The Irish writer Brendan Behan once said: “I have never seen a situation so sad that a policeman could not make it worse.” That's how I feel about English band The Police, and every bit as pretentious as Bono's frontman Sting. If I found myself with my head through the shattered windshield of my wrecked car and one of Police's reggae new wave songs came on the car radio, I'd be like, “Oh, come on, God! “Roxanne?” Am I really such a terrible person?'
When Sting decided to join Garfunkel in the Stewart Copeland and Andy Summers trio at the height of the band's success in 1986, I might have breathed a sigh of relief. But a little warning bell in my head told me that Sting leaving The Police because he felt artistically constrained by the band's style of pop rock music was sick. I couldn't help but suspect that the King of Pain was out to prove to the world that he was more than just the guy who gave us “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da.” No, he was a musical artist who made big artistic statements and didn't care who got hurt.
That's exactly what he did with his debut album in 1986 The dream of the blue turtles. You can tell he's aiming high because the LP is filled with songs about big social issues and has a sleek jazz veneer. Because, you know, jazz is a more refined form of music than rock, and indulging your jazz itch automatically makes you a classier person.
The Village Voice's Robert Christgau, never one to suffer fools gladly, said of Sting's debut: “Replacing the serene dynamics of the police, we have bathtubs full of demijazz, watering this lauded and undoubtedly successful work into a whole new dimension of faux class. ” That about sums it up. When it comes to rock, jazz is often a con man's last refuge. It might be the first.
Unfortunately, there is no saving the highfalutin from themselves, and this happens The dream of the blue turtles. To realize his artistic vision, Sting brought together the ubiquitous jazz saxophonist/clarinetist Branford Marsalis and fellow travelers like pianist/keyboardist Kenny Kirkland, bassist Darryl Jones and drummer Omar Hakim – all of whom know you can't do it yourself -major statement with punks.
Gone, for the most part, is the catchy pop immediacy and relative simplicity of songs like 'Roxanne', 'Every Breathe You Take' and 'Every Little Thing She Does'. What you get in its place is impeccably tasteful but anything but jazz-coated galvanized rock. The results are grim, oh so terribly serious and boring. You should be smiling The dream of the blue turtles on pure adrenaline to give him any rock punch, but punching isn't on Sting's agenda.
The album essentially marks Sting's departure from the rock biz. This is chamber music and you shouldn't dismiss it. They are there to be admired. Or perhaps I should say that he exists because Sting wants to be admired, and not simply as a writer of infectious pop songs. Unfortunately, his ambition exceeds his reach, and what we're left with is the lingering stench that accompanies an artist's desperate desire to be taken very, very seriously.
The opening track “If You Love Somebody Set You Free” is so close The dream of the blue turtles reaches a straight pop song. I love the way it sounds like it was recorded in the back of an airplane hangar and the jazzy embellishments work. But the theme could hardly be more confusing – I'm pretty sure he stole that title from a Hallmark card. As Robert Christgau noted in his review of the album, “Not since Paul Simon's hanging conversations has a pop hero done such a line for middlebrow cliché.”
The tropical flavor of the follow-up 'Love Is the Seventh Wave' is a cliché in itself, and Sting sounds like he's just attended a Paul Simon symposium on cultural musical appropriation. And the song reeks of intellectual condescension. Sting sings, “There's a deeper world than this, that you don't understand.” I don't think we need to question whether Sting understands — he has depths that we lack. That said, I love the way he throws in a chorus of “Every Breath You Take” at the end of the song.
“Russians” has a “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” vibe and is an anti-nuclear war song whose lyrics are risque – Sting may or may not be a smart guy, but his skills are no match for political commentary. The musical setting is pompous, and what we get from Sting is annoying dog along the lines of “We share the same biology/Regardless of ideology/Believe me when I tell you/I hope the Russians love their children too.” He hopes; Is there a part of Sting that actually believes Russians might hate their children? And don't even get me started on the lines, “Mr. Khrushchev said, 'We'll bury you'/I don't agree with that view.' They are breathtaking in their banality, and what amazes me the most is that this song was actually released as a single.
