The album jacket “art” is a good preview of what lurks within: It’s a picture of a pretty young woman in miniskirt and halter top, leaning against a men’s room urinal as she erases graffiti from a toilet-stall partition with a long strand of tissue. It’s rock’n’roll’s most demeaning, tasteless cover since the Stones’ sadomasochism motif on Black & Blue. Those who don’t boycott Foreigner’s third LP because of that will have to contend with lyrics like “Women who satisfy/Women you can’t buy/Like women in magazines/And women in a limousine.” Then there’s Seventeen, on the joys of jailbait: “I spent a lot of time/And I spent all my money/ Don’t want no other fool /To put his hands on you.” Instrumentally, though, Foreigner often rocks powerfully, notably here on Dirty White Boy. Mick Jones is not a bad rock vocalist either. If only the group could outgrow its juvenile fixations and those unspeakable lyrics.