Sting 15: My Songs

No, dammit. Just… no.

Apparently “enhancing” his music with orchestral touches wasn’t enough for one lifetime. Determined as ever to sound contemporary, My Songs is an attempt by Sting to bring his catalog up into the here and now. That means remixing old tracks, both solo and with the Police, or rerecording them. In the latter instance, “Demolition Man” gets yet another makeover, this time with lots of screaming guitars. But in the case of practically everything else here, the differences between the originals and these versions aren’t apparent outside the vocal. There’s nothing radical or inventive in the arrangements. The feeling the listener gets while enduring this ego exercise is a new appreciation of the album title, as expressed by a three-year-old. (“MY songs! MY fire engine! MY toys! MINE!”)

Rerecording one’s old albums is a common practice among legacy artists who wish to create higher royalties than those granted by the labels that owns the originals. But Sting has been on the same label for his entire career, so that excuse doesn’t apply here. Nor does this particular lord of the manor need the extra euros. If you loved the original versions, stick with them. They won’t waste your time. (Following the tour of the same name, a special edition of the so-called “critically acclaimed” album—according to the press release; a Google search found zero instances of any positive acclaim—added a bonus disc of live versions, which merely add the sound of a rapturous crowd.)

Sting My Songs (2019)—2

Andy Summers and Robert Fripp: I Advance Masked and Bewitched

At first it sounded like an odd match—the guitarist for a popular mainstream band facing off against the same for one of rock’s most challenging—but taken down to the basic details, it makes sense that Andy Summers and Robert Fripp would be so compatible. There were enough precedents in both the Police and King Crimson to show their similarities, and tendencies to create textures and spit out staccato solos. (They’re about the same age, too, Andy the older by three years. He’d also played in a whole slew of esoteric outfits before the Police got him.)

I Advance Masked is a true duet, each track compositionally credited to both, playing alternately dizzying runs up and down necks and exploring the capabilities of the guitar synthesizer. Being entirely instrumental, the titles suggest various moods, sometimes beautifully, as with “Girl On A Swing”, where a gentle piano dances around an acoustic guitar while a birdlike melody soars back and forth. “Painting And Dance” presents a nice little chamber piece, and tracks like “Under Bridges Of Silence”, “The Truth Of Skies”, and “In The Cloud Forest” contain enough Frippertronics to create moods. There are enough uptempo pieces to keep it from being entirely impressionistic; the title track (which builds on “The Zero Of The Signified” from Under Heavy Manners and shares some constructive elements with “Neurotica” from Beat) is particularly edgy, a tension that continues on the percussive “New Marimba”. “Hardy Country” also provides a change in dynamic, just as “Stultified” ends the album with a set of precisely played dissonant figures.

While not a smash hit, and little promotion considering their commitments to their main bands, a follow-up still materialized. Bewitched isn’t simply more of the same, mostly because it’s more of a Summers album than a full collaboration with Fripp, as the writing credits make plain. The album was split between a “dance” side, which adds a real rhythm section, albeit with electronic-sounding drums but also Sara Lee from the League Of Gentlemen on bass, and a “dream” side, which is much more contemplative as well as satisfying. Once again the titles try to be descriptive (“Begin The Day”, “Parade”, “Forgotten Steps”, “Train”, the title track), and while “What Kind Of Man Reads Playboy” is upbeat, reminiscent of Fripp’s “discotronics” period, at ten minutes it tends to drag. When the album works best, the notion of Brian Eno mixing an ECM album isn’t so alien.

Having limited themselves to two albums, a 90-minute Maxell conveniently contains both nicely, and even worth having on continual auto-reverse. If Police fans found their way here, they could well have graduated to King Crimson via a back door. More directly, the albums give the listener a chance to hear Fripp’s current style unadorned by the Levin/Bruford rhythm section, nor particularly Adrian Belew. They also raise Andy’s profile a bit, giving him a chance to step out of Sting’s shadow.

