Sting: "Mercury Falling"
It isn't easy for rock-and-rollers to age gracefully. Sting has fared better than most: Now approaching 50, the once swaggering singer is regarded as one of the music's preeminent elder statesmen. It has been nearly 20 years since the Police's first album, and Sting is now a father of six who lives on a 16th-century country estate. Not surprisingly, he is eager to assert that middle-age and domesticity are no less generous muses than youth and rebelliousness. "In the past, I thought that to be creative, you had to suffer somehow," he declared in a recent profile.
Suffering has always been Sting's specialty. Prone to joyless philosophizing, he is known for his gloomily introspective lyrics. Yet despite its title, "Mercury Falling," Sting's sixth solo album isn't nearly as chilly as much of his other work. Like 1993's "Ten Summoner's Tales," the disc finds him in an uncharacteristically optimistic frame of mind. (As well he might be--his record company bio describes him as an almost shamanistic figure, "a global traveler and pathfinder in realms of the soul.")
The 10-song disc, Sting's first in three years, is marked by stylistic variation. Guitarist Dominic Miller, keyboardist Kenny Kirkland and drummer Vinnie Colaiuta are joined by guests as disparate as the Memphis Horns and the East London Gospel Choir. Indeed, Sting's pastiche of musical genres seems nearly all-inclusive: "Valparaiso" boasts Celtic flourishes; "Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot" is a gospel anthem; there's a country flavor to "I'm So Happy I Can't Stop Crying"; "All Four Seasons" is a horn-driven romp; and "La Belle Dame Sans Regret" is set to a modified bossa nova.
In keeping with its title, seasonal metaphors are spread throughout "Mercury Falling." In "The Hounds of Winter," for instance, the time of year parallels the narrator's mood. "I'm as dark as December," the abandoned lover intones. But this is the kinder, gentler Sting, and the cyclical aspect of the seasons also holds the promise of change: "There's a season for joy/ A season for sorrow," he sings. In "All Four Seasons," Sting describes his volatile daughter, marveling that "she can be all four seasons in one day."
"Mercury" is a sort of testimonial for the benefits of being in harmony with nature. In "I'm So Happy I Can't Stop Crying," a song about a newly divorced dad relegated to weekend visits with his kids, the singer finds solace in recognizing "something about the universe and how it's all connected." Like a horticultural Dr. Doolittle, Sting even makes conversation with the natural world: In "I Was Brought to My Senses," he sings, "Every blade of singing grass was calling out your name," and in "You Still Touch Me," he claims that "I seem to hear the raindrops saying you won't come back."
The disc contains nods to many genres, but Sting doesn't seem at home in any of them; though "Mercury" is distinguished by technical excellence, much of its material has an affected air. And the experimentation is not without its missteps: "I Hung My Head," a sort of Sting-style "I Shot the Sheriff" in which a man denounces himself for having killed someone, is notable for its unconvincing employment of Old West imagery (gallows on a hill, "my brother Jed"), while "La Belle Dame Sans Regret," sung in imperfect French and backed by cocktail lounge piano, sounds like the background music at the Limited Express. Superficially and seamlessly eclectic, "Mercury Falling" is respectable without being compelling.
Andy Summers: "Synaesthesia"
These days, former Police guitarist Andy Summers divides his time between guitar-playing and painting; his large, abstract oils adorn the jacket of his latest release, "Synaesthesia." It seems altogether fitting that the disc's title refers to the late-19th-century art movement that sought a means of allowing people to hear color and see music.
"Synaesthesia" is Summers's sixth album of improvisational material, and, like Sting's "Mercury Falling," it alludes to a multiplicity of musical styles. Though the disc's nine instrumental tracks primarily reference jazz, Ginger Baker's bombastic drumming gives the whole enterprise a histrionic edge. At times, the ensemble sounds as much like '70s art rockers as song titles such as "Chocolate of the Desperate" and "Umbrellas Over Java" would lead you to expect.
Relatively spare compositions like the delicate "I Remember" show off the nuances of Summers's technique, but he most often delights in combining the seemingly uncombinable: On "Cubana Rebop," he allots equal time to Latin rhythms and grunge guitar, while "Monk Hangs Ten" answers the musical question: "What do you get when you cross Thelonious Monk and the Ventures?"
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