafeteria, though on Scar, he practically shares french fries with the Eagle.

But it's pointless to hold his lack of hipness against him. It's even okay that, he delivers "Struck" with a straight face-- a tune that's laid-back in a sort of Sade-on-steroids manner. What's unforgivable is that the eerily pretty "Lock and Key" features production so glossy that it tampers with the song's inherent atmosphere. "Richard Pryor Addresses a Tearful Nation" is morosely slow 12-bar blues that features a gonzo sax solo blown by Ornette Coleman. His rapid note playing is jarringly discordant with the under-60bpm not-quite-trip-hop, mechanized beats. And not in the good way.

And as "Stop" suggests, Henry stays starkly in the middle of the road when it comes to lyric writing. In the happily tepid, Brand New Heavies-esque, "Rough and Tumble," Henry wraps his rusty croon around, "Your face was a brilliant mask/ It came off in my hands." He similarly avoids triteness and insightfulness simultaneously on the love song, "Scar," when he sings, "You love me because you are/ As fearless as a twisting vine." He's not a bad lyricist, per se, but one that invokes flat imagery too often to be anything but faux-poetic.

Certainly, Scar isn't the record that will break Henry out of the shadow of his familial icon. Still, the blatant piggybacking on the album is ultimately appropriate; Scar is just about as uninspiring and dull as being forced to listen to Ray of Light and Music back-to-back. On repeat. For days.

-Richard M. Juzwiak