25th
Synchronicity
Early summer, 1983. I was about to turn 11, and we’d just moved to a bigger house. My parents gave me their entirely manual AR turntable, their 15-y.o. Sansui receiver, and a whopping pair of AR floor speakers to keep in my bedroom. With my first stereo system, I received two records: The Beach Boys’ Endless Summer and Chariots of Fire. These were great and all, but I wanted my own music. Music my parents hadn’t led me to. Music they couldn’t sing along to. Music they’d never even heard.
My friend James, an 11-y.o. Rolling Stones aficionado who knew about weed, suggested Synchronicity, by The Police. He told me about Sting - “a total genius” who’d been a school teacher prior to becoming “one of the greatest fucking songwriters in history, man” as spittle formed at the edges of his lips. He seethed with enthusiasm and conviction and stared into my eyes until I agreed that, yeah, I should totally check out the new The Police album.
I still remember the thrill of the first song, “Synchronicity I,” starting up. It washed over me like the pot smoke I imagined filled the rooms at James’ house, and swept me away immediately. It was the first music I’d ever bought with my own money, and maybe* the first pop song to which I ever learned every word. 27 years later, it still feels like awakening every time I hear it.
*The whole truth is it also could have been Def Leppard’s “Rock of Ages,” because I bought and memorized Pyromania at about the same time. Consistency, amirite?
