Currently enjoying the “Brimstone and Treacle” soundtrack

“I had written Brimstone and Treacle in difficult personal circumstances,” playwright Dennis Potter said in 1978. “Years of acute psoriatic arthropathy – unpleasantly affecting skin and joints – had not only taken their toll in physical damage but had also, and perhaps inevitably, mediated my view of the world and the people in it.

“I recall writing (and the words now make me shudder) that the only meaningful sacrament left to human beings was for them to gather in the streets in order to be sick together, splashing vomit on the paving stones as the final and most eloquent plea to an apparently deaf, dumb and blind God.”

The film version, released in 1982, was a quintessentially English black comedy, and clearly loyal to the spirit of a writer who, in his own words, “was engaged in an extremely severe struggle not so much against the dull grind of a painful and debilitating illness but with unresolved, almost unacknowledged, ‘spiritual’ questions.”

The film features strong performances by Denholm Elliott, Joan Plowright and Suzanna Hamilton. But it was undoubtedly Sting – in a co-starring performance that will please anyone who felt his portrayal of Feyd-Rautha in Dune wasn’t psychotic enough – who ensured that the film would attract a cult audience for years to come.

Naturally, he’s all over the soundtrack album, which proves to be an unsettling but satisfying journey of its own. Obviously, the Police contributed three non-album tracks, all of which suit if not shape the atmosphere of the film. Indeed, their work on this soundtrack hints at the musical and philosophical tone that would define Synchronicity, which they released the following year and which is totally one of the best records ever, you guys.

“How Stupid Mr. Bates,” their first track on their record, especially showcases the band as a trio of three exceptional musicians, doing what they traditionally did best. Sting’s heavy bass line is relentlessly methodical, Stewart Copeland drills and punches the drums just “too hard” enough, and Andy Summers wails above it all in haunting augmented chords. It’s an excellent example of their individual and collective abilities alike – and it’s such a tense piece of music that one could easily argue that their mutual and total hatred of each other at that point in their career is what gave the track its edge.

Sting himself contributes an additional six tracks, and covers a lot of ground in doing so. “Narration,” in which Sting literally reads the first few pages of the shooting script over an ambient score, signals early on that this isn’t going to be a typical soundtrack album. “Spread a Little Happiness,” a cover of a song written in 1929 by a composer in the thick of a fever, performed strongly on the UK pop charts. The title track earned Sting a Grammy. And “Only You,” one of the best tracks on the album, hints at the highs of Sting’s immediately subsequent solo material.

Look, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re basically right. But The Dream of the Blue Turtles is a strong solo debut. Just because I respect it doesn’t mean I want to have my first kiss to “Desert Rose,” or anything.

Tracks by Squeeze and the Go-Go’s, along with some English choiral contributions, round out the record. On the whole, it’s worth tracking down, and it makes for a chilling but enjoyable “single sitting” experience.

Posted in Currently Enjoying