Paul releases his inner Beatle

"Chaos and Creation in the Backyard." Odd little album title, isn't it?

So what's Paul McCartney up to on this, his 20th solo venture since the breakup of The Beatles 35 years ago?

Plenty.

But before we get into that, let's get back to that album title. "Chaos and Creation in the Backyard" represents a pairing of lyric snippets from two of the more upbeat tracks on the album, Fine Line ("There''s a long way between chaos and creation") and Promise to You Girl ("Looking through the backyard of my life"). Gracing the album's cover is a black-and-white photograph of a teenaged Paul playing guitar amid linens hanging out to dry in the backyard of his boyhood home.

So the 63-year-old McCartney is looking back on this one. But what of "chaos and creation"?

Let's remember that Paul, along with songwriting partner John Lennon, headed up the band that created two of the most successful concept albums of the 20th century, "Revolver" and "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." Nigel Godrich, the producer of Paul's latest, helmed the controls for Radiohead's "OK Computer," the first great concept album of the 21st century, released 3 years ahead of time.

Might "Chaos and Creation in the Backyard" be another concept album from Paul, his first since "Band on the Run," the rocking post-Beatles opus recorded with his band Wings in 1973?

You betcha. "Chaos and Creation in the Backyard" is the usually cheerful Paul's war with the Dark Side, both as it has affected him personally and as it pervades many things perceived as "edgy" in 2005--the romanticization of violence and degradation of women by everyone from clever rappers to Islamic jihadists; the humiliation component of reality TV; the breakdown in civil discourse, and on and on... It is also the most powerful, cohesive and mature artistic statement to come from McCartney since he was a Beatle.

In Fine Line, the album's energetic opener, Paul lays out his case for moral clarity in a world that's obliterated boundaries. There are consequences for the decisions we make. Following the rabble is not what true creativity is about. You can take care of yourself and love and respect others AND be edgy in your ideas--indeed, fresh sounds rooted in the McCartney legacy abound on the album, presented by a one-man Paul band, occasionally assisted by strings. But you have to know where to draw the line "between recklessness and courage."

The dual themes of "chaos and creation" and loss and redemption recur throughout the album. In How Kind of You, a restlessly plaintive thank-you note, Paul sings, "I won't forget how unafraid you were that long dark night." In the Dickensian Jenny Wren, the wounded protagonist will sing again only "when this broken world mends its foolish ways." In At the Mercy, a chilling rendering of helplessness before forces beyond our control, he intones, "At the mercy of a busy road we can watch the universe explode."

Moments of romance and good cheer appear to provide relief from the album's unsettling dynamic. A Certain Softness, a flamenco-tinged love song, sounds like it could have been played at Rick's Place. Friends to Go is perhaps the world's first pop song to show compassion for a misanthrope. The stately English Tea, a "very twee" poke at England's landed gentry (and thus at McCartney himself), sounds like it came from the White Album sessions.

But soon the tension returns. On Riding to Vanity Fair, Paul bitterly kisses off an uncaring friend. The tug between darkness and light colors even the album's two closing power ballads, This Never Happened Before and Anyway. It's as if McCartney is saying, as we give and receive love and grace, we must remain on our guard. The darkness always lurks close by. Pretty heavy stuff coming from that aging, cheery fellow affectionately known to his fans as "Macca." And not a moment too soon.