Nothing is quite as it seems in the songs of Paddy McAloon. While sounding plush and extravagant—like Philly soul recreated in ‘80s Durham—Prefab Sprout's whispery synth-pop is often sparse and suspended in a dreamy haze. McAloon's lyrics are a carefully considered travelogue of romantic dead ends (“Appetite,” “Goodbye Lucille #1”) that pointedly steers clear of sentiment. But then there are the childlike refrains, the giggling “hot dog, jumping frog, Albuquerque” moments (“The King of Rock ‘N' Roll”) that undermine the image of the rarified gentleman songwriter with evident glee.