Some albums are played a few times, then forgotten; others are meant to travel with you throughout your life, celebrating your triumphs and consoling you in dark times. Their music becomes intertwined with memory, keeping moments alive long after the moments themselves have passed.
I am fortunate to have several albums that have traveled with me throughout the years, continuing to bring meaning to my life. These albums are more than pieces of music; they’ve become old friends who I can always trust to be there when I need them. Most importantly, as I’ve changed, my relationship with these albums has changed with me. Music I have known for decades can still reveal something I wasn’t capable of hearing before.
Sting’s …Nothing Like the Sun is an album that has been with me for the past 38 years. During that time, I went from an art student to a working artist, making mistakes, refining my skill, and embracing the vision that has brought me to where I am today. While recording …Nothing Like the Sun, Sting faced challenges of his own, including the death of his mother, a loss he brilliantly articulates in “The Lazarus Heart.” Across the album’s twelve songs, Sting explores pain and grief while also turning outward, most notably in the heart-wrenching “They Dance Alone,” which addresses the mothers and wives of Chile’s desaparecidos, whose loved ones vanished under the Pinochet regime. Sting’s exploration of these themes gave me an awareness of grief that prepared me for the pain I would experience years later when I lost my own mother.
Rolling Stone referred to …Nothing Like the Sun as “a powerful, often hypnotic album.” From the exuberant opening notes of “The Lazarus Heart” to the close of the hauntingly beautiful “The Secret Marriage,” …Nothing Like the Sun enthralls and captivates. As I sit and work, its music wafts through my petite atelier, bringing with it memories of midnight soirees under the Golden Gate Bridge and super chicken burritos from Chabella’s downed with Beringer white Zinfandel.
The laughter of those moments slowly dissipates, giving way to the silence of a small apartment on a stormy night as I try to sleep, knowing that my mom is slipping away.
Along with being a collection of lived memories, albums carry wisdom that can be profound and even prophetic. Of the twelve songs that make up …Nothing Like the Sun, none has spoken to me more profoundly than “The Lazarus Heart.” Born from a nightmare about his mother’s death, Sting’s symbolic portrayal of pain and rebirth is something I’ve carried with me from the first time I heard ...Nothing Like the Sun. Years later, when I also faced losing my own mother, I came to understand Sting’s multi-layered lament like never before.
…Nothing Like the Sun hasn’t changed, but the young art student in the black trench coat has. Over nearly four decades, I’ve created new memories, faced adversity, sat with grief, and experienced personal rebirth. The underlying symbolism of “The Lazarus Heart” resonates on a far deeper level now. The album’s evocative and refined character has survived intact. Nearly four decades later, its music still accompanies me as I sit and work.