The Police-Synchronicity (1983)


 

Artist: The Police

Title:  Synchronicity

Label: A&M

Format: LP

Cat #: SP-3735

Year of Release: 1983

Country and Year of Edition Issue: US 1983 Blue/Red/Yellow front cover

Listed Condition: VG+/G+ water stain on cover and inner sleeve

Sell Date: 6/27/21

Sell Price: $9.99

Discogs Last Sold: 6/12/21 VG+/VG $7.00

Low: $4.99

Median: $7.96

Average: $11.23

High:$27.38 VG+/VG+ 
 
Current low price: $3.00 F/VG, $8.00 VG/VG+

Current Number on Sale at Discogs: 14

Have/Want: 643/208

Where Sold: New Orleans, LA

Time it took to sell: 5 years

Where and When Bought: Worcester Al Bums new upon release

Gwiz-gau Letter Grade: A

Sad To See It Go: No

Despite the unlistenability of side 2 and it's ponderous triad of mega-hits ("Every Breath You Take" into "King of Pain" into "Wrapped Around Your Finger"), the surrounding tracks make for an excellent album and if I was able to only hear those hits a half dozen times in the last thirty years, I might not mind them so much in the context of the album.  Although this is probably a straight A on aesthetics, I had to be honest with myself that I really don't enjoy side two.  The cassette version adding "Murder By Numbers" made it a little more interesting.  Still, it's a solid start to finish album I listened to quite a bit in 1983, and although I might have snobbily considered their first two the superior albums in later years, this one might be the peak of Sting the artist before he became Sting the solo artist.  Certainly good enough for me to give Dream of the Blue Turtles a chance and see that tour in 1985 before dropping Sting forever stone cold even avoiding the reunion.

But were those songs made to be ENJOYED?  Maybe not.  Misery is the overarching theme. Kings with eyes torn out and paranoia after a particularly epic tantric session seems par for the course here.  The working class have it no better: grandma screams at the wall and mother chants a litany of boredom and frustration.  I always enjoy the opening "Synchronicity" if only for the "spiritus mundi" that disembodies Yeats for pop culture.  Why read when you can stroke your chin to a rock record and gain deep wisdom?  The Klezmer psychosis of "Mother" with the lone Stewart Copeland vocal, made many a man pick up the needle or hit the fast forward button, but I like it. 

At least you won't hear "Mother" shopping for Twinkies or filling a perscription.



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