Sting
Ten Summoner's Tales

THE REVIEW

The Gordon who duets with Shaggy and tries to express himself at the Ariston with an Italian of a true gentleman drowned in the vastness of his inadequacy is not what I want to testify to. For me, Ten Summoner’s Tales is Sting's voice and his definitive proof of maturity. After all, those were troubled years for our hero, as for myself. I was about to surpass my first year of age, let's see if you can argue otherwise. In short, his voice warmer than ever, elegant and unpretentious jazz tones, aimed at a pop suitable for the healthy growth of the little baby I was. Somehow, I remember it all. I recall the trips out of town, jaunts at the port of Oneglia during splendid winter days. There's something I remember, and it lies in the power of Vinnie Colaiuta and his mastery in conducting mixed tempos, in the contribution of an equally life-shattered Eric Clapton, in the irreplaceable and never obtrusive presence of David Sanborn. A record for true connoisseurs, for me the best.

"If I Ever Lose My Faith in You" is the perfect start. A simple and exquisite song, yet so illustrious and praised by critics. "Love is Stronger Than Justice," a continuation I've never fully appreciated despite its undeniable rock/soul value, a sort of tribute to the best Stevie Winwood. It probably has that elusive groove rhythm that my childish German brain couldn’t endure. A track destined to improve like wine.

"Fields of Gold," the end of century ballad. So many tears in the years to come. It needs no introduction, not even for the few foolish neophytes of Gordon reading this, so I won't go further. "Heavy Cloud No Rain" has the warmth of his voice embedded; seemingly a support track for the others, yet it's the most his, locally speaking. And it's a magnificent example of composure and originality in instrumentation. We pass through the melancholic and powerful blues charge of "She's Too Good for Me," through yet another scheme (still splendid and musically impeccable) called "Seven Days," the kind "when my notebook doesn't attract new lyrics, might as well focus on the days of the week, something always comes out." We then arrive at the new funky/jazz in mixed tempos that gives value to the most prolific session drummer of all time. "Saint Augustine in Hell" interrupts with a macabre monologue by an impromptu Charon. "It's Probably Me," I have to say it. It's the most immensely exquisite track of the '90s, so intimately pop, together with the next two. "Everybody Laughed But You" is indeed another example of instrumental perfection. And I wonder, pausing this strange list, what made it so easy at that time to propose an effective melody that simultaneously recalled the atmospheres of centuries past? How did that screeching monkey of the Police (said with immense love) manage to traverse the centuries with such immediacy and simplicity. Musicologists are still puzzling over this debate. Fortunately, they can continue to debate the same topic for a long time to come. Until the musical taste becomes an outdated concept. Musical taste. The awakening of this sense, along with all the others, now occurs at maximum power. In fact, I momentarily go to the limbo of those who don't live on this planet because they are busy listening to "Shape Of My Heart." The Renaissance/late-romantic writing, probably inapproachable, that had been announced in the previous examples, finds here its purest expression. A historic track, strangely underrated in the constellation of singles from this album, yet so vivid in all of us, in every musician, illustrious or not, who can't resist replaying or reinterpreting it, in every hearth to which you add a guitar and that intro. The Sting of all of us, the one that is beyond discussion.

"Something The Boy Said" and "Nothing 'bout me" are a perfect closure, almost to soften the tone and accompany you to the sweet end of a chapter in life. Particularly the latter has recently given me a smile that doesn't fade until the end of the day. Initially, it seems like a very banal pop ballad although so easy to listen, like Celentano of a few years ago. As soon as the chorus announces itself, the electric piano breaks the walls modulating to the jazzy tones that have accompanied the journey so far. Another example of masterful musical writing. "You still know nothing 'bout me," indeed, I thought you were joking with me. Instead, there's always more to learn about one's idols. Room for reflections on who he might be today. On what the market asks of us. On what the market already asked of him then. What I surely know is that, for me, the true Sting is all in these twelve splendid tracks.