Forty years later, while Fripp was methodically and painstakingly upgrading and reissuing his life’s work, the Summers and Fripp albums hovered on the perimeter. Then Andy found a bunch of tapes that had been forgotten, enabling the compilers of The Complete Recordings 1981-1984 to present both albums in new mixes by David Singleton. The differences are subtle; the piano on “Girl On A Swing” is more pronounced, while “Parade” has some chatter under the intro and comes to a complete ending instead of being faded. Each of the albums got bonus tracks—alternate mixes mostly, plus the furious tracks “Brainstorm II” and the dreamier “Balinese”—as well as another disc’s worth of outtakes. Mother Hold The Candle Steady was compiled from sketches of ideas for both albums into finished compositions, plus alternate takes of “Parade” and “Maquillage”. Some of these new tricks are very nice, but then there’s the wacky carnival atmosphere of “Foi Um Optimo Dia”, complete with a chorus of happy revelers. The title track shares its name with that of an improvisation on Crimson live album), and “Step N’ Fetchit” is a remake of an Exposure outtake. Rounding out the disc is a half-hour of excerpts from Fripp’s cassettes of their writing sessions and conversations under the title “Can We Record Tony?” (The full “audio documentary” is included on a Blu-ray disc, along with original, new, and surround mixes of the three albums.)

Andy Summers/Robert Fripp I Advance Masked (1982)—4
Andy Summers/Robert Fripp Bewitched (1984)—3
Andy Summers and Robert Fripp The Complete Recordings 1981-1984 (2025)—3½

Sting 6: Fields Of Gold

Having become possibly more popular than when he was in the Police, Sting (or somebody) decided to sum up a rough decade of solo work with a hits album. Named after the huge single from his last album, Fields Of Gold offered the usual assortment of radio favorites, along with the customary brand new tracks. Of the two, the romantic “When We Dance” was the most obvious hit. “This Cowboy Song” is stuck at the end, and nowhere near as successful, except to wonder why he kept writing songs with a fake Western theme.

Each of his four studio albums to date is represented, with a couple of variations to keep it interesting. “Fortress Around Your Heart” and “Why Should I Cry For You” are alternately mixed, while “We’ll Be Together” is completely different, and likely the take with Eric Clapton on guitar. It’s still a pretty annoying song.

Compilers of sets such as these often use the “best of” heading rather than “greatest hits”, which is why “They Dance Alone” and “Russians” make the cut and things like “All For Love” (a movie theme sung with Bryan Adams and Rod Stewart) don’t. The previous year’s remake of “Demolition Man” for another film also goes ignored, although the EP of that is worth seeking out for his live cover of “A Day In The Life”. To confound the collector even further, it was released with a different sequence in the world outside the U.S., dropping a couple of songs and adding even more in their place, such as the soundtrack version of “It’s Probably Me” and “Fragile” in Spanish.

It doesn’t do more than hint at the jazz influences that sparked his solo career, choosing instead to stay mainstream; after all, that’s what led to his pile of platinum records. But Fields Of Gold is still a good sampler for those not ready to pull the trigger on the individual albums.

Sting Fields Of Gold: The Best Of Sting 1984-1994 (1994)—3½

Sting 3: Nothing Like The Sun

Sting further established himself as a solo performer with …Nothing Like The Sun, which ironed out the jazz pretensions of his last album into a more smooth approach. He carried over a few people from his last project (Kenny Kirkland, Branford Marsalis, the backing vocalists) but handled the bass himself this time out. While the first single was awful—and come to think of it, most of the first singles from his albums haven’t been the greatest—there’s enough good stuff here to make it worth several spins.

This still being the vinyl era, its 54 minutes split up into four thematic sides, yet the record company took this to justify charging an extra buck for it. (This could also have something to do with its high sales numbers, since the RIAA credits each element of a multidisc set individually.) His liner notes attempt to illuminate those themes, but it’s not always clear where he’s at. First off, side one has “The Lazarus Heart”, an allegorical rumination on his mother’s death, and a romantic song in “Be Still My Beating Heart”. Both are catchy (and also boast Andy Summers on guitar) but the “whoop” effect running through the portrait of an “Englishman In New York” gets a little grating, and the big drum break in the middle is just silly. Side two, then, would be the political side, with “History Will Teach Us Nothing”, the moving tribute to the mothers of the Chilean disappeared in “They Dance Alone” (featuring a monologue by Ruben Blades and three lead guitarists) and the gentle “Fragile”.

