To be blunt about it, The Abominable Showman, Nick Lowe's fourth solo album, gives the distinct impression that Nick the Knife has lost his cutting edge. Superficially, the record seems fine: twelve neat slices of chipper, jokey mock-R&B that trade on endless, clever turns of phrase for instant appeal. But cleverness does not equal conviction, and most of these made-for-radio confections are so slight they could blow away in a breeze.

It takes a certain way with words, granted, to pen such cunning semantic inversions as "Time Wounds All Heels" and – brace yourself – "(For Every Woman Who Ever Made a Fool of a Man There's a Woman Made a) Man of a Fool," but such quips just wind up sitting there like eggs on a plate, no more or less than what they seem. In "Wish You Were Here," a thin soul duet between Lowe and Paul Carrack, the singers sweat over sentiments that are Hallmark-card deep – "Having said that, my dear/How I wish that you were here"–in a kind of masquerade of real emotion. When Lowe tries to pump it up a bit in the out-chorus–"How I wish that you were really here, truly here"–you find yourself wanting to yank the Abominable Showman right off the stage.

Now, admittedly, Lowe has left himself an out by excusing this shallow song-and-dance-man schtick as the stock in trade of the entertainer. But he also knows that on a deeper level, though songs may come and go, style's the thing, and he's heretofore been able to animate a subculture with stylish wit and knockabout rock & roll. On his first record, Pure Pop for Now People, Lowe authored a primer of modern poses and virtually reinvented power pop with songs like "(I Love the Sound of) Breaking Glass," "So It Goes" and "Nutted by Reality." Pure Pop–and Labour of Lust, too–were entertaining and culturally acute; The Abominable Showman is merely entertaining.

And it's not always that, either. When he sings "We Want Action," the leadoff track, he means "a little feminine distraction" – a mindless sentiment I find, well, distracting. As for the music, where's the crunch, the 4 4 slam, of Labour of Lust? Okay, "Tanque-Rae" is a fine party-down sendup of the Champs' late-Fifties hit "Tequila," and "Saint Beneath the Paint" rocks out like Rockpile did: hard and fast. Overall, though, this nut doesn't seem nutted enough on The Abominable Showman. He's conventional, even. And that's no fun. (RS 392)

PARKE PUTERBAUGH