Synchronicity (1983) - The Police

Few bands end their careers on a classic album, and even fewer bow out of the game with the best album they’ve ever made. Most groups would want to capitalize on the album that catapulted them to the top of the charts, but The Police aren’t most bands. This new wave trio dropped their crowning masterpiece, which made them the cream of the music world both commercially and critically, and then promptly split up, never to record together again. The band was in significant turmoil when recording this album, with frontman and bassist Sting on the verge of making his big solo move, and both drummer Stewart Copeland and guitarist Andy Summers feeling significantly sidelined. That friction comes across on certain moments on the record, particularly in the two songs not written by Sting, which feel as if they belong to another record entirely. In theory, the album sounds disjointed, but in fact it remains the most sonically cohesive album The Police ever made. Sting brings his A-game, writing a set of songs that melds the electrifying punk, new wave and reggae influences of their early work with new world music and jazz inflections, making Synchronicity feel like a more mature, graceful yet still vital update of their joyful, nervy rock sound. This album is clearly caught between The Police and Sting, it could even be called a transitional album, but it is the best of both worlds. The enthralling mix of the sharp, bouncy immediacy of The Police’s best work and the complex compositions and maturity that marks his classic solo material is something Sting would never quite reach in his illustrious solo career. The album leans away from the reggae inflections that made their early work so unique in the new wave scene, but they replace reggae rhythms with a jazzier type of percussion, more arena ready guitars and mellow, haunting world music atmospherics. The trio basically creates an entirely new sound for themselves, priding themselves on cultivating atmosphere and mood and matching them with punk-tinged riffs and plush arrangements, making this their best produced album. It takes the alternative meets jazz rock textures of their previous outing Ghost in the Machine (1981) and improves it tenfold. I would argue that The Police are one of a very few bands that never put out an album that was less than great, but this still towers above the rest due to the uncompromising craftsmanship and the best songwriting of Sting’s career.

The record’s A side is marked by bookends, two musical sides of the same coin. It opens and closes with two variations on a title track, but while they both share a name, they couldn’t be more different musically, showing off two unique strengths of the band. The opener, “Synchronicity I” is an ersatz synth-pop number led by a jittery, schizophrenic keyboard riff, which feels as if it could run off the rails at any moment. The group channels that blast of infectious, nervous energy into one of the band’s most arresting compositions. Copeland’s drumming blasts you with its raw power and Sting’s bass line drives you wild with its manic energy. Sting’s fascination with the titular scientific concept is a running theme on the record, with the work of Carl Jung inspiring both title songs. Jung defined synchronicity as “the simultaneous occurrence of events which appear significantly related but have no discernible causal connection”. This song feels like a series of stream of consciousness musings from Sting, all of which connect to the subject in an off-kilter yet brilliant fashion, more frantically shouted than sung, matching the track’s manic energy. The key moment is when Sting comes crashing in with the gloriously unsettling harmony drenched chorus where the echo drenched backing vocals bounce off the walls of your brain in a demented call and response. The song veers close to becoming overwhelming, but the band keeps the song just grounded enough that it never becomes a sensory overload. The song truly tosses you into the album experience head first. On the other hand, the A-side closes with “Synchronicity II”, a reprise in theme only, trading out the opener’s jerky synths for a blistering, hard rock guitar chug reminiscent of Billy Idol’s contemporaneous brand of arena-punk, but Sting’s raw, emotionally charged vocal delivery easily outclasses Idol’s more cartoonish stylings. The song is filled to the brim with hooks, the best of which is the emphatic pre chorus build up where the tempo gradually speeds up alongside Sting’s increasingly irritated shouts. Lyrically, the song is more grounded than its counterpart, with Sting vividly illustrating Jung’s heady concept of meaningful coincidence by spinning the story of a put-upon family man whose life is in constant turmoil both at home and at work, contrasting it with the emergence of a sea monster. While this sounds vague and dense, it hardly matters because Sting’s delivery is so intensely passionate that he could sing anything and it would sound profound, but Sting also injects the song with a real sense of humor (the choice line being “a humiliating kick in the crotch”, possibly the funniest turn of phrase in any rock song). The science might go over your head, but it makes for the band’s hardest rocking track. Best of all, it gives Andy Summers a much deserved showcase for his guitar work, delivering both some jagged, sharp riffs and one of his most accomplished solos. The Police could never be called a hard rock or gritty punk band, they always leaned more pop, but this song shows them baring their teeth in a way they never has before, but not forgetting to craft some sticky hooks in the process. These two songs perfectly complement each other and show off the breadth of the album and the band. The group had never attempted songs like these before, but they both come off brilliantly, showing that The Police had outgrown the constraints of their early work. They were no longer punk, reggae, new wave or even rock, they were a genre-fusing force of nature that could do no wrong. The fact that these two radically different songs both feel so at home on this record speaks volumes of the band’s knack for creating compositions that are both unique and fit together smoothly regardless of sound or genre.

