Elegantly produced by British folk veteran Joe Boyd and focusing on tales of aborted and unbridled love, Workers Playtime is the last record anyone would expect Billy Bragg to make. A rabble-rousing socialist, Bragg established himself with caustic political broadsides and the Clash-like grind of his electric-guitar accompaniment. Yet as his superb 1986 album Talking with the Taxman About Poetry amply demonstrated, Bragg can maneuver through the intricacies of interpersonal relationships as well as he can Margaret Thatcher's policies. Workers Playtime, named after a post-World War II radio show, is the next stage in that aspect of Bragg's fascinating musical growth.

Like Elvis Costello, Bragg is drawn to romance but grapples with its stipulations of obsession and commitment. In "Must I Paint You a Picture" he begins by calling the woman in question "a little black cloud in a dress," but by the chorus he's singing her praises. Tracks like "Valentine's Day Is Over," "The Only One" and "Life with the Lions" ("If that face of yours could only talk/The stories it could tell") deal with romantic hope and despair, and "The Price I Pay" reveals his knack for gorgeous melodies and unabashed romanticism. Even the sappiest of these songs are given some bite by Bragg's nasal but sincere delivery – sort of like a cockney Dead End Kid.

Throughout the record, producer Boyd frames the songs with harmonica, violin, keyboards, pedal steel guitar, sitar, Beatlesque guitar hooks, regal horns and Danny Thompson's graceful bass lines. Yet the production never blunts Bragg's message or power. And in case you were wondering, Workers Playtime still addresses political concerns – in "Tender Comrade," an a cappella ballad about war veterans, and the jaunty "Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards," which name-drops Ché and Castro. But in lines like "The most important decisions in life are made by two people in bed," in "Must I Paint You a Picture," Bragg acknowledges that debates won in the bedroom are as important as those won in the board room. (RS 539)

DAVID BROWNE