Ray’s penchant for outsized, overly ambitious rock and roll narratives has occasionally subsumed and undermined the best aspects of his songwriting genius, but when he gets the balance between ambition and execution correct, the results can be astounding. Such is the case on Arthur, a song cycle tackling no less a topic than the psychological effects of Britain’s post-war erosion as a world power and the relationship of the nation toward its remaining colonies. Yes, it sounds more like a policy paper than a rock and roll record, but against all odds the end results are nothing less than thrilling. From the ragged, good-humored strut of the classic opener “Victoria,” to the stunning, cold-blooded consideration of war’s hellish consequences “Some Mother’s Son,” to the lovely, resigned climax of “Shangri-La,” this is the sound of a great band operating at the peak of its powers. Doubling down on the homeward-looking meditations of Village Green Preservation Society, Ray establishes himself here as nothing less than a crucial historian of the British experience, suggesting something like William Manchester as backed by the Faces. Others may have produced ponderous “rock operas,” but as a piece of living history, there is nothing else in the canon of rock and roll quite like the singular brilliance of Arthur.