According to a headline in Newsweek Magazine, "The Cat Came Back."

That's shorthand for "Cat Stevens, the folksinger of the 1970s, has come out of his cloistered life as a Muslim to write and sing more songs for the general public."

He goes by the name of "Yusuf" now. And that's fine. Those of us who have been waiting three decades to hear him are just glad he's back in the recording studio.

When I was at BYU in 1972, troubadours like James Taylor, John Denver and Stevens were the rage. Cat Stevens was the "spiritual" one of the bunch. When he sang "I listen to the wind of my soul" or "Glide on the Peace Train," it was "courtin' time" at the Y. If you could make a young coed dewy-eyed over a Cat Stevens song, there was a chance she just might transfer some of that dewyness to you.

It was grace by association.

For many of us, Cat Stevens was a spiritual he-man, a knight errant on a mission. His songs were "secu-religious." They made the Top 40, but the words spoke about things of the spirit.

While listening to "Moonshadow" and "Wild World," a young man like me could almost see visions. I felt I could change the world.

Then the Cat took off. Before Islam became so entwined with terrorism, Stevens decided to convert.

Most of us thought it was a whim.

It was a whim that lasted almost 40 years.

Now, still a Muslim, Stevens is back with a new CD, "Roadsinger."

I picked up a copy the day it came out.

A photo in the liner notes shows Stevens tooling across the desert behind the wheel of his trusty van. So, to capture the mood, I put the CD in the car player and headed off into Utah's west desert badlands.

And I soon discovered that Stevens was now a very different "cat."

There's still a sweetness to the sounds and words, but there's a stone-washed feel to his songs now. They seem pared down and carefully crafted. They no longer burst from his mouth like poetry-slam poetry. They speak of grim times and weary spirits now. That old sparkle still shows underneath, but it's muted now.

In the past 40 years, Stevens has not only grown up, he has grown old.

Now, instead of a young captain leading the charge, he's a weary correspondent documenting the battle.

No longer does he brandish his gleaming sword. He's a teacher, an elder of the tribe, a spokesman.

And listening to songs like "The Rain," "This Glass World" and "World of Darkness," I could feet a twinge of nostalgia for the saucy young man of yesteryear, the brazen boy who took on the world and thought it was an even match.

I missed the kid who had gone from a young soldier to a grizzled old colonel in the blink of an eye.

A lot of idealism had been knocked out of him, replaced by lessons learned.

I'm not talking about Cat Stevens, of course.

The melancholy I felt, alas, was for me.

E-MAIL: jerjohn@desnews.com