(Fantasy)

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As visceral and uncompromising as his early solo outings were cerebral and widescreen, Street Songs of Love makes a strong case for Alejandro Escovedo being one of our pre-eminent rock ‘n' roll artists now operating well outside the parameters of the so-called Americana realm. That the man voted No Depression magazine's "Artist of the Decade" for the ‘90s should submit such a powerhouse set will come as no surprise to anyone who's seen him perform with his band during the past year or so (or, going all the way back, is familiar with Escovedo's exploits during the late ‘70s and early ‘80s with the Nuns and the True Believers). However, this is also a man who will turn 60 in six months and spent several years during the ‘00s recovering from a near-fatal duel with hepatitis, so it's unlikely anyone would raise an eyebrow if he'd opted for a kinder, gentler brand of strum ‘n' twang and settled into the sunset-years role of Americana godfather.

Not Al. To hear him exploding out the gate on Street Songs of Love with material that recalls classic raveups from the Stones, Mott the Hoople and the Clash is to bear witness to the eternal fountain of (mental) youth that rock ‘n' roll has always represented. Small wonder that a couple of other bonafide survivors, Bruce Springsteen and Ian Hunter, neither of whom has ever indicated a desire to fade away quietly, turn up on a pair of tracks to contribute guest vocals. Here, the cat sounds positively possessed: the anthemic, Mott-like "Anchor," which boasts a biting guitar solo (courtesy longtime axe foil David Pulkingham), randy-but-right female vocal harmonies and a string of memorable lyric metaphors ("If your love was a ship/ I'd pull your anchor and christen it" goes one particularly juicy one); punk romp "Silver Cloud," which actually sounds like a Clash outtake; swaggering manifesto "Faith," with its Keef-styled meaty riffs and, in lieu of a cameo by Mick, The Boss growling into the mic at just the right spots.

True to the album title, these are songs about affairs of the heart, the joys and aches alike. Escovedo, he's had a few, and there are moments of sheer bliss ("First time I saw you I thought I must have dreamed you up," he exults, in the raucous, pounding "Tender Heart") alongside paranoia-fueled angst ("This bed is getting crowded/ Baby, something feels wrong," from "This Bed Is Getting Crowded"). And there are also moments of such poetic beauty that you want to go grab the nearest stranger and jam your earbuds onto his head:

"She said her first love was her last

So she cries when she hears Johnny Cash

All she wants to do is fall apart with me

All I want is to fall apart with you...

We know that nothing ever lasts."

( - "Fall Apart With You")

It's also a precisely-paced album that provides a subtle yet insistent dynamic flow. Five songs in, on the heels of a brace of rockers, comes the insistent yet gentle reverie of "Down In the Bowery" (the one featuring Ian Hunter); and then a couple of songs later comes a spooky slice of New Orleans-flavored swamp rock, "Tula," one of the highlights of the set precisely because it's unexpected and so different from the rest of the record. There's also a lovely instrumental, "Fort Worth Blue," to close the record, and in its nocturnal, subtly Spanish ambiance (just Escovedo and Pulkingham on guitars, plus distant percussion) it supplies the perfect coda; worth noting is that the arrangement was inspired by the late Stephen Bruton, who frequently worked with Escovedo, and the meditational vibe is profound.

Escovedo and his band the Sensitive Boys worked out the new material over a series of regular weekly gigs in Austin, building the songs from the ground up, acoustically, then gradually fleshing them out. But credit for much of the album's thematic and sonic cohesion, no doubt, is due to producer Tony Visconti, behind the glass for a second time following the commercial and critical success of 2008's Real Animal; he and Escovedo are clearly simpatico in the studio, in tune with one another both generationally and philosophically. Also returning for an encore is Chuck Prophet, who while not playing guitar as he did last time co-wrote fully half of the album, testimony both to the vitality an outside vision can bring to a project and to Escovedo's keen instincts in sussing out a valuable collaborator. (Tellingly or not, the album's heaviest tunes - "Anchor," "Tender Heart," "Faith," "This Bed Is Getting Crowded" - bear the Escovedo-Prophet songwriting credit.)

Still, Street Songs of Love represents as pure a distillation of Alejandro Escovedo Mk. 2010 as one could imagine or hope for. That sweet taste you get in your mouth while you're listening to this record? That's the nectar of triumph, my friends.

Standout Tracks: "This Bed is Getting Crowded," "Tender Heart," "Tula" FRED MILLS