Contrary to post-Dylan common wisdom, there's nothing wrong with being "just" a singer. English rocker Paul Young proved himself to be one of the best on his first two albums, and it would have been perfectly respectable for him to stay put behind a lead-vocal mike. Given all the good singers who insist on becoming lousy producers and songwriters, in fact, it might have been a wise choice as well as a respectable one.

Apparently, however, Young ascribes to the common wisdom – he coproduced, co-wrote and coarranged Between Two Fires. Through the first few listens, the album seems muted and reticent, a bashful mishmash of pop riffs and references. But after those initial plays, Between Two Fires takes on remarkable colors, as if its ten tracks were strips of film coming to life in a photographer's darkroom. The record finally reveals itself to be a detailed portrait of the problems human beings have with sharing things – whether it's a whole planet or just a queen-size bed.

Between Two Fires should persuade people to stop mislabeling Young as a soul singer. Sure, there are plenty of R&B flourishes here, like the direct quote from Sly Stone's "Dance to the Music" at the angry end of "Wedding Day." But for the most part, Young moves past the stylistic predilection of each song and gives restrained, straightforward readings that can only be tagged as classic. I dare any other singer in any genre to touch Young's aching version of Betsy Cook's "Wonderland." He doesn't make one move that's faddish – or false.

Young will have to woodshed as a songwriter the next time around. Here, choruses are often too skimpy, and melodic turnarounds feel forced and stiff. But by no means should he beat a retreat to "just" singing. Young reveals more of himself on Between Two Fires than ever before, and it turns out the person behind the voice is worth spending some time with. You might never have guessed it from the first two albums, but Paul Young is as interesting as his instrument. (RS 492)

LAURA FISSINGER