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Rating: "Love over gold" feels tasked with the same role that "Communiqué" had, namely to confirm and expand upon its predecessor. This is because the Dire Straits with "Making Movies" opened a new musical phase of their career, a phase that started with a bang but indeed was in need of certainties. And if "Communiqué," compared to the debut album, confirmed too much and expanded too little, "Love over gold" successfully completes the mission by firing only five shots. Few, precise, deadly.
The musical lifeblood running through the fourth work of Dire Straits confirms that their master-mind, the shy and calm Mark Knopfler of Glasgow, has reached the zenith of his artistic creativity; the album is conceived in that moment of freedom enjoyed by a successful artist just after entering the Olympus ("Making Movies") and just before being declared immortal ("Brothers in Arms"), with all the pros and cons involved. It's that moment when you wander, fascinated, through the streets of a new city just before settling down, discovering its problems. Not many artists know how to seize this moment, not many realize they even have it available, but Knopfler does, and so here is an album of a few tracks in which not only the interrupted discourse from two years before is picked up again but is enriched so much that it seems almost like another, with new clothes and a stunning hairstyle.
Wandering through the streets of that city, you immediately stumble upon the most imposing of monuments and remain awe-struck for fourteen minutes: "Telegraph Road," ladies and gentlemen, is Knopfler's Colosseum, it is Dire Straits' Piazza Duomo, the Eiffel Tower of "Love over gold." There is an immediate feeling that the album has been precisely crafted note by note, given the accuracy of the sounds and the perfect dance of piano, guitar, and voice, which will dominate the entire work. The continuous crescendo of the piece raises that monument beat by beat, and already during the first solo, it's clear it will be one of the n-th wonders of the Straits. Behind the grandeur, the reserve: "Private Investigations" is a cozy bar just outside the city center, a bar of solitudes, bored musicians, and excellent drinks. The daring move to launch it as the first single of the album after the planet still had "Tunnel of Love" ringing in its ears is insane and tremendously fascinating. Knopfler amazes listeners by speaking a song that may perhaps be the sincerest expression of the stormy sky depicted on the cover. Then there are frivolities, central streets with jugglers and shop lights filled with apparent uselessness and people's stories; there's "Industrial Disease". The mother of "Walk of Life", and grandmother of "Cannibals", playfully narrates one of the most engaged texts in Knopfler's career, a bit like toy-filled shop windows hide behind the counter a sad man who smiles at children. There, in the middle, "Industrial Disease", almost offering a break between a stormy first half and a more romantic second half. The title track indeed represents one of the best ballads for the man from Glasgow, blending melody with lyrics marvelously through the figure of the dancer on thin ice ("..you're a dancer on thin ice.."), perhaps the only image that can express the icy cold surrounding a warm and reassuring song like "Love over Gold", an ice rink in the heart of our city where people drink hot chocolate and steaming tea after skating.
"It Never Rains" closes the album as one of those pieces to listen to when everything goes to pieces because of the solace it brings: it's a caress on the head, it's the image of a woman seen crying through the window, with those "tears of a clown" on her cheeks, a woman you would hug just because while listening to "yes and it's all that remains of the years spent doing that round..." you can't help but love someone. The second part of the song, from 3:53 onwards, becomes harsher, distant, like disillusionment, the end of a dream the first part had offered. The concluding wah-wah solo brings you back to earth and dignifiedly closes what is the masterpiece of Dire Straits.
The album in question was also supposed to include "Private Dancer", written by Knopfler and later made famous by Tina Turner. On this point, it seems Knopfler felt uncomfortable singing a song with a woman, specifically a prostitute, as the protagonist. So he thought of Tina Turner.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Telegraph Road (14:18)
A long time ago came a man on a track
Walking thirty miles with a sack on his back
And he put down his load where he thought it was the best
He made a home in the wilderness
He built a cabin and a winter store
And he ploughed up the ground by the cold lake shore
And the other travellers came riding down the track
And they never went further and they never went back
Then came the churches then came the schools
Then came the lawyers then came the rules
Then came the trains and the trucks with their loads
And the dirty old track was the telegraph road
Then came the mines - then came the ore
Then there was the hard times then there was a war
Telegraph sang a song about the world outside
Telegraph road got so deep and so wide
Like a rolling river...
And my radio says tonight it's gonna freeze
People driving home from the factories
There's six lanes of traffic
Three lanes moving slow...
I used to like to go to work but they shut it down
I've got a right to go to work but there's no work here to befound
Yes, and they say we're gonna have to pay what's owed
We're gonna have to reap from some seed that's been sowed
And the birds up on the wires and the telegraph poles
They can always fly away from this rain and this cold
You can hear them singing out their telegraph code
All the way down the telegraph road
You know I'd sooner forget but I remember those nights
When life was just a bet on a race between the lights
You had your hand on my shoulder you had your hand in my hair
Now you act a little colder like you don't seem to care...
But believe in me baby and I'll take you away
From out of this darkness and into the day
From these rivers of headlights these rivers of rain
From the anger that lives on these streets with these names
'Cos I've run every red light on memory lane
I've seen desperation explode into flames
And I don't wanna see it again...