Side three appears to be all mindless pop, starting with the irritating “We’ll Be Together”, noted for the quote from “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free” at the end and his continuous Ricky Ricardo-style pronunciation of “things” (which comes out as “thins”). At least the video was entertaining, and we’d love to get or hands on his embroidered Tintin sweater. “Straight To My Heart” may be a companion to the similarly titled songs on side one, but here the busted meter doesn’t help. “Rock Steady” retells the story of Noah’s Ark with little uniqueness. The fourth side is where he pulls out the stops: the slightly jazzy “Sister Moon”, an excellent cover of Hendrix’s “Little Wing” arranged by Gil Evans, and “The Secret Marriage”, which added new lyrics to an obscure East German piano composition.

Taken all together, the album is nice sonic wallpaper, just substantial enough to keep from sinking out of earshot. The all-digital production and accessible content made …Nothing Like The Sun a big hit, a strong fourth-quarter item and steady seller through the next year. His activism with Amnesty International (along with the release of an EP of five of the album’s songs sung in Spanish and Portuguese) made him even more of a public figure, to which he responded by growing out his hair. (Many years later, for the album’s 35th anniversary, an expanded edition was released on digital platforms containing five period B-sides—including the strangely edited instrumental “Ghost In The Strand”, an unnecessarily extended voice-and-piano cover of “Someone To Watch Over Me”, and Hendrix’s “Up From The Skies” in a lengthy, audacious Gil Evans arrangement—as well as various remixes and alternates of three album tracks that were singles.)

Sting …Nothing Like The Sun (1987)—3

Sting 2: Bring On The Night

With the full backing of his management and record label, Sting worked to promote a rockumentary about how his solo album came together. Bring On The Night, in his words, wasn’t designed to document the end of a band, like Let It Be or This Is Spinal Tap, but to celebrate the beginning of one, namely his. The fact that his “band” wasn’t intact past the tour behind the album they recorded was moot; he still took the opportunity to issue a companion album—A&M never too shy about the double live record—overseas. (It appeared on CD in the US ere long, which is why we’re covering it here.)

Culled from a handful of shows in Paris, Rome and Arnhem, Bring On The Night presents his new band—plucked nearly wholesale from Wynton Marsalis—playing his music with plenty of room to stretch. Selections from The Dream Of The Blue Turtles sit alongside recognizable Police favorites as well as some “rarities”. The title track gets a nice expansive treatment before sliding into a workout on “When The World Is Running Down”, with an excellent solo by Kenny Kirkland and a pointless “rap” from Branford Marsalis. “Consider Me Gone” fills time before a clean take on “Low Life”, an obscure Police B-side. “We Work The Black Seam” fades in mid-groove, making you wonder how long the band was vamping on it before the side kicks in. “Driven To Tears” starts out a little more subdued than the Police version, underscoring the futility in the lyrics in the wake of Live Aid, but soon kicks into a nice jam for Branford. “The Dream Of The Blue Turtles” is given a straight reading to show its complicated structure, but gives way to a lengthy jam on the one chord of “Demolition Man”; this too fades before we hear the conclusion.

It’s not enough to hire a bunch of professionals to do your bidding; they need to sound cohesive, and that comes through on the medley of “One World” and “Love Is The Seventh Wave”. (Clearly he’d picked up on Zappa’s theory of conceptual continuity.) “Moon Over Bourbon Street” wanders along to its inevitable finish, but it's soon forgotten in the wake of an amazing performance of “I Burn For You”. Hypnotic enough when The Police did it for that hideous soundtrack, here it’s given the tension and ambience worthy of its potential. “Another Day” was the little heard B-side to “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free”; either the crowd was coached or they really did know how to sing along. “Children’s Crusade” and “Tea In The Sahara” aren’t pushed far past their known versions, but a blast of 12-bar blues, in this case “Down So Long”, makes a nice excuse to introduce the band.

Bring On The Night chalked up some nice import sales in the interminable days between missives from Sting. Looking back it was only about two years, and he had hardly disappeared, but perspective can sure illuminate where your mind has played tricks on you. Still, while the music world was beginning to wander the netherland between pop and hair metal, it was nice to hear guys that could, you know, play.

