Prefab Sprout
Two Wheels Good

I remember when I was two years old (or rather: bits of memory tell me, because at two you really can't remember editor's note) I used to listen to Gounod's "Ave Maria" or Handel's Largo and I would cry. My mother didn't understand, and she asked me, "Alessandro, what's wrong?" But I kept crying until the music faded out and I found peace.

Today, at 48 years old, the same thing happens with Prefab Sprout's "Desire As." Sure, I have more control over the scenarios of the mind, but if for a moment I let my essence permeate with the music and detach, tears fall, and I don't even notice. I'd say I'm getting old, but that would contradict what I've just said.

It's not only with Paddy McAloon, of course. In fact, his early works are often so intricate that the ear is often distracted, busy deciphering, deconstructing and reconstructing them, following the paranoid and distressed lyrics, most of the time.

For the record, I've never felt up to the task of reviewing "Steve McQueen." Once a user asked me, one of you who usually comments on my posts, but I, Almighty God, don't remember your names, you've given yourselves strange names, Lector, Pector, MecranzaMec, Deriango, then there's IlConte who tears apart everything I write, Annette whom I haven't figured out if they are a hermaphrodite or what, anyway, someone asked me. As I was saying: I think it's redundant, already reviewed by someone with guts, so I picked the American version, "Two Wheels Good" (because over there Steve McQueen's progeny rose up and tore their clothes: woe to you!) and I'm trying to do it in one of the rare moments I'm sober and my fingers flow more or less well on the keyboard.

Well, no, I'm fed up, review it yourselves.