Sting was worried. It was 1985, and he was stepping away from the massive, gravity-defying success of The Police to see if he could actually make it as a solo artist. He leaned into jazz. He hired some of the best Black musicians in New York City, including Branford Marsalis and Kenny Kirkland. The result was The Dream of the Blue Turtles. Right in the middle of that record sits a track that feels like a beach day but reads like a manifesto. Honestly, Love Is the Seventh Wave lyrics aren't just about romance; they are about the relentless, inevitable nature of change and the hope that something better is coming to wash away the mess of the past.
You’ve probably heard it. That reggae-lite shuffle. The bright, chirping synths. But if you actually listen to what he’s saying, it’s kinda dark. Or at least, it starts that way.
The World Is Breaking (And Sting Noticed)
The song kicks off by listing everything that’s going wrong. It’s a laundry list of global anxiety. He talks about the "darkness on the edge of town," which is a little nod to Bruce Springsteen, and then dives into the "rising of the moon." This isn't just poetry. Sting was writing during the height of the Cold War. The "seventh wave" metaphor itself is rooted in old sailor folklore—the idea that waves travel in groups of seven, and the last one is always the biggest, the strongest, and the one that actually changes the shoreline.
Basically, he’s saying that while we’re all obsessed with our little problems—the "broken hearts" or the "failed ambitions"—there is a larger energy moving through the world.
He mentions the "the scream of the butterfly." That’s a heavy image. It suggests that even the smallest, most delicate things are under pressure. He’s looking at the geopolitical landscape of the mid-80s—the nuclear threat, the economic shifts, the tension between the East and West—and he’s framing it all as a series of smaller waves. They hit, they cause damage, but they aren't the end of the story.
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Why the "Seventh Wave" Specifically?
There is a specific cadence to the lyrics here. He’s obsessed with the number seven. Why? Because in almost every mythological or religious tradition, seven represents completion. Seven days of creation. Seven deadly sins. Seven colors in the rainbow. By positioning love as the seventh wave, Sting is arguing that love is the final, completing force that arrives after all the destruction.
Think about the line: "In the empire of the senses, you're the queen of all you survey." It sounds like a love song, right? Maybe to Trudie Styler? Sure. But look closer. He’s talking about how we perceive the world. We see the "billions of stars" and the "expanding universe," and it makes us feel small. He’s trying to find a way to make the individual feel powerful again in the face of all that vastness.
The Every Breath You Take Connection
If you stay until the very end of the track, you hear something funny. Sting starts ad-libbing. He sings, "Every breath you take, every move you make..." and then he laughs.
It’s a brilliant bit of self-aware songwriting. Every Breath You Take was arguably the biggest song of the decade, but it was also misinterpreted by everyone as a sweet love song. In reality, it was about stalking and control. By quoting it at the end of the Love Is the Seventh Wave lyrics, Sting is literally deconstructing his own past. He’s saying, "That old kind of love? That possessive, jealous stuff? That was one of the smaller, uglier waves. This new thing? This is the one that actually saves us."
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It’s almost like he’s apologizing for the darkness of Synchronicity. He’s moving toward the light. He’s telling us that the "seventh wave" is the one that washes away the obsession and the surveillance and replaces it with something genuinely transformative.
A Jazz-Pop Masterclass in Nuance
The music itself is doing a lot of the heavy lifting. If you read the lyrics on a plain white page, they might feel a bit hippy-dippy. "Every flower that you plant in your garden"? Come on, Gordon. But when you pair those words with the specific polyrhythms of Omar Hakim’s drumming, it feels grounded. It feels like a real-world celebration.
- The bassline doesn't just sit there; it moves like water.
- The saxophone fills from Marsalis provide a sense of chaotic joy.
- The production is clean but has this "live in the room" energy that was rare for 1985.
Sting was trying to bridge the gap between high-art intellectualism and pop accessibility. He wanted to write a song that could play on the radio while people were driving to work, but also give them something to chew on when they got home. He talks about "the gold in the mountains" and "the silver in the streams." He’s using elemental imagery. He’s not talking about money; he’s talking about the inherent value of the natural world.
The Problem with "Love" as a Solution
Some critics at the time thought it was a bit naive. They looked at the Love Is the Seventh Wave lyrics and rolled their eyes. How can "love" solve the threat of nuclear war or the Reagan-era social divides?
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But Sting wasn't talking about Hallmark card love. He was talking about a "profound and terrible" love. The kind of love that demands change. If you look at the bridge—"I don't want to be no prisoner of my own ambition"—you see the personal stakes. He’s not just lecturing the world; he’s lecturing himself. He’s acknowledging that his own ego and his own drive for success are part of the "smaller waves" that need to be washed away.
How to Apply the Seventh Wave Mentality Today
We’re living in a time that feels a lot like 1985, just with better iPhones and worse weather. The "waves" of bad news, political strife, and environmental anxiety feel constant. This song suggests a strategy for survival.
Stop focusing on the first six waves. They are going to hit. They are going to be messy. They are unavoidable. Instead, you have to look past them. You have to look for the underlying force that actually matters.
The lyrics suggest that we should be looking for the "seventh wave" in our own lives. What is the thing that remains when the noise dies down? What is the force that actually moves the needle for you? For Sting, it was a return to his musical roots and a commitment to a more honest form of expression. For you, it might be something entirely different.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Listener:
- Contextualize the "Every Breath" Reference: Next time you listen, wait for that final minute. It’s a lesson in how to outgrow your own past. Don't be afraid to poke fun at your former self.
- Study the Imagery: If you’re a songwriter or a poet, look at how Sting uses "scale." He jumps from "the universe" to "a butterfly." That contrast is why the lyrics feel so expansive yet intimate.
- Audit Your "Waves": Identify the six things currently stressing you out. Now, find the "seventh wave"—the one positive, overwhelming force that makes the other six irrelevant. It's a mental exercise in prioritization.
- Listen to the 12-inch Version: There are extended mixes of this track that lean even harder into the jazz-fusion elements. They give the lyrics more room to breathe and emphasize the "wave" metaphor through long, rolling instrumental sections.
Sting proved that you can be a pop star and a philosopher at the same time. You don't have to choose. You can dance to a song about the end of the world, as long as you believe that something better is coming in behind it. The seventh wave isn't just a metaphor; it's a choice to believe in the eventual triumph of something good.