Sting Bring On The Night (1986)—3

Police 6: Afterwards

After only five albums in as many years, the Police were done. The closest thing to a sixth album came in the form of a single new song on a hits collection. The drastically rearranged “Don’t Stand So Close To Me ‘86” drew howls of protest from fans and critics alike, but we’ve always enjoyed it, and not even in a “so bad it’s good” way. Why the other guys didn’t physically injure Sting while recording this we’ll never know, though apparently Stewart Copeland was waylaid by a broken collarbone, so maybe he did try. But surely they were just as befuddled as to why he felt compelled to change the reference to “that famous book by Nabokov.” The rumor was that Sting wanted to rerecord all of the songs included on Every Breath You Take: The Singles, but considering how long it took to complete the one, it’s just as well. (The album was reissued on CD ten years later with both versions, a new cover, and The Singles changed to The Classics. Further hits collections have surfaced, one of which combined Police hits with Sting solo tracks and a pointless remix by the individual then known as Puff Daddy.)

Sting had decided he was fine without the other guys anyway, and the success of his solo career seemed to confirm that. Their label, however, continued to reap the benefits of the catalog, taking the bold step of compiling all five albums and extraneous tracks into a four-CD set called Message In A Box: The Complete Recordings. A few foreign-language and live tracks were missing, so it wasn’t necessarily complete, but it did include “I Burn For You” and a couple of less appealing cuts from the Brimstone & Treacle soundtrack. Also, it wasn’t in a box, but a book-style digipack.

A wise move came two years later with Live!, which offered a 1979 radio broadcast on one disc, and selections from a 1983 concert (previously available on VHS) on the other. Understandably, there’s more energy on the earlier theater performance when they were a hot, tight trio in a theater with only two albums and a few B-sides under their belts—they even do “Be My Girl” with the complete “Sally” interlude—than the later arena show on a huge stage with backup singers. That said, they certainly weren’t phoning it in with the new material on that last tour, and still mesh, all while allegedly on non-speaking terms. Even the quieter songs translate well. Plus, only a few songs are repeated between the discs. (As a historical footnote, hell froze over in 2007, and the trio reunited for a world tour, which was commemorated with a CD/DVD combo. Since then, they’ve gone their separate ways again.)

The Police Every Breath You Take: The Singles (1986)—4
1995 The Classics version: same as 1986, plus 2 extra tracks
The Police Message In A Box: The Complete Recordings (1993)—3½
The Police Live! (1995)—3½

Sting 1: The Dream Of The Blue Turtles

The fanfare was pretty elaborate; not only was Sting putting out his first solo album, but it was a whole two years since the last Police album (and we didn’t know then that it would be The Last Police Album). On top of that, he was working with contemporary jazz musicians—and he was playing guitar, not bass! The fabric of the universe felt a tug.

After all that, The Dream Of The Blue Turtles turned out to be pretty likable. He did the smart thing and starts side one with the hit single, the grammatically challenging “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free”. “Love Is The Seventh Wave” isn’t too far removed from the white reggae his previous band used to shill, and the fadeout even features a gentle tweak of “Every Breath You Take”. “Russians” takes a fairly elementary stance on world policy, lashed to a lugubrious arrangement. “Children’s Crusade” is a haunting study of abuse through the centuries, though the final verse’s depiction of heroin addicts comes off as forced after the extended instrumental middle. The side ends with a strikingly different arrangement of “Shadows In The Rain”. While the original Police track was a plodding offbeat dub exercise, this new version ups the urgency about 300%. (Also, the track begins with Branford Marsalis asking about the key, but the drums start their gallop despite his protests and they take off without him. Hysterical.)

Side two is slightly less energetic. “We Work The Black Seam” wanders around a verse that’s not as hypnotic as it intends, breaking through the gloom only just before each chorus. “Consider Me Gone” sounds like a kiss-off left over from the divorce proceedings on side two of Synchronicity, and the mood is broken by the short free jazz instrumental title track that somehow got nominated for a jazz Grammy. “Moon Over Bourbon Street” brings Anne Rice to the mainstream in a piece that wouldn’t have been out of place on Police albums either. And it all comes home with the thundercrack that opens “Fortress Around Your Heart”, which could well be his best song.

