"Shipbuilding" makes for a fitting entry into Comicopera, both sonically and thematically. Costello had written the song for Wyatt as commentary on the Falklands War - in particular, the contradictions between war being "good for business" for a relative few while contributing great hardship to many others - and here we are, all these years later, with another bullshit war, another oh-so-exciting profit margin for a soulless few while the rest of the world foots the bill in irreparable ways. Wyatt surveys it all with the same compassionate, humanist perspective he's attached to everything he's done over the course of his decades-long career, and in doing so avoids the pitfalls of politically driven music: sloganeering, over-simplification, "us vs. them" rhetoric.

Nah, he's deeper than that, more of a poet than a politico, and so instead he gives us wry observations, insightful vignettes, resonating glimpses into the inner lives of those who suffer. All he wants for us is some peace and harmony, and it would take a cruel man to argue with the passionately stated - but never confrontational - principles of Wyatt's platform. Musically speaking, "Shipbuilding" could also fit itself rather nicely into Comicopera. The song would most likely be the lead-off single from this collection of literate, restrained-but-still-left-field jazz-pop. Tirelessly inventive and downright otherworldly at times, it offers a fascinating alternative to the more straight-up jazz-pop stylings of folks like Diana Krall or Norah Jones. Maybe closer in spirit to the more experimental moments of Cassandra Wilson's career, I suppose. Really, though: Wyatt's pretty much out on his own, bless his heart.

Out on his own, but hardly alone. Wyatt's rounded up quite a roster of collaborators for Comicopera, including his wife, artist Alfie Benge, who not only provides the appropriately contemplative illustrations that accompany the CD, but also wrote many of the lyrics. The couple is joined by everyone from Brian Eno to former Roxy Music guitarist Phil Manzanera to Paul Weller to Brazilian chanteuse Monica Vasconcelos - many of whom trekked up to the English countryside to record at the Wyatt/Benge household - and the result is a remarkably relaxed affair, especially considering the difficult subject matter being addressed here. Perhaps it was the fresh air of a cottage getaway, or perhaps it was Wyatt's experience as a drummer, keeping everybody together and in sync. Whatever the reasons, Comicopera feels like the work of folks who have worked together for lifetimes.

Wyatt has divided the disc into three parts, a conceit which might sound scary on paper - a poorly executed "concept album" is a frightening thing to behold, indeed - but it works magnificently, thanks mostly to the fact that the listener never feels like (s)he's being hit over the head with cries of, "Look! I'm making an artistic statement here!"

Nah, Comicopera's got flow, and thus what was created with a "Point A to Point C" diagram in mind never succumbs to having to drag its audience along in order to get the ideas across. It's an entirely organic development, one which never feels forced or manipulated. And so Wyatt starts off with Act One: Lost in Noise. Composed of five songs, the first suite deals with love and loss, leading off with the farewell-to-old-friends homage "Stay Tuned." "If you can hear me / if you're still there / stay tuned / there is more to come," Wyatt warbles over a moaning clarinet and elegiac piano slightly reminiscent of "Shipbuilding," while guest vocalist Seaming To floats the song heavenward (assuming the skeptic Wyatt would make considerations for the idea of heaven) with haunting operatics.

"Just As You Are" is a heart-meltingly lovely duet with Vasconcelos, whose smooth alto reminds me of a cross between Astrud Gilberto and Stereolab's Laetitia Sadier. Over a slow, hypnotic shuffling beat, the two pledge their undying love for each other, promising to never try to change the other. Sure, it could have come off as trite in lesser hands, but instead it's the centerpiece of the first act, a bewitching love song which vaults itself up into stratospheric levels of gorgeousness once Wyatt begins harmonizing with himself, delivering his signature falsetto in the brightest of notes. Do the lovers succeed? Does happiness prevail? I suppose not: the act ends with "Anachronist," a brooding number featuring wordless vocals occasionally giving way to croaks as saxophone, trombone, and cornet attempt to instill a bit of hope into the scene. It's a portent of things to come.

Act Two: The Here And Now is an analysis of what it's like to be English in the age of the War On Terror. Opening track "A Beautiful Peace," a gently loping bit of pastoral folk-jazz featuring cool-cat fingersnaps and a charming bassline, is a wonderful work of deception. Wyatt's casual delivery leads the listener through a seemingly relaxed tour of his quaint little town, until the little details come to view. Still, he sways back and forth, singing "it's a beautiful day" as the song winds down. Then comes the pause, and the final, pointed observation: "But not here." From there, he heads directly into "Be Serious," an indictment of religion (particularly the more fanatical strains of Christianity and Islam and otherwise), which gets to the point even more succinctly than Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens: "Be serious! / Put a sock in it / then put a lid on it / Do us a favour / Leave it out."

Paul Weller turns in some fantastic guitar on the song, swinging like mad to Wyatt's colorful rhythms. "On the Town Square" is the most hopeful piece in the second act, a sunny-afternoon instrumental volleyed about as far from the quintessential English square as possible thanks to Orphy Robinson's electrifying steel-pan workouts, so expressive that the percussion actually takes a turn as lead instrument! The mood descends from there - the fleeting warmth gives way to "Mob Rule" ("Whom to trust? / Whou could know / Just what that meant: / Expert?") and "A Beautiful War," a fine one-fingered salute to the war-profiteers, misguided adrenaline-junkies, and keyboard-commandos who get off on the idea of air raids and attacks. The build-up explodes with the unsettling "Out of the Blue," in which Wyatt is the victim of a bombing, his home torn apart. "You've planted your everlasting hatred in my part," he cries over glass-shard keyboard squelches as a terrifying chorus of multi-tracked, electronically treated Brian Enos creep and moan in a vicious death rattle.

Wyatt becomes so frustrated that he gives up the Mother Tongue of the War on Terror completely in Act Three: Away With The Fairies, opting instead to sing in Spanish and Italian. Having had enough, he ventures out beyond the realm of English in hopes of finding an alternative to fear and paranoia.

"Del Mondo" is an understated, atmospheric reprieve from the intensity of "Out of the Blue," its plucked violin and warmer vocals giving an inviting point of entry into a new landscape and - we hope - a new mindset. Bewitchingly playful instrumental "Pastafari" - a tribute to the hilariously snarky religious-skeptic's delight the Flying Spaghetti Monster, I hope? - skips and cartwheels with Robinson's fascinating vibraphone work, and the shape-shifting backwards-tape-loops of "Fragment" eventually slide into a brief revisit of "Just as You Are," retaining only a snippet of Vasconcelo's lead before slipping away, ghostlike, from whatever otherworld it came. Wyatt tops it all off with "Hasta Siempre Comandante," a feisty rhumba based on Carlos Pueblas's tribute to Che Guevara. It's a killer ending to the ending to Comicopera, bursting with optimism and showing off a scrappiness much needed after such an emotionally heavy travelogue. The saddest music in the world? Maybe not after all.

I wish I could leave you with a video or performance footage from the album, but alas there is none. How about this instead - did I mention that Wyatt did a righteous cover of "I'm a Believer"?