Sting
Duetos

There is no evidence that he has to pay alimony.

He doesn’t even seem like the type to gamble the heavens away with dice.

So why the hell does our beloved and blonde Sting serve us this baglionata?

Was the mega-tour with the Policemen not enough to cash in (and moreover, to do it well)?

So why? Why? Strongly: why?

First of all, it’s the ecstasy of patchwork.

If my memory doesn't betray me, in fact, there’s very little new material. At best, it may be a good part of little-known material.

For the most part, it’s a mishmash of appearances and cameos made and endured, lacking the unifying thread necessary for a song to be intelligent (in this case, the quote extends to the entire album...: the songs, taken one by one in their context, or at least in a complete context, would make sense indeed...).

But here the bottom of the barrel is scraped under the pretense of a luxury guest spot. It indecently crosses the razor-thin line that separates a commercial yet enjoyable work from a full-blown mockery.

Beyond the insufferable and undeniable venture into the ever more unbearable world of goodness.

Just as our Divine Claudio passes heedlessly, in the self-serving monument QPGA, from Titty Iron to Battiato, so does the Divine Sting pass equally heedlessly from Iglesias (!!!) to Frank Zappa.

Panic.

Really, perhaps the only pleasant and (at least to me) unknown thing about the operation is a swinging, witty, and ironic "Murder By Numbers" from Our guest, the never-too-mourned Zappa (I knew nothing of it, despite considering myself a seventh dan black belt in policemen, stingers & Co…).

In a nutshell: aside from a few pleasant episodes and some even beautiful ones, the whole operation struggles to find meaning, and unfortunately once again highlights the extreme slipperiness that distances Sting from people like Springsteen, Bowie, or Waits, whose artistic coherence could, at least with brains and talent, be within reach of the blond, beautiful, and healthy Englishman.

Incredible but true, with a gigantic career behind and a God-given (soul&technique) gift enviable, it seems this perpetually unfinished genius struggles to find his own straight, coherent path. In one word, a fully "artistic" path.

Then the doubt, the illumination, the search, the application of generic mitigating factors, and the absolution: it seems this perfectly packaged and credible product is a "fan compilation" and is only found on the Net.

Thus, it appears to be an unofficial work.

Maybe. Let's hope.