Nick Lowe may have gone through his share of personalities–the cover of Pure Pop for Now People illustrates that – but a shiv-toting Mack the Knife type surely isn't one of them. Truth to tell, it's hard to think of a more likable pop figure than the former Brinsley Schwarz and Rockpile bassist: he's witty, intelligent, sanely egoed and cute to boot. At his best, Lowe's work reflects his personal qualities. And, ironically enough, Nick the Knife's alien presences aren't the savage cruelties its title would suggest–or mock–but rather a streak of sappiness and a surprising sense of earnestness.

Every song on Nick the Knife, Lowe's first solo album since Rockpile marched messily to a premature grave, is a throwaway. But that's how Lowe has always worked: taking the discards of pop – cheaply sentimental lyrics, washed-out licks, tired studio effects – and brilliantly bringing them back to life by aerating them with his cynic-with-a-heart-of-gold sensibility. Not to mention his considerable nose for catchy hooks and clever twists of phrase. What's missing here is the go-for-the-throat sharpness and turn of the screw that fueled "I Love the Sound of Breaking Glass" and "When I Write the Book." While there aren't any genuine stinkers, there also aren't any tracks that really fuse Lowe's melodic gifts with his nutted-by-reality world view.

Consider the new version of "Heart," a number originally done by Billy Bremner in the bygone Rockpile era. As sung by Bremner, the tune was boomy with quasi-Elvis (Presley, not Costello) overtones. In Lowe's rendition, "Heart" emerges as a pleasant but harmless shuffle, with skanky guitar playing and a backing vocal that sounds like a college a cappella group making its vinyl debut. There's spunk, to be sure, but it's mighty muffled spunk. "Let Me Kiss Ya," a Jackson Five homage, doesn't come off any better, its Rod McKuen reference notwithstanding.

Which isn't to say that you can't get a lot of pleasure out of Nick the Knife. Take the guitar riff in "Stick It where the Sun Don't Shine" (Lowe certainly did, practically Xeroxing the notes from Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Green River"). Once you're over the initial shock, though, the sheer wallop of the chorus is irresistible, whether or not you think it's a comment on Dave Edmunds' rationale for leaving Rockpile ("You put it all around how bland the plan was/You didn't understand friends were bending over backward"). Similarly sizzling is "Burning," with Terry Williams' all-out drumming leading the way.

What holds the rest of the material back? Well, it might just be that Lowe's in love. Check these lyrics from "Queen of Sheba":

I place no one above ya

That's what I wanna say to ya

What I mean is I love ya

And I wanna stay with ya

Is this the man who once castrated Castro? Even some neat verbal gymnastics later in the song–like the way Lowe sings, "You ain't no Mona Lisa/And me no speak no Italiano" – can't quite save that sentiment. "I Couldn't Love You (Any More than I Do)," with lovely harmonies by Lowe's wife, Carlene Carter, is quite affecting, however.

"Too Many Teardrops," with its cannibalized "(What's So Funny 'bout) Peace, Love and Understanding" bass line, bops prettily enough, while the harmonies in "Raining Raining" should bring a smile. But there are only so many times that the same studio tricks–singing fifths on the choruses, modulating up a step on the third verse–can stay interesting. Without Lowe's more nervy notations, the whole disc tends to blend together a mite too much.

Perhaps Nick the Knife is simply a dip in the road. It's not as if the guy misses his old band–the playing here is nice and feisty. It's just that it's a little, uh, soft. But like the man said: some people just wanna fill the world with silly love songs. And if it's Nick Lowe who's doing it, what's wrong with that? (RS 364)

CHRISTOPHER CONNELLY