Joe Jackson has made a career out of not repeating himself. His antiformulaic approach to music has been daring in its scope (everything from brash, guitar-based rock to "jumping jive" and neo-classical side trips). Each record has had some distinctive twist or topspin to identify it, and Blaze of Glory, Jackson's twelfth album, is no different.

This time, Jackson has constructed a suite of songs that plays through like a hip Broadway musical. The programmatic nature of the material tempts one to call it – gasp! – a concept album, and the musical linkages between tracks give it that whole-is-greater-than-the-sum kind of feeling. As a song cycle, Blaze of Glory travels from one end of the musical cosmos to another, allowing Jackson to assimilate a lot of what he's learned from other projects on one hell of an eclectic album. A smart arranger, he has applied his knowledge judiciously, so that Blaze of Glory never succumbs to kitchen-sink clutter. Jackson also knows how to generate musical excitement – witness the shivery vocal arrangement in "Me and You (Against the World)" or the rock-to-jazz dissolves of "Rant and Rave."

In many ways, Blaze of Glory harks back to the Sixties, both in its social awareness and the up-front vigor of the music, which work together to press a case for waking up to the world around us. A cynical distaste for demagoguery and ego at both the level of pop celebrities ("Blaze of Glory") and powerful nations ("Evil Empire," which isn't so much about the U.S.S.R. as the U.S.) gives the album a caustic shot of realism. But belief in humanity's potential to transcend conceits and work miracles is evident on "Tomorrow's World" and the achingly vulnerable "Human Touch," which open and close the album on a note of hope.

Another theme is the rise of rock & roll, its promises and failures. There are fond flashbacks to Swinging London, circa 1967 and 1977, along with a sardonic song about the delusion of wanting to be "Nineteen Forever." Like Lou Reed, Joe Jackson has no problem writing songs for and about adults, and he can see through the adolescent wish fulfillment of the Eighties rock-star fantasy. "We can do magic in these times," Jackson sings. "Be what we want to be/We'll all be rock & roll stars/Immortal on TV."

In the end, the fallen rock star, having flared out prematurely in a blaze of glory, is a metaphor for a planet that is threatening to do the same thing to itself. On "Tomorrow's World," Joe Jackson looks out at the multitude of stars in the sky, while in "Blaze of Glory" he ruminates about a dead one here on earth. Regardless which end of the telescope he's peering through, he's got a lot to say about the things he sees. (RS 552)

PARKE PUTERBAUGH