For twenty years, the Scottish singer and guitarist John Martyn has blended folk, blues, jazz and reggae with an alchemical grace that hides the complexity of his craft. Recently, such artists as Sade, China Crisis and Everything but the Girl have cited Martyn as an influence. His eighteenth album is a shyly inventive gem that nearly evaporates when it hits the turntable.

The aggressive acoustic-electric dialectic that characterized Martyn's Seventies albums has yielded to more pacific experimentation – rather than evolving with traditional pop drama, his songs rotate on an axis of languid bass lines, sparse, bright percussion and opiate keyboard washes. The intoxicating groove varies only on the charged, ominous "Nightline," which begins side one, and on the album-closing "John Wayne," an almost-seven-minute tale of macho schizophrenia delivered in a theatrical voice. The sole blot among the nine songs is "Lonely Love," a piece of schlock that could become an easy-listening hit. Although it is often difficult to distinguish between Martyn's tranquil visions and MOR narcolepsy, even the wispy title track carries an undertone of tension that balances the passivity. "Look at me, the dizziest dreamer/That this world has ever seen," Martyn sighs on the idyllic "Who Believes in Angels." Some listeners may find Piece by Piece lulling them into their own golden slumbers, and old fans may be disappointed there is so little guitar, but music this still and beautiful is always welcome. (RS 474)

ROB TANNENBAUM