For all its potential for pretension (it was around this time some of us started referring to him not as Sting but Smug) The Dream Of The Blue Turtles is an enjoyable album that shouldn’t have pissed off too many Police fans, while exposing them to some of the better players on the jazz scene. This is, after all, where most people first heard of Wynton’s brother Branford, and Darryl Jones went from being The Guy Playing Bass Who’s Not Sting to Bill Wyman’s replacement in the Rolling Stones within ten years’ time. (The album was expanded digitally for its 40th anniversary with the rare B-side “Another Day”, a version of “Mack The Knife” from an all-star Kurt Weill tribute album, and several remixes of album cuts, ten for “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free” alone.)

Sting The Dream Of The Blue Turtles (1985)—3½

Police 5: Synchronicity

“Every Breath You Take”, “King Of Pain”, and “Wrapped Around Your Finger” were the soundtrack of the summer of ’83. Or at least that’s how it seemed in the northeast corner of America. Three songs about troubled relationships provided something an antidote for the music from Flashdance otherwise stinking up the airwaves. And they all came from the pen of one man, who considered himself the face of The Police.

Stingy had a pretty strong hold on the band at this point, even considering his high-profile acting gigs, so it’s likely out of weariness to argue that that other two let him drive the direction of Synchronicity. A photo of him perusing the theory was prominent in the packaging, though even people who’d heard of Carl Jung before might have wondered what all the hubbub was.

A cycling synth and short phrases reels off “Synchronicity I”, which manages to rock despite a minimum of chord changes. “Walking In Your Footsteps” isn’t much more than a drum pattern with guitar effects and a basic melody about dinosaurs. The whole thing sounds pretty prehistoric. “O My God” at least sounds like a decent jam, with a reference to “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” at the fade. Despite its intricate backing, the awful vocal on “Mother” is guaranteed to clear any room anywhere within five miles, to the point where the deceptively short yet catchy “Miss Gradenko” sounds like the band of old. “Synchronicity II” matches a suburban nightmare with a mysterious beast signifying doom. It’s an excellent performance from the whole band, the drums and particular that buried guitar flourish on the fade offsetting Sting’s vocal.

“Every Breath You Take” follows a I-vi-IV-V sequence, proving once again that the simplest ideas will endure. And yes, it’s about stalking, and not at all romantic, but that melody is just so pure and so sweet, it’s no wonder this got to be so huge. “King Of Pain” takes a long time to get rolling; was it that important to repeat the entire first verse? And why does he pronounce “thing” like Ricky Ricardo would? Luckily the choruses provide relief, and the brief guitar solo mirrors the melody nicely. Bookended by another lengthy atmosphere, “Wrapped Around Your Finger” mines additional literary territory, with a cool, menacing lyrical twist at the end and another killer chorus. Those three songs are so strong that “Tea In The Sahara” seems barely there. Predominantly a bass-and-vocal song, if the other guys added anything, it’s mostly been mixed out except for Stewart’s hi-hat work.

Released with seemingly infinite artwork variations, Synchronicity was a huge hit, driven by a high-profile tour. (The warm-up act for seven dates? R.E.M.) It truly works as an album, with even the most jarring segments fitting within the flow. People who bought the cassette—or the CD, if they were early adopters—got a surprise ending in “Murder By Numbers”, a nicely macabre B-side that profoundly changes the album’s frame. It was certainly a long way from the punky trio of Outlandos d’Amour. Synchronicity showed how the band had truly developed. However, they’d had it with each other.

A year after its 40th anniversary, it became the first Police album to receive the deluxe expanded treatment. The basic double-CD included a remastered version of the album (including “Murder By Numbers”), which unfortunately made some of its once-cool sounds come off as dated, plus a second disc of B-sides and rarities. Most of these hadn’t been available for ages, including several live performances, a so-called “remix” of “Truth Hits Everybody”, the Sting-sung parody “Every Bomb You Make” from a Spitting Image TV episode, backing tracks for “Every Breath You Take” and “Roxanne”, and two odd remixes by Stewart Copeland. But for fans, the real meat is in the Super Deluxe Edition, which devotes two discs to demos and alternate versions of each of the album’s tracks, as well as tracks that didn’t make the album. Two more discs contain a live show from the tour, and different from the one that was already used for some of the aforementioned B-sides and sampled for 1995’s Live! double-disc.

