"Sweet Lies" by Robert Palmer (1988)

Almost three decades ago, a 90-minute disposable romantic comedy called Sweet Lies was released to theaters with little fanfare; like a fart in a hurricane, it quickly vanished after leaving a brief grimace on the faces of all involved. Here’s the banal plot summation from IMDB:

"An insurance investigator is visiting Paris on assignment. He is soon made the object of a seduction bet among three ladies. Problems arise when the girls realize they are really falling for him."

See what I mean? Name actors like Treat Williams and Julianne Phillips (ex-Mrs. Bruce Springsteen) weren’t enough to capture the eyeballs needed for this limp and lethargic lumber. Although to be fair, “seduction bet” would be a decent name for a debut album from a eastern European goth-electro duo. However, there was at least one good thing to come from this cinematic cyst, and once again, Robert Palmer is the person to thank.

At the time, the title song for Sweet Lies didn’t register with the buying public on either side of the Atlantic; historically, it was a pause between the million sellers Palmer minted in the mid to late ‘80s, naught but a blip between Riptide and Heavy Nova. I found it buried in the middle of the track listing of a 1988 promo CD from Island Records with one of my favorite covers of the CD era:

In contrast to the five-minute-plus overstuffed 12" version, the single edit of “Sweet Lies” is just over three minutes of smooth white-boy R&B, without the rock bombast that sometimes marked Palmer’s work from this era. That sonic vulnerability was a good fit for the lyric, which built tension by denying the listener of a direct chorus, opting instead for a verse-bridge presentation that never quite resolved, much like the relationships in the movie. Palmer once again showcases his gift for atypical harmonies that flit around the vocal melody, and some nice understated horn work pops up now and again. "Sweet Lies" was a charming confection for a movie not worthy of it, and that's the truth.

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