Chris Salewicz, New Musical Express, January 1981
IN NEW YORK CITY it is the coldest day of the winter. Later that night the temperature drops to zero degrees Fahrenheit. The woollen-enshrouded Sting leaves the warm lobby of the exclusive, uptight St. Regis hotel, just off the opulent Fifth Avenue a couple of blocks south of Central Park, and rushes nimbly through the freezing air to his waiting, ready-heated, powder-blue Cadillac limousine.
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