Most musicians strive to make innovative music, to push boundaries and create new and interesting work. Unfortunately, Sting isn’t one of them.
His voice is unmistakeable, yet wholly inoffensive and monotonous. Furthermore, his shenanigans with Madonna and Guy Ritchie, his dalliance with celebrity and his famous flirtations with yoga and tantra have long eclipsed any real focus on him as an artist.
As it goes, Sacred Love is completely undistinguishable from anything else in his repertoire. Not even the involvement of Vincente Amigo, Mary J Blige and Anoushka Shankar can resuscitate this flaccid offering. ‘Inside Your Love’ is sung with something approximating
rage – though one suspects that this is merely some flit that his yoga regime failed to iron out that day. ‘Never Coming Home’ is an uptempo enough number, but by normal standards it is positively dreary.
I have no doubt that this album will sell by the bucketloads, yet it is strictly for cardie-wearing fans of musical wallpaper. Avoid.