One of my best memories of my young father was that he always played music in the car with my brother and me, and he made sure to call out things in the songs he thought were important: An especially excellent drum part or fill, the way a guitar was played, a melody, or just the message of a song's lyrics. I said important, not just cool. He didn't do this just because he thought these parts were neat; he pointed them out with particular seriousness as though they served as moral lessons. An excellent drum part was cool; it was also a demonstration of the passion and discipline necessary to engage in life in general.
Some of his music choices: Questionable. (James Taylor... man.) But some of his biggest musical heroes from that time were the Police, and that I could get behind. When Sting went solo, my dad was completely on board, you might even say worshipful. And so in my early teenage years, I remember Sting's new album Ten Summoner's Tales playing at a high volume in my dad's car.
I still love the sound of that album - the high end is so prominent and bright sounding. It creates a sheen I think Sting wanted post-Police. I love the ambitious conceit of having each song be "tale" in a series told by apparent "summoners." (There are at least two references in this concept: First, the idea of a series of tales told by mystical pilgrims was done to illustrious effect in the Middle English epic poem The Canterbury Tales. Second, "summoner" sounds very close to Sting's legal surname "Sumner.") I love the poetic power of the conceit in execution, and the genres and stories of these songs are all over the map. The best, most enduring of these is "Fields of Gold," a song about the magnificence of all that endures.
This is a 3.5 minute ballad with very little crescendo, filled with sound. The instrumentation includes intermixing classical guitars, steady bass, soft shaker, atmospheric synth strings, and elegiac solos by Northumbrian small pipes (says Wikipedia) and harmonica. The guitar pattern that undulates within the later verses is maybe my favorite touch, conjuring an impression not just of memory but the feeling of memory.
There are no choruses in this song, just verses that end in the same lyrical refrain. The lyrics tell the story of a relationship that develops with each verse. First, youthful attraction. Second, a greater commitment. A middle bridge functions as an aside about the reservations of long-term commitment. The third verse is an epilogue in the ensuing years of the tale, with the next generation beneath that enduring sun, among the same fields of gold. Other than the excellent efficiency of advancing time so far in only three verses, my favorite poetic touch is his personification of the sky as a "jealous" extension of the sun itself, suggesting that, for all the power and long life of the sun, it still peers into our lives through the window of the sky, coveting our companionship and the powerful rhymes and significances of our successive generations.
It all would add up to nothing but footnotes if the melodic craft of the song were not otherworldly. The melody is simple, hummable, but purely beautiful and making sophisticated use of phrase repetition for effect. The repetition idea pays off as each turn is used to add increasing passion in the delivery. And of course, the verse, containing internal repetitions, is itself repeated with subtle variations three times - a nod to the cyclical ideas of the lyrics - formal concept reflecting meaning, sound and sense in unity. In short, the song is art.
There are plenty of other times for rocking. This is a song for the quiet late-summer long sun.