Prefab Sprout
Let's Change the World With Music

An abortion. A refusal. An unfinished predestination. Forward, Savoia.

The great "no" took shape in 1993, where the top brass of CBS (licensee of the historic label of the Prefab Sprout, Kitchenware Records) gathered in the decision room with Patrick Joseph McAloon, more comfortably Paddy, in front of them, rejected this album. It's not good, we don't like it, it doesn't catch on. Sting is already plaguing the average listener with themes related to faith, and now you want to join in too?

Those were hectic years, the pop scene was shifting, one had to reinvent and update oneself. Almost relaunch, in their case.

McAloon, words, music, and mind of PS, came out of it battered. Coming from an album that garnered some acclaim while selling so-so (“Jordan: The Comeback,” 1990) and a positively received collection (“Life Of Surprises,” 1992), he bowed out, excused himself, and went back to his tasks.

Introverted but suffering from a sort of compulsive bulimia in composing and shelving, we would find him again in late 1997 with “Andromeda Heights,” a substantial dive into honey that made many fans frown.

The resurrection of the demos of this “Let’s Change The World With Music,” dated 2009, has a fascinating aspect: the myth of ‘Smile’ by the Beach Boys (of whom Paddy has long been a fan, and the adoration for Brian Wilson is well-known ed) which, for reasons unknown to me, suffered the same fate. On the other hand, there is also a speculative side. Our hero needed money, so the historic manager, Keith Armstrong, endeavored to recover the masters, clean them up, reorganize them, and finally publish them.

Religion, we were saying. Music, says the title. But the main pillar is faith. McAloon, with his earlier works, has accustomed fans to his being as twisted and tormented as a child might be: with grace.

If already with ‘Jordan: The Comeback’ he had touched on the theme by personifying directly as God in a sort of handbook (‘One Of The Broken’), or groping for Elvis's soul with a handful of concept tracks, here he places himself on the other side revealing not so much a quest but a certainty: well, yes, I believe. In Him, I trust (‘God Watch Over You’), and He is my inspiration (‘Let There Be Music’); those who do good will find good, our grandparents used to say, and they will go straight to heaven: even if they are atheist (‘Ride’).

Clearly, one positions oneself outside setting aside one's perception of the mere concept of religion, attempting to interpret and assess the finished product. Which is passable, in terms of faith. Less so, in the other portion of the apple: the music. Yes. Because LCTWWM deals with faith and... music.

And, according to ‘I Love Music’ and ‘Music Is A Princess,’ one descends into a mediocrity that the established fan accepts, but anyone approaching the project might dismiss as meh.

Exception makes ‘Sweet Gospel Music,’ a lovely introspection lived in the third person, as well as ‘Meet The New Mozart,’ a heavy self-reference but recited with the usual sophistication.

‘Earth: The Story So Far’, which, in Paddy's intentions, was supposed to serve as the title track back in the day, is negligible. ‘Potential soundtrack for Love Boat’ was defined by an opposing opinion upon the album’s release, and I somewhat agree, even if the ironic note is more tied to the music than to the contents, bringing us to the organoleptic aspect.

Thomas Dolby, a top-tier producer and the group's historic producer, who in 1993 had been pre-alerted to handle the demos, would have had his fair share of work. And rightly so, after all.

Because the album sounds clean, but it sounds bare: it was never arranged, produced, finished. It's raw stone, and reviews in magazines overseas appreciated its virginity. I say: a pity.

I say it without pretension: the record is played and synthesized on a Roland, or a Korg, it doesn't matter. The good intentions are discernible, the ideas, and personally, cyclically, since its publication, I feel the need from time to time to revisit it. And, inevitably, I try to imagine myself as a sixteen-year-old, with headphones, placing 'Let's Change The World With Music' between 'Very' and 'The Wedding Album.' Needless to specify that I CANNOT: the past doesn't grant the luxury of counterproof.

Better to play it today, in the present time. It's somewhat like purification, echoes of a not yet remote past that sound with delayed resonance, an abortion that is no more, an aftertaste that becomes sweet and tries to claim a space there, in the early '90s, but that space was taken away, stripped, denied: for this, perhaps, it is cherished even more.