Considered another way, "No Mercy" is an appropriate opener because it's also about a man screwing up the courage to complete an unpleasant task. And a good deal of the time, Lofgren's problem has seemed to be nothing more than a failure of nerve: he'd flash his chops, brag and strut with abrasive arrogance, but when it came time to put the chips down and make a record that proved his claims, he'd turn in conventional, even dull work.

But Nils changes all that. It washes away the aggravation of recent years, leaving the sense of limitless possibilities that one felt while listening to this artist in 1976, when he was supposed to become the West Coast Bruce Springsteen, or something like it. The new disc is both reflective and explosive — sometimes simultaneously — and it moves forward with the force of a resurrection. Which maybe it is.

Nils Lofgren has always had style, but now he knows what to do with it. If there's a key figure who helped him make the transition, it's probably not Lou Reed, who co wrote three of the songs here, but producer Bob Ezrin, who co wrote one tune, played keyboards and sang.

Nils is a rebound for Ezrin, too. It's his best work since the first Alice Cooper hits, and for much the same reason: he brings order to Lofgren's universe, condensing and containing the energy of the guitar playing, for instance, so that the intro to "Kool Skool" isn't just frittered away but continues through the song like some kind of lost, honky outtake from Jimi Hendrix' Axis: Bold as Love. Ezrin loves referential music like this, and Lofgren is such a prodigy he hands it over by the bushel. You can hear echoes of Springsteen, Reed, Hendrix, John Lennon, Pete Townshend, Eric Clapton—all the bright song writing guitarists — even while Lofgren keeps up his own signature riff, which is as oceanic as ever.

Ezrin also loves smooth pop singing, and here's where he really saves the day. Lofgren's raspy shout was never terribly convincing, and as he got older, it made him seem more and more a spoiled brat, always daring, never delivering. Nils contains the singer's most relaxed vocals since Grin's 1 + 1 — no small achievement. If Lofgren has a genius for anything beyond guitar technique, it's for putting together sweet hard rock, which goes sour fast unless the voices are perfect. On the new LP, most of the time, they are.

Ezrin and Lofgren come up with some surprises, too. I can't think of anything either of them has recorded that deserves to be called "funky," and in their portentous reading of Randy Newman's "Baltimore," they're clearly overreaching. But with "A Fool like Me" and "You're So Easy," which feature big-bang guitars and boogie-thump percussion, we get something like a rock-disco sensibility that's exciting without emasculating either idiom.

Most importantly, Nils Lofgren now sounds like a man who's come to terms with himself: the first side of Nils is a series of tentative statements about identity that adds up to a kind of modest self-assurance. And, for all its flaws, "Baltimore" sounds more real than Newman could make it, not just because Lofgren grew up there but because he seems to have taken the measure of the key line: "Man, it's hard just to live." In such moments, this album doesn't just boast, it cuts. If side two didn't dwindle off into some unbelievable misogynous fantasies. Nils might have been the record that finally realized all of Lofgren's potential. As it is, it points the way to that LP, or at least restores our faith that it'll arrive in due time. Which is soon enough. (RS 304)

DAVE MARSH