From all of these signs saying sorry but we're closed
All the way down the telegraph road
02 Private Investigations (06:46)
It's a mystery to me ... the game commences
for the usual fee ... plus expenses
confidential information ... it's in a diary
This is my investigation ... it's not a public inquiry
I go checking out the reports ... digging up the dirt
you get to meet all sorts in this line of work
treachery and treason ... there's always an excuse for it
and when I find the reason I still can't get used to it
And what have you got at the end of the day?
what have you got to take away?
a bottle of whisky and a new set of lies
blinds on the windows and a pain behind the eyes
Scarred for life ... no compensation
private investigations
03 Industrial Disease (05:50)
Warning lights are flashing down at Quality Control
Somebody threw a spanner and they threw him in the hole
There's rumors in the loading bay and anger in the town
Somebody blew the whistle and the walls came down
There's a meeting in the boardroom they're trying to trace the smell
There's leaking in the washroom there's sneak in personnel
Somewhere in the corridors someone was heard to sneeze
'Goodness me could this be Industrial Disease?'
The caretaker was crucified for sleeping at his post
They're refusing to be pacified it's him they blame the most
The watchdog's got rabies the foreman's got the fleas
And everyone's concerned about Industrial Disease
There's panic on the swichboard tongues are ties in knots
Some come out in sympathy some come out in spots
Some blame the management some the employees
And everybody knows it's the Industrial Disease
The work force is disgusted downs tools and walks
Innocence is injured experience just talks
Everyone seeks damages and everyone agrees
That these are 'classic symptoms of a monetary squeeze'
On ITV and BBC they talk about the curse
Philosophy is useless; theology is worse
History boils over there's an economics freeze
Sociologists invent words that mean 'Industrial Disease'
Doctor Parkinson declared 'I'm not surprised to see you here
You've got smokers cough from smoking brewer's droop from drinking beer
I don't know how you came to get the Bette Davis knees
But worst of all young man you've got Industrial Disease'
He wrote me a prescription he said 'you are depressed
But I'm glad you came to see me to get this off your chest
Come back and see me later - next patient please
Send in another victim of Industrial Disease'
I go down to Speaker's Corner I'm thunderstruck
They got free speech, tourists, police in trucks
Two men say they're Jesus, one of them must be wrong
There's a protest singer singing a protest song - he says
'They wanna have a war to keep their factories
They wanna have a war to keep us on our knees
They wanna have a war to stop us buying Japanese
They wanna have a war to stop Industrial Disease
They're pointing out the enemy to keep you deaf and blind
They wanna sap your energy incarcerate your mind
They give you Rule Brittania, gassy beer, page three
Two weeks in Espana and Sunday striptease'
Meanwhile the first Jesus says 'I'll cure it soon
Abolish Monday mornings and Friday afternoons'
The other one's out on hunger striker he's dying by degrees
How come Jesus gets Industrial Disease?
05 It Never Rains (07:59)
I hear the seven deadly sins
And the terrible twins came to call on you
The bigger they are baby
The harder they fall on you
And you you're always the same
You persevere on the same old pleasure ground
Oh and it never rains around here
It just comes pouring down
You had no more volunteers
So you got profiteers for to help you out
Well, with friends like that babe
Good friends you had to do without
And now they've taken the chains and the gears
From off your merry-go-round
Oh and it never rains around here
It just comes pouring down
And your new Romeo
Was just a gigolo when he let you down
See the faster they are babe
The faster they get out of town
Leaving makeup stains and the tears of a clown
Yes and it never rains around here
It just comes pouring down
Oh you were just a roller coaster memory
I don't know why I was even passing through
I saw you making a date with destiny
Yeah, they came around here asking after you
In the shadow of the wheel of fortune
You're busy trying to clear your name
You say "I may be guilty yeah that may be true
"But I'd be lying if I said I was to blame"
See we could have been major contenders
We never got no money no breaks
You've got a list of all the major offenders
You got a list of all their major mistakes
And he's just standing in the shadows
Yes and you smile that come-on smile
Oh I can still hear you say as clear as the day
"I'd like to make it worth your while"
Oh, but it's a sad reminder
When your organ grinder has to come to you for rent
And all you've got to give him
Is the use of your side-show tent
Yes, and that's all that remains of the years
Spent doing the rounds
And it never rains around here
Well it just comes pouring down
Now you know what they say about beggars
You can't complain about the rules
You know what they say about beggars
You know who's the first to blame his tools
You never gave a damn about who you pick up
And leave laying bleeding on the ground
You screw people over on the way up
Because you thought that you were never coming down
And he takes you out in Vaudeville Valley
With his hand up smothering your screams
And he screws you down in Tin Pan Alley
In the city of a billion dreams
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Other reviews
By Torre Ste
Dire Straits are capable not only of being romantic and cheerful but also very dark, capable of writing melodies like Pink Floyd.
Certainly the most underrated album by the group, not having a famous piece, but definitely the most complete.
By claudio carpentieri
"In 'Telegraph Road,' guitars and keyboards magically merge into a unified whole in the lavish finale."
"The title track is a real gem, with an acoustic guitar dominating and one of the most intense vocal performances."
By Bromike
Mark Knopfler is one of the best English rock instrumentalists, easily surpassing the likes of Harrison, May, Richards, etc.
Telegraph Road describes a struggle against unemployment and society’s selfishness with remarkable solos and rich keyboard phrases.