The Police Synchronicity (1983)—3½
2024 Deluxe Edition: same as 1983, plus 18 extra tracks (Super Deluxe Edition adds another 55 tracks)

Police 4: Ghost In The Machine

The Police began to break out of a rut, somewhat, on Ghost In The Machine. For one thing, it had a pronounceable title that wasn’t remotely gibberish. The cover itself was a stark subtle portrait of the band in LED—apparently Sting is the poofy digit in the middle, and the advent of MTV helped perpetuate the idea that his ego was in charge.

But while he may have been running the show, that wasn’t successful for the whole album. Many of the songs are nothing more than one-chord jams based around saxophone riffs. Apparently he’d just taught himself the instrument, so he toots incessantly, all over the album.

Synthesizers play a big role as well, starting with the jumpy “Spirits In The Material World”. “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” was a huge hit, and it’s still an incredibly happy song with just a hint of Caribbean influence. “Invisible Sun” meanders against its meter, but at least we finally hear a guitar. “Hungry For You” has a French subtitle, which is fitting since the song is yelled in that language. “Demolition Man” is a loud jam that was probably more fun to play than it is to listen to, even for six minutes.

Side two starts with another jam, and “Too Much Information” is fittingly crammed with too many saxophones. The same could be said for “Rehumanize Yourself”, but at least the lyrics are clever. “One World (Not Three)” beats the same idea into the ground over a reggae beat. By the time “Ωmegaman” (written by Andy Summers) arrives halfway though the side we’re aching to hear an actual song, with dynamics and everything, and it delivers. “Secret Journey” is something of a throwback to Zenyatta Mondatta, being prefaced by a full minute of guitar synthesizer. Stewart Copeland’s melancholy “Darkness” still manages to keep the album from ending dull.

Outside of “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic”, the best songs on the album are the two Sting didn’t write. Taken as a whole, Ghost In The Machine is fairly boring, but that didn’t keep it from becoming a huge hit. Perhaps the tropical climate of the sessions permeated the cold exterior of the album for the majority of consumers.

A year after what would have been its 40th anniversary, an “alternate sequence edition” of the album was released on vinyl picture disc, as well as streaming. The tracks were in a completely different order, with half of side two now on the first and the biggest hit toward the end. Plus, “I Burn For You” appears in a shorter mix than the Brimstone & Treacle soundtrack), and side two closes with “Once Upon A Daydream” and “Shambelle”, which had been originally relegated to B-sides. (“Invisible Sun” has alternate vocals as well, and Stewart’s count-ins can be heard occasionally.) Hearing the album in a context shuffled from what we were used to for decades is intriguing, if not necessarily an improvement, but at 53 minutes it would have been considered too long, picture disc or not. And “Darkness” sounds just plain wrong anywhere but the end.

The Police Ghost In The Machine (1981)—2½

Police 3: Zenyatta Mondatta

The boys recorded their third album very quickly, and Zenyatta Mondatta was both surprisingly good and a surprise hit. While still retaining the white reggae of the first two, they finally began to stretch, bringing in synthesizers for a few tracks.

An automated hum is the first thing we hear as “Don’t Stand So Close To Me” creeps in, along with its famous lyric about a schoolteacher beset by temptation. (At least they appeared to be having fun in the video.) “Driven To Tears” provides something of a political statement, with an amazingly discordant solo and a tense instrumental section before the final resolution. “When The World Is Running Down, You Make The Best Of What's Still Around” immediately follows, giving something of an answer to the questions asked. The reggae reaches ska speed for “Canary In A Coalmine”, a song with high-pitched vocals, thick lyrics and a demand to pogo. “Voices Inside My Head” is virtually a one-chord jam, and we finally hear from another band member on “Bombs Away”, and we notice that Sting tends to overemphasize Stewart Copeland’s melodies.

