Last week Britain saw the twenty-fifth anniversary of a social conflict which would go on to divide the nation's political, cultural, and economic circumstances like no other since the second world war. A quarter of a century ago the nation's coal miners called a halt to production in a dispute ostensibly over pit closures, triggering what the government would regard as a clash of radically different ideologies The strike was far more than just a denial of labour; Union leader Arthur Scargill saw himself as a latter day Kier Hardie and was duly portrayed by the country's reactionary media as a Trotskyite beelzeebub. His nemesis was the Prime Minister, leader of the Conservative party and confidant of Ronald Reagan - Margaret Thatcher.
Against this backdrop the entertainment business carried on regardless; there were no protest songs, few benefit events for those on strike and instead of intervention on behalf of the increasingly poverty stricken and destitute on their own doorstep, the pop world scandalously chose to pool their resources to record "Do They Know It's Christmas?" instead.
From the country's north east - an area already savaged by the radical decline of the coal, steel and shipbuilding industries - Prefab Sprout made music which sounded more like it belonged to the Sixth Form common room than the working men's club. Two Wheels Good's predecessor, Swoon had been critically hailed a near miss in the minor classic stakes, despite lead singer Paddy McAloon's apparent joy at making his music as inaccessible as possible and flirting with a sound that had the suspicious hallmarks of art school jazz. With the addition of eccentric Thomas Dolby at the controls - a whizzkid who was highly simpatico to band's inherently skewed aesthetic - the tendency to over-elaborate which had blighted Swoon was replaced by a highly attuned pop sensibility. But if you think the virtuoso material that became Two Wheels Good was just a savant producer getting results by simply tidying up the attic and removing clutter, you’d be underestimating McAloon's prodigious gifts of both songwriting mettle and winsome self effacement.
First and foremost, it’s an unashamedly commercial record, designed to be cherished and diligently embossed with touching songs full of wit, charm, and warmth. In an era of big hair, big choruses and lowest common denominator appeal it was a welcomed, intelligent curate’s egg. Opening with the country tinged “Faron Young”, before down changing tempo completely for the brilliant, heart wrenching sonnet for a funeral bouquet “Bonny”, McAloon makes his play for the heartstrings with rare and dazzling eloquence. This after all is his country – aquiline tales of love and loss played out across a canopy of a dozen post-modern Heathcliffes, delivered in a voice sometimes no more than a whisper.
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