The legacy of singer-songwriter Cat Stevens is a distinct dichotomy: though he built his fame on a string of hit singles and bestselling albums, he seems as famous now for turning his back on that stardom for a life devoted to Islam, education, and charity. But Stevens's latter-day willingness to explore that past (finally allowing his original '70s albums to be remastered and reissued) only reinforces the old adage that hindsight is usually 20/20; some of the later collections that seemed so idiosyncratic at the time of their original releases now seem but part of the artist's larger spiritual quest. Nineteen seventy-five's Numbers is a good case in point, ostensibly a whimsical concept album (subtitled "A Pythagorean Theory Tale" and bearing a "WARNING: This album is not to be taken 2 seriously" advisory) about a distant planet whose inhabitants are charged with distributing numbers to the rest of the universe. Stevens sets up the tale in a fancifully illustrated booklet, leads off with the sprightly instrumental "Whistlestar," and then lets its characters inhabit a tellingly introspective slate of songs. Set against spare backdrops that subtly evoke everything from folk to baroque (incorporating sidemen like sax notable David Sanborn and Art Garfunkel), those protagonists mouth restless spiritual and existential concerns not unlike the singer's own. Stevens also produced this fairy tale for children of all ages, insuring Numbers a very personal space in his canon, whether he took it "2 seriously" or not. --Jerry McCulley