If Lenny Bruce was wallowing in social criticism, Kinky Friedman is walking on water.

Nothin is sacred in Kinky's canon-no minority group, no political party, no popular American icon, not even Billy Graham.

Kinky's humor may be scatological, but it is also shrewd and telling. Both the prejudiced party and the party victimized by the prejuidiced are grist for the even-handed mill. And when Kinky makes jokes about being the only Jewish entertainer from Texas or about Jewish Cadillacs that "stop on a dime and pick it up," he is striking a kind of blow for minority rights that the B'nai B'rith will never understand.

Guy Clark is the Larry Mcmurtry of contemporary songwriters; his bleak Texas landscapes are peopled with obsolete gun-slingers and old drunks reliving the vanished reomance of the Old West. At the very least, one of his songs, "Desperadoes Waiting for a Train," should be enshrined as one of the premiere examples of that genre.

Now backed by a hard-rocking six-man band with the support of a major label (Warner Bros.) behind him, Clark at last stands a chance of breaking out of the unmerited obscurity that has hounded him.