As mentioned previously, there were a couple Eighties-riffic activities taking place this last weekend. The first (and least mortifying) was the Police reunion concert Friday night.
The Wife and I attended with two other friends, and all of us elected for one reason or another not to get righteously bombed. In retrospect, this was probably a mistake. The row behind us seemed to have opted for this approach, and I have to admit; they definitely enjoyed themselves. Then again, I find that mullet-sporting 40-somethings often have lower fun thresholds.
Fiction Plane opened up. You probably haven't heard of them unless you happen to know more about Sting's family than I did. FP is led by one Joe Sumner, Sting's son. They weren't entirely horrible, but we showed up about halfway through their set and I spent a good chunk of the remainder looking for a draft beer line less than 20 people long.
As for the Police...I really wanted to enjoy the show. They were one of my favorite bands and I've been looking forward to the concert for a while, but overall it was disappointing. I could deal with the nagging fear that 64-year old Andy Summers was going to pull a John Entwhistle on stage, and the obvious boredom Sting showed at times, whether clenching his jaw and shaking his head when Summers missed a cue, rolling his eyes while playing those pan flute notes at the beginning of "Walking in Your Footsteps," or flubbing the lyrics to "King of Pain." He wasn't in it for the money, we were told, but his behavior made it plain the weight of the favor he was doing for Summers and Stewart Copeland had placed on his toned shoulders.
And truthfully, I wouldn't have about any of that if they hadn't dicked around so much with the music. Sure, some Police songs lend themselves to noodling: "Driven to Tears" comes to mind, or even "Demolition Man" (which they didn't play). But "Roxanne?" "Roxanne" is not a seven minute fucking song. "Walking on the Moon" doesn't require melodic structure changes. A little goofing around is to be expected, but they did it to such an extent it was taking the crowd completely out of the show. You could see the fans getting excited during the intros to (for example) "Don't Stand So Close to Me" and "Can't Stand Losing You," then watch their enthusiasm fading as the songs went in entirely new, goofy directions. I even made a "Welcome to The Police, Phase II" comment that went largely ignored misunderstood.
Though I did ask the guy behind me if they'd played "Jazz Odyssey" yet.
We'll get to the reunion in a little bit.
I told you so would be too easy. I knew they’d screw it up with self-masturbatory jams and noodling. That’s was evident after the grammy’s appearance. At least it was only what, $85 a ticket?
Okay, it could’ve rocked harder, and they could’ve just played the songs the way they recorded them, but I really thought it was a well-done show. Yeah Sting is a tool, but we knew that when we bought the tickets. For me though, to see three guys show some serious chops was worth it. I thought most (not all) of the reworking of the songs was musically interesting, if not as easily entertaining. I never felt like it was phoned in. And of course we full-on skipped Fiction Plane. Having seen a few too many dinosaur/reunion shows, maybe my expectations weren’t too high to begin with, but I felt it was worth my money. And Stewart Copeland kicked some serious ass.
I knew they’d screw it up with self-masturbatory jams
That’s redundant.
Okay, it could’ve rocked harder, and they could’ve just played the songs the way they recorded them
I didn’t need to hear every song the way it was recorded, and it’d be different if these guys had been touring for years and wanted to screw around a bit, but I guarantee I wasn’t the only one who wished they’d quit dicking around and play a straight version of “Synchronicity 2.”
But Copeland was pretty amazing.
Wow, what a bummer of a show. Nothing peeves me more than when performers jerk around their fans with pompous new renditions of classic tunes. The ultimate buzzkill…Sting pulled that garbage back in 1988 when I saw him in Madison as well. Arrgh.
I’m off to see Roger Waters next week and am anxious to see if he remains truer to form. The reviews I’ve read give me hope.