Ignored             Obscured              Restored

This weekend marks the 18th anniversary of Song of the Week.  Over those many years, there have been two bands I love that have somehow never made it into the feature: Arctic Monkeys and Prefab Sprout.  In both cases, the delay came down to the same problem — there are simply too many songs I adore, and I’ve never been able to settle on just one.

Today, I finally correct that omission by choosing “Faron Young” (simply “Faron” in the U.S.) by Prefab Sprout, from their 1985 album Steve McQueen (retitled Two Wheels Good for its U.S. release).  It was the third of six singles released from the album.

Steve McQueen has earned lasting and substantial critical acclaim.  According to Wikipedia, it was named the fourth-best album of the year by NME and placed 28th in The Village Voice’s Pazz & Jop critics’ poll upon its release.  In later retrospectives, “the album placed at No. 47 in a 1993 poll by The Times, No. 90 in a 1995 poll by Mojo, and No. 61 in a 1997 poll by The Guardian.  It was also selected for inclusion in 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die.”

Despite all this recognition, none of the singles from Steve McQueen charted in the U.S. Prefab Sprout has always had a distinctly Anglo appeal — subtle, literate, and emotionally restrained in a way that never quite translated commercially across the Atlantic.

Back to “Faron Young.”  Songwriter Paddy McAloon’s lyric cleverly references Young’s 1971 waltz time song “It’s Four in the Morning,” a surprise No. 3 hit in the UK — a rare feat for a country record, especially one that barely cracked the Top 100 in the U.S., peaking at No. 92.  “Faron” includes the lyrics:

Late sky
Like an all-night radio station
Without morning
Like stumbling on Pearl Harbor
Without warning

You offer infrared instead of sun
You offer bubble gum

You give me Faron Young four in the morning

McAloon has suggested that “Faron Young” explores why people living far from the American South — the cultural home of country music — can nonetheless feel a deep connection to it.  That idea neatly explains the unlikely British success of Young’s song, and it gives “Faron Young” its quiet emotional core.

Like much of Steve McQueen, the track pairs melodic warmth with lyrical ambiguity.  The meaning is never handed to the listener outright; instead, it unfolds gradually, rewarding repeated listens.  In that way, McAloon’s lyrics can feel as sly and elliptical as Steely Dan’s — inviting interpretation rather than laying it bare.

If you’ve listened to Steve McQueen, you already know how enduring its pleasures are.  If you haven’t, this is as good a place as any to start. And as for Arctic Monkeys?  I promise they’ll get their turn by the next anniversary.

Enjoy… until next week.