'Children's Crusade' is a frivolous jazz-snarled slow in which Sting takes us back to the wanton slaughter of young Englishmen at the start of the First World War before juxtaposing their pointless sacrifice with the death of England's youth in our own time. opiate hands. Sting makes a big deal of the fact that the same poppies used as memorials during the war to end all wars are the same poppies used to make heroin, and it's a pretty clever conceit. But the song itself is terrifying and crawls like a soldier with a bullet in his belly, traversing No Man's Land in Ypres, France in slow and painful fashion. Fun level: zero. But Sting isn't in the business of having fun. I'd say he retired from the fun business when he resigned from the Police, but he was a very serious kid even then.
“Shadows in the Rain” is a welcome upbeat number, and Sting sounds refreshingly animated—even enthusiastic. It's a do-over of the mid-tempo reggae rock bore released by The Police in 1980, and it's a definite improvement. Sting has more grit in his voice and the song has a more textured feel. More jumping too. All it's missing is Andy Summers' great guitar at the end of the original.
In the follow-up to 'Working the Black Seam' Sting, who obviously wants to be known as the most socially conscious rocker of his generation, supports the miners who were then on strike in Thatcher's England. But the song has problems. Vocal Sting seems to be aiming for Gregorian chant, and the sanctimonious feel of the song is surpassed only by Sting's lyricism and woeful ignorance of basic science. Lines like “Power had to be made cheap and clean/Dirty faces never showed/Deadly for 12,000 years/It's carbon 14” are the stuff of limericks, not poetry, and our guy obviously doesn't know doddly-squat for carbon 14.
“Consider Me Gone” is built on a solid instrumental riff that swings, but doesn't swing so much that you'll want to get off your ass and do the jump and jive. It's very relaxing, including Sting's vocals, and follows the title track, which is a jazzbo's dream. Basically Sting gave the jazz kids a chance to cut loose and play some bebop, and pianist Kenny Kirkland in particular delivers – tickling the ivories like Bud Powell. It's short and sweet and not half bad, but I get the idea that it's only on the album to show how hip Sting is, hanging out with real jazz musicians and all. Call it a classic case of Joni Mitchell Syndrome.
The title track is a relatively incongruous but painless interlude, but painless isn't a word I'd use to describe “The Moon Over Bourbon Street.” How to describe it? As a jazzy Broadway show tune outfitted with discordant neoclassical strings over which Sting (playing double bass, because, you know, he's hep) croaks like he's got a fedora pulled over one eye while Marsalis does a running commentary on the horn? The fake French Quarter atmosphere was apparently inspired by reading Anne Rice's Sting deeply Interview with a Vampireand if there is a lesson to be learned here, it is that writers should be more careful because they never know what horrors their words may unleash upon the world.
Finally, we have “Fortress Around Your Heart,” whose lyrics also fall into the realm of middlebrow cliché. But along with “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free” it's as close to pop as you'll find on The dream of the blue turtles. It's a bit too royal for my tastes, but it boasts a real rock beat, and Marsalis' melodic horns work.
Sting is the guy whose philosophy turns to sentiment in greeting cards. He says things like “Let your soul be your pilot” and “You have to be yourself. Stay true to who you are. And if you still like the world, that's great! If they don't, that's their problem.” In short, he is talented but dim. The problem is, he's not as talented as he thinks he is, and his grand statements seem lackluster indeed. Pop music is beneath him, probably always has been, and that's too bad because while I've never been a fan of The Police, there's no denying that with them Sting produced more than his share of pop hits. The fact that he continued to produce hits after The Police I find shocking. I also find it discouraging, as I do any demonstration that pomposity pays.
Sting has always been a miserable member of the bourgeoisie – this goes back to his original attempt to save Roxanne from her nefarious trade. But it got worse. As does his music, which falls into the realm of middlebrow avant-garde. But what can you do? Sting is a very serious man. And he cares. Which is great. I just don't understand why I have to suffer for this.
CURVE RATING:
D+