In between these two album highlights lie two songs which foreshadow Sting’s future solo efforts both showing off his love of jazz and world music without forsaking the band’s classic sound. “Walking in Your Footsteps” is an ambient, world music inflect gem that boasts one of his most ambitious vocal performances, pushing himself into his yelp-y high register which befits the song’s anxious core. The song is a clever politically minded song which has Sting in conversation with the dinosaurs, lamenting the fact that we seem to be on the same road to extinction, via nuclear annihilation. The Cold War hysteria may have dated, but the song’s chilly atmospherics, relying on synths and the unsettlingly bouncy percussion makes it resonate to this day. Sting also contributes “O My God”, a funky slice of jazz rock fusion that owes as much to Steely Dan as it does to punk and new wave. Sting lyrically takes on the hypocrisies of organized religion with a series of brutally funny lamentations (and some recycled lyrics from their 1981 hit “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic”). The song chugs along with verve, putting the spotlight on the band’s unmatched rhythm section, with Sting’s hyperactive jazzy bass line playing brilliantly off of Stewart Copeland’s complex, polyrhythmic drum fills making it feel more sophisticated than most of their catalog. Copeland is arguably the band’s most instrumentally talented member and his chops are more evident here than anywhere else in their catalog. Punk was always too constricting for musicians of this caliber, and this song proves that in spades.

It can be argued that the weak links of this record are in the songs written by Copeland and Summers, which round out the A-side. I don’t exactly agree, but they are by far the least engaging material here, though that is namely due to Sting’s career high songwriting more than anything else. Stewart Copeland’s low key “Miss Gradenko” is a slight, percussive number that fits right in among the more ambient moments here, placing the spotlight on his intricate cymbal work. Sting sings the story of forbidden love in Soviet Russia, and while it is his least engaged vocal work on the album, the song’s vocal melody plays second fiddle to the nuanced, layered instrumental groove. It clocks in at a very slight two minutes, making this feel like it could have been further fleshed out, but as it stands it is one of Copeland’s more accomplished tunes in The Police’s catalog. Andy Summers’ controversial “Mother” is the bone of contention for most with this record, with it being a very abrasive homage to John Lennon’s 1970 track of the same name, which was heavily inspired by primal scream therapy. Summers’ song is just as abrasive yet far less cathartic, mainly because it is played for laughs, but it isn’t without merit. The carnivalesque backing track and Summers’ textured, Adrian Belew inspired guitar solo provide some interesting moments, but Summers’ ear-splitting delivery wears on the nerves at three minutes. The song’s lyrics are funny, in a slightly uncomfortable way, but Summers’ delivery somewhat kills them before the laughs come. The song could be seen as a novelty, since many of Summers’ non-instrumental tracks on the band’s early records were, but this, while comedic, feels more like a song than most of his other works. The song feels like it belongs on one of the first three Police records instead of this one, but it isn’t the album killer many make it out to be. It does somewhat disrupt the album’s immaculate flow, but it quickly gets back on track when Sting returns to the microphone.

It can be said that most records have a stronger first side than their second, but The Police thoroughly evade that trope by backing the album’s B-side with four of their most acclaimed hits. It can easily lay claim to being one of the best sides of vinyl of the decade. It opens with perhaps the band’s best known hit, the slick new wave anthem “Every Breath You Take”, one of the most haunting songs to ever hit #1 on the charts. The song is based around Summers’ ethereal guitar figure which nags at you but also feels soothing in equal measure. It has a way of hypnotizing you with every listen, lulling you into a warm daze, which may be why so many confuse this for being a love song, but the lyrics are as chillingly desperate as can be. These might be Sting’s most direct lyrics, creating a vivid stalker anthem, but his vocals are packed with such earnest, pained emotion, peaking during the pleading bridge section, that you can’t help but be drawn in by its stirring charms every single listen. Sting has written his fair share of brilliant pop songs, but this is the only one that can truly be called flawless. Few other songs in general are as unblemished as this one, every note feeling perfectly placed. The song is almost impossible to talk about because it is so startlingly simple, but every element from Copeland and Sting’s light, steady groove to Summers’ warm, moody guitar to Sting’s haunted vocals are immaculate. It was the best selling song of 1983 for good reason. It is an objectively perfect four minutes of music. If you haven’t listened to this song, do it right now. If you have, give it another listen. A truly eternal anthem.

The record segues into yet another bonafide hit with the mysterious, haunting “King of Pain”, a song with no clear chorus, and hardly any discernible verses. Instead it has one repeated verse that morphs and changes with each repetition. While the song is structurally unusual, Sting delivers one of his most enthralling melodies making it easily accessible and endlessly re-listenable, discovering new twists and turns in the ever-shifting arrangement with each listen. These subtle, yet palpable changes in the song’s instrumentation are truly what make the track soar, becoming more of an opus than a mere hit song. The song opens with Sting and a piano alone, before shifting into a powerful yet restrained full band chug with the spotlight on Summers’ muted yet jangly riff and the soft, atmospheric synth pads. Sting’s heavily echo drenched backing vocals follow his every line making the song feel even more haunted and cyclical, pairing well with Sting’s impressionist lyrics, comprised of a series of chilling images taken from Sting’s time in Jamaica. The song is five minutes long, but with its constant melodic evolution it feels like six or seven pieces in one, building up and breaking down the arrangement at such a measured pace that it shouldn’t work, yet it does. The chilling breakdown where Sting sings the frigid, nagging melody over next to no instrumentation is a moment that consistently sends shivers down my spine with every listen, before the band crashes back in with full force for one more triumphant refrain. The song is vaguely imagistic but the undercurrents of loneliness and sorrow give it an emotional heft that fits right in with the album’s morbid B-side. Quite possibly the most unusual Police song, but nonetheless one of their most enduring compositions.

