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Rating:
Starting by quoting Calvino undoubtedly puts you in a good mood.
Then the cover photo... well...: Sting, the man who periodically makes me doubt my heterosexuality, here, bearded and very wintry, is truly splendid.
I've always forgiven Sting for everything: the nerdiness, the projects that are evidently more "pseudo" than "intellectual," the albums of lesser songs, but so minor that they can be comfortably overlooked...
And not me...: always there buying, saying well, yes, but, the voice, the style, the charisma, the self-reference, the police echo... etc...
This time I put on the album for the first time and... Bang!... Naptime.
I put it on for the second time and...bang!... Sleep.
The third time... Bang!... Into the arms of Morpheus.
I can’t resign myself: Sting cannot have missed again, after the medieval snoozefest, for crying out loud. In the middle was the grand reunion of the Police, with a tour and a live album more than worthy...
No, he can’t have messed up like just any Juventus coach...
And I also suffer quite heavily from insomnia. Of course, you'll say, this way you've found the solution to the problem. True, if you think about it... But... But it’s Sting!
Then I try at the office. And there it works slightly better. Maybe because the clients raise my blood pressure (and consequently it’s harder to be sleepy), maybe because when writing, or calling, a pleasantly monotonous little thing in the background can accompany without distracting...
It is what it is, but it works slightly better...
The little product is refined, neat, very studious. Sting’s voice is beautiful when it’s natural, quite unbearable when he tries to be "classically" trained.
There is nevertheless always an excellent arrangement work.
But the whole, there’s little to do, seems compositionally haphazard, it’s somewhat boring, and surely seems destined for a soon-forgotten drawer.
Why does our beloved Sting engage in such endeavors?
Why doesn’t he write a handful of songs and lock himself up at the Palagio with a couple of friends (two come to mind right away, just imagine...) to do what he does best?
Why do people, increasingly secular even in instinct, no longer remember the parable of talents?
On those well-paid stages, dear Sting, back in 2007 you were "in your element." And you were a phenomenon.
You should think about it....
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
10 The Hounds of Winter (05:51)
Mercury falling
I rise from my bed
Collect my thoughts together
I have to hold my head
It seems that she's gone
And somehow I am pinned by
The Hounds of Winter
Howling in the wind
I walk through the day
My coat around my ears
I look for my companion
I have to dry my tears
It seems that she's gone
Leaving me too soon
I'm as dark as December
I'm as cold as the Man in the Moon
I still see her face
As beautiful as day
It's easy to remember
Remember my love that way
All I hear is that lonesome sound
The Hounds of Winter
They follow me down
I can't make up the fire
The way that she could
I spend all my days
In the search for dry wood
Board all the windows and close the front door
I can't believe she won't be here anymore
I still see her face
As beautiful as day
It's easy to remember
Remember my love that way
All I hear is that lonesome sound
The Hounds of Winter
They follow me down
A season for joy
A season for sorrow
Where she's gone
I will surely, surely follow
She brightened my day
She warmed the coldest night
The Hounds of Winter
They got me in their sights
I still see her face
As beautiful as day
It's easy to remember
Remember my love that way
All I hear is that lonesome, lonesome sound
The Hounds of Winter
They harry me down
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By The Punisher
Sting’s voice is always beautiful, and with age, it acquires color and interesting nuances, but the real problem is the monotony of the acoustic compositions.
An album that seems like the swan song of a bored old English Lord wishing to give himself an air, flaunting pretentious and virtuous stylistic exercises, but which ultimately do not reach the soul of the listener.