People often point to “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da” as a stupid lyric, but that was the point. As simple as it is, at least it’s got a cool bridge. “Behind My Camel” is a gratingly repetitive instrumental tinged with horror that actually won a Grammy. The beat comes back for “Man In A Suitcase”, but slows way, way down for “Shadows In The Rain”. And it all ends with another confusing instrumental, “The Other Way Of Stopping”.

Though it runs out of steam at the end, there’s a enough good in Zenyatta Mondatta to make it worthy of repeat listens. The band were never quite happy with it, however, and would return to a few of the songs in the future, as we shall soon see.

The Police Zenyatta Mondatta (1980)—3

Police 2: Reggatta de Blanc

In keeping with the brand image, the second album by the Police didn’t deviate much from their established standard. However, as often happens with a second album, it’s clear that Reggatta de Blanc required a little more work to be complete. Circumstances dictated that the band be fairly democratic, with several compositions credited to Stewart Copeland and the one-in-all disclaimer “all noises by the Police”.

Despite trawling the clichéd theme of an isolated individual following some kind of disaster, “Message In A Bottle” was catchy enough to be a bit, and added another guitar riff to be passed along like a cherished secret code among listeners. The title track—another made-up foreign-sounding phrase meaning “white reggae” but still conveying a seabound image—is another excellent distillation of the band’s sound, complete with wordless vocals. “It’s Alright For You” retains some of the snottiness from the first album, just as “Bring On The Night” expresses a level of nihilism. Unfortunately, “Deathwish” doesn’t really take off at all.

The promise of the album title is reinforced on side two. “Walking On The Moon” provides another singalong, much more cheerful than “The Bed’s Too Big Without You”. In between there’s “On Any Other Day”, written and sung by the band’s monotonic drummer, and not the last time the band would present a suburban nightmare. He’s also responsible for “Contact”, which is nearly as musically interesting as “Does Everyone Stare”, a truly hidden gem based around a broken-finger piano part. The mix changes in time for a repeat of the first verse, expanding the sound without doubling it. However, the closing “No Time This Time”, while a good tune, deserves a better vocal than it got.

There’s enough quality on Reggatta de Blanc to make it worthwhile as a whole, but the Police were basically treading water. Some stretching would be necessary for the band to keep from repeating themselves.

The Police Reggatta de Blanc (1979)—3

Police 1: Outlandos d’Amour

The Police were an odd lot, even for a power trio. American drummer Stewart Copeland and a singer/bassist named Sting seemed to stand much taller than guitarist Andy Summers, who’s about ten years older than the other two. All three came from jazz fusion backgrounds, but the times dictated a punk attitude and approach. That’s one reason why Outlandos d’Amour has something of a DIY vibe, in the cover art anyway.

The music isn’t that complicated either, even given the members’ prog-rock credentials. “Next To You” is tailor-made for pogoing, before “So Lonely” veers between a reggae verse and double-time chorus. With Sting’s high-pitched vocal and those odd guitar chords, “Roxanne” was likely most people’s introduction to the band. “Hole In My Life” and “Can’t Stand Losing You” became anthems for lovelorn kids everywhere.

One thing that comes to mind listening to the album after all these years—after Sting spent all that time being concerned about rainforests and whatnot—was that the Police once recorded “silly” songs. The Sting we know today would never have a song like “Peanuts” on one of his solo albums, much less sing it. In that light, songs like “Truth Hits Everybody” and even “Born In The 50s” gave them the image of a smart band. Such a label is hard to stick in light of “Be My Girl – Sally”, in which a simple pop chant frames the nursery rhyme-style ode to a blowup doll. (The novelty gets thinner considering that Roxy Music had already covered that subject five years earlier, but at least this ode is happier.)

While the band would evolve over time, much of their typical sound is in place on Outlandos d’Amour, almost encapsulated by “Masoko Tanga”, a near-instrumental jam for slashing guitar, melodic bass, reggae-tinged drums and nonsense vocals. Because of its quality and simplicity, it’s still a fine debut, and a nice diversion from some of the comparatively heavier things to come from the band.

The Police Outlandos d’Amour (1978)—3½