Dire Straits
Love Over Gold

THE REVIEW

"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.