Steve's Retro Song of the Week: The Police - "Syncronocity II"

The sequel to "Syncronocity I," the fittingly titled "Syncronocity II" is emulative of a tribesman's painful lament. Sting's opening wails in the beginning provide a perfect segue into the social commentary that is the rest of "Syncronocity II." Combining punk with trad rock, the song bemoans the plight of the urban working class and estranged suburbanites:

Another industrial ugly morning / The factory belches filth into the sky
He walks unhindered through the picket lines today / He doesn't think to wonder why

Although the tone of the song is nothing near somber or pathetic, there are traces of Irish limerick and other folk songs of shared adversity and indignity throughout the tune. With amps cranked to eleven, and Sting wailing at the top of his lungs, the song is both eye-opening and inspirational. And it cannot be failed to mention that the song is well served by a oft-repeated, yet incredibly catchy guitar hook along with the strategic absense of a chorus.

Poppy, smart and contagious, "Syncronocity II" is a great song to drive fast or run a few miles too. It is the perfect backdrop for any situation where you want to blow off a little steam.
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Another suburban family morning
Grandmother screaming at the wall
We have to shout above the din of our Rice Crispies
We can't hear anything at all
Mother chants her litany of boredom and frustration
But we know all her suicides are fake
Daddy only stares into the distance
There's only so much more that he can take
Many miles away
Something crawls from the slime
At the bottom of a dark Scottish lake

Another industrial ugly morning
The factory belches filth into the sky
He walks unhindered through the picket lines today
He doesn't think to wonder why
The secretaries pout and preen like
cheap tarts in a red light street
But all he ever thinks to do is watch
And every single meeting with his so-called superior
Is a humiliating kick in the crotch
Many miles away
Something crawls to the surface
Of a dark Scottish lake

Another working day has ended
Only the rush hour hell to face
Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes
Contestants in a suicidal race
Daddy grips the wheel and stares alone into the distance
He knows that something somewhere has to break
He sees the family home now looming in the headlights
The pain upstairs that makes his eyeballs ache
Many miles away
There's a shadow on the door
Of a cottage on the shore
Of a dark Scottish lake
Many miles away, many miles away