The Sounds of Love Suit Joykiller Well : The Joykiller “Static” Epitaph (*** 1/2)

Jack Grisham’s first law of punk-o-dynamics: For every action there is perhaps a not quite equal, perhaps not exactly opposite reaction, but something ought to zig if your last move was a zag.

Since he debuted with T.S.O.L. in 1981, Grisham--now the Joykiller’s front man--has always tried to keep ‘em guessing. (In the early days, that even meant adopting a different stage name with each new release.)

T.S.O.L. never went over the same ground twice, evolving in the original lineup’s three-year run from the politicized hard-core band of its first EP to the comically macabre enthusiasms of its “Dance With Me” album to the gothic romanticism (with keyboards) of “Beneath the Shadows.”

Grisham is keeping that on-your-toes, anything-goes ethic alive in the Joykiller, which debuted last year with a hurtling yet catchy punk album that harked back at times to the social and sicko concerns of early T.S.O.L.

“The Joykiller” didn’t become the big hit that Grisham, his label and his longtime fans were hoping for (it may have been a mistake not to play up the track “Seventeen,” a great teen-anguish anthem that might be Grisham’s finest song), but it did get this inveterate homebody back on the road, giving him a national profile for the first time in ages.

So what does he do for a follow-up? He offers one of the most pop-appealing records of his career, thereby braving the possible puzzlement or wrath of the hard-core kids to whom the Joykiller played last year as the opening act on the Pennywise tour.

“Static” sounds like the early Joe Jackson might have if his band had been pumped up on steroids and speed; it resembles a vinyl platter of power-pop intended for spinning at 33 r.p.m. but jacked up to 45.

Instead of the distorted, noise-thickening sound effect it was on “The Joykiller,” Ronnie King’s piano is frequently allowed to be a piano--bouncing, jangling and deftly decorating the blitz-pop attack. Also featured are some Adolescents-style surging guitar barrages and good, massed backing vocals that give Grisham’s distinctive but not trenchant voice a helpful lift (the all-star chorus includes the Offspring’s Dexter Holland, Pennywise’s Jim Lindberg and Grisham’s former Tender Fury bandmates Frank Agnew and Robbie Allen).

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Romance is mainly what’s on Grisham’s mind here as he flits between recollections of what it’s like to be a teenager, with all the keen drives and heightened anxieties and outrageous foolishness that involves, and more adult scenarios in which the protagonist tries to pick his way through the thickets of marriage.

First comes “Hate,” an opening salvo of nihilism that sounds like a punked-up take on early David Bowie. “I want to talk about a new bomb / I’m on a planet that is all wrong,” Grisham drawls in that odd, son-of-Al-Jolson way of his.

The rest of the album consists of sharp, tightly drawn dispatches from love’s battlefield. At their best, Grisham and band can be poignant as well as zooming. The lineup is first-album holdovers King, bassist Billy Persons and drummer Chris Lagerborg, plus new guitarist Sean Greaves. Another returnee is veteran punk producer Thom Wilson, best known for his work with the Offspring.

Highlights include a portrait of an unhappily married guy seeking solace at the movies (“I Don’t Know”), a look at a wired kid who robs a store as part of his testosterone-addled search for a manly niche in life (“White Boy, White Girl”) and a sympathetic glimpse at a woman whose past holds nagging wounds that won’t heal (“Nowhere Ever”).

Just as the high-speed approach threatens to get repetitious, about midway through the record, the Joykiller pulls off its biggest zigzag, shifting into a bridge melody on “Television,” which combines Burt Bacharach with “Space Oddity” Bowie as Grisham warbles the highest notes of his career. It’s such unexpected fun that one feels as if Gomer Pyle had just shown up, going “surprise, surprise, surprise.”

In the end, Grisham reaches for a final affirmation: After all he has learned and shared about love’s potholes, pitfalls and heartbreaks, he can still celebrate. In the exuberant “What a Girl,” he tells what it’s like to be a hormonally charged, Cupid-struck kid whose world has just narrowed down to one other person. “What a girl!” he proclaims. “I’d give her anything.”

“That way trouble lies, kid,” the adult, experienced Grisham might say. But there’s a pretty big part of him, even at 35 (his birthday was Monday) that is still a convincing 19.

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Ratings range from * (poor) to **** (excellent), with *** denoting a solid recommendation.

* The Joykiller plays tonight at the Foothill Tavern, 1922 Cherry Ave., Signal Hill. 9 p.m. $8. (310) 494-5196.