Richard Thompson reached a point in his career where what he did no longer

mattered. Not that his albums or performances weren't very good: more often

than not, they deviated from excellence only occasionally. Not that his

songwriting or guitar playing had dulled: his range and capabilities seemed

endless; his catalog brimmed with variations on a number of styles. As he

entered the 1990s and began to reach a new audience, he didn't dilute his

talents. But he knew he could coast-those who flocked to his shows or bought

his records would know no different. So he and producers Mitchell Froom (and assistant

Tchad Blake) reached for a newer, more contemporary sound. You? Me? Us? is

their fourth collaboration,

and easily ranks among the most comfortable effort the pair have come up

with. At times, it's their best.

Thompson's Froom-era recordings have been an adventurous mixed bag. Amnesia

was solid, Thompson making sure of his footing for his first Capitol Records

release. Next came Rumor and Sigh, on which Thompson concentrated more on

lyrics and song structure ("1952 Vincent Black Lightning," "Grey Walls") than

on production. Mirror Blue, released on the heels of a Thompson tribute and a

two-disc retrospective, found Froom seriously perched behind the board.

Whatever subtlety the songs contained was largely lost. Here, Thompson and

Froom arrive maintain their common ground throughout.

You? Me? Us? contains few shortcomings, and none that marred Mirror

Blue.

The title reflects a split personality, insecurity of one sort or another,

but over two sides of music, one electric and one acoustic, Thompson appears

more self-assured than perhaps since Across a Crowded Room.

Most of the 19 songs, while never straying far from Thompson's oeuvre,

reveal fresh angles on people teetering on the edge, ready to commit one

mortal sin or another, a garden-variety betrayal, or an act of self-abuse. A

woman who cuts off her hair, to the horror of a lover who secretly watches;

the megalomaniac of "Bank Vault in Heaven," considering his growing wealth

and power; the snooping boyfriend who finds photos of his girlfriend's former

men in "Cold Kisses."

When the going gets spiteful, as it does in "Put it There Pal," Thompson

sugarcoats the venom. The song is a classic confrontation between one of

life's losers and the loser's nemesis, presumably a winner. But Thompson

shows how one uses the other, a drowning loser first used as a raft, then

tossed a rope of barbed wire. Still, the loser congratulates his antagonizer: "So it's no hard

feelings,

live and let live/With a gift like yours, you're born to give/You're so full

of love, it leaks out like a sieve." For all the psychosis that is evident,

the song is remarkably calm. Thompson relies on irony and an icy guitar break

to get his point across.

Thompson's electric guitar playing sounds more natural than it has in the

recent past, whether on the extended solo that ends "Put it There Pal" or on

the relaxed rhythm part that accentuates "Hide it Away." The acoustic side

is, well, Richard Thompson playing acoustic guitar. More subtleties find a home in

Thompson's acoustic music, and this

collection is no exception, whether allowing a better sense of his English

folk-rock roots or highlighting his rapport with virtuoso stand-up bass

player Danny Thompson. The set's best song, set to a slowed down reel,

appears near the end, and it combines all of these.

"Sam Jones" is the vivid story of an undertaker, and Thompson spares no

detail in describing the character's travels and experiences: "battlefields

white with human ivory/Noble dukes and princes stripped of flesh and

finery/When the crows have done their work/they say that's the time for

me/Sam Jones deliver them bones." Here, one man's death is another man's

life. The song, lyrically and musically, shows a songwriter at the top of his

game.

So Richard Thompson puts out a finely-produced album of great songs (the

two-CD set sells for the price of one, or slightly more), some with a great

band (Jim Keltner, Simon Nicol, Jerry Scheff, Christine Collister, et al),

others with just acoustic guitar and bass. What's the catch?

With 19 songs over two formats that clock in at well over an hour, it's too

long. Most listeners would be loath to admit it, and Thompson even suggested

that one listen to Moby Grape and Barry Manilow between spins. There are at

least two songs that could have been left off each side. Several songs appear

in both formats, which in fairness gives a glimpse of how they evolve.

You? Me? Us? isn't to be taken lightly. A streamlined song list would allow

the gems here to fully command the attention they deserve.