The trio of hits comes to a brilliant conclusion with my personal favorite song on the album, the haunted, moving, atmospheric masterpiece “Wrapped Around Your Finger”, which thrives on Sting’s nuanced vocal performance where he delivers his sharpest, literary set of lyrics. He vividly paints tableaus of collegiate high mindedness with his multiple literary allusions from Greek mythology to Faust and contrasts them with his tale of romantic subversion. The song is a portrait of a contentious, turbulent relationship where Sting plays the suppliant, submissive lover to his partner’s domineering master archetype, before the final chorus where he brilliantly subverts expectations and becomes the powerful one in an arresting twist of fate. By simply changing the lyric from “I’ll be wrapped around your finger” to “You’ll be wrapped around my finger”, Sting creates one of the most dramatic shifts in any pop song and makes the song’s closing moments so gratifying. A truly unmatched moment in music. The song itself is one of the album’s most slow burning, jazzy moment with the muted chug of the guitar riff playing beautifully off of Copeland’s cymbal heavy, brushed drum work and Sting’s slinky bass line. The song sounds cinematic in a way that few bands can pull off. The vocal melody is enchanting in its simplicity, letting Sting emphasize and embellish certain words, making it feel impressionistic and mature. This is the song that foreshadows every brilliant thing about Sting’s post-Police career, plush, jazzy adult pop that radiates cleverness, but never foregoing strong melodies. The bridge is the track’s focal point, where Sting makes the dramatic shift from submissive to forceful with his delivery paralleling the subversion present in the lyrics. It is breathtaking and no matter how many times you hear it, even when it the twist loses its novelty, it is staggering each time. It is akin to the sensation you feel rewatching your favorite movie, regardless of the fact that you know where it has going, it remains thrilling with each repetition. The song, like “Every Breath You Take”, is a masterpiece of layering perfect, simple elements on top of each other to creating something lasting and beautiful. To me, it is perfection on a level few other songs have ever reached. A masterpiece of songwriting and performance. The high water mark of the band’s career and of early 80s alternative music as a whole.

The album comes to a chilling close with the ambient world music inflected “Tea in the Sahara”, a dark story song where Sting weaves the tale of sisters stranded in the desert who are betrayed by a pilot who promises to save them. The sisters end up going crazy and passing away, but Sting delivers the lyrics in such a poetic, beautiful way that the tragedy is made even more palpable. Making this the closer was a bold choice because it is so hopelessly sad, but it is played with such grace and ethereal atmosphere that nothing could possibly follow it. It is one of their best ever deep tracks and belongs in the company of the three hits, because it fits their desperately beautiful emotional resonance. Musically, it fits perfectly with its ambient textures placing the emphasis on Sting’s stop start bass lick and Copeland’s gently brushed jazz drums while Summers lurking in the background with hazy guitar licks that almost feel like the oasis the girls are looking for. The song is a haunted piece of work that sticks with you in an unsettlingly poetic way. A better ending would be difficult to imagine, but on some editions there is the brilliant hidden track “Murder by Numbers”, a bluesy piece that again spotlights Copeland’s intricate drumming with the thumping jazz rhythms grounding the track. Sting’s vocals on this song, a tense murder ballad about becoming addicted to the act of serial killing with some truly vivid yet poetic descriptions that do in fact “turn a murder into art”, are nuanced and tortured while remaining cool and collected. The song is infectiously catchy with its chugging guitar lick, feeling more rootsy than anything else in their catalog, almost like a Stones-y blues cut, but with an air of elegance that only comes with Sting’s literate sophistipop tendencies. The song is arguably better than most tracks here and fits right in, but no matter which songs closes the album they both are among the band’s most underappreciated songs.

The Police never put out a bad album, but nor did they put out a completely flawless piece. Few bands can created perfect albums, but The Police couldn’t have asked for a better album to close their career. Synchronicity perfectly encapsulates what makes both The Police and Sting’s later material so brilliant. It blends pop hooks, jazz inflections, rock elements and alternative and new wave textures in a way that no one else was even considering attempting, in a way that appealed to both the masses and the critics. Quite the delicate balance to strike. While there’s nothing here as immediately catchy as “Roxanne” or “Message in a Bottle”, I would argue this material is more enduring, because I’ve discovered new wrinkles or touches with every single listen. This is as rich and enthralling as alternative music has ever been. Sting would make more great records without the band, but here he reached his artistic potential. The death of a great band and the birth of a true musical auteur. The perfect grace note.