I remember being fascinated by this song when I was ten. The organ opening, and then the change at 02:50 and then the change at 03:36. And then the big change at 05:05 . I didn’t understand half of it, but it was fascinating.
The reason I found myself fascinated by it [cough] years ago was not that the album had songs about my drama teacher on it (!) – or so the rumour mill said (I think, untruthfully) – but that it seemed to mix Americana with place names from the decaying UK north-east coast: Cullercoats Boy and The Spanish City. Grimy. Skuzzy places: or at least they were by the time I was aware enough to know things. Interesting that as a ten year old I knew something of its meaning when Knopfler sings about ‘any shooting gallery where promises are made’ without truly understanding it. It makes another (unfashionable) take on what Pete Green is talking about here: https://longbarrowblog.wordpress.com/2019/06/26/the-provincial-sublime-pete-green/: ‘the post-industrial sublime.’