Sting, Stang, Stung



Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Two days later, I still wake up looping “If Ever I Lose my Faith in You” – the first song Sting played live at the Save On Memorial Arena last Friday night. At last, for the first time in his life and in mine, the deity himself stopped in my hometown on his latest tour. And all I can say in one syllable is … Wow.

An 8 p.m. start, no opening act, no flashy lights, no rinky-dink set, no video screens and no more than six people on the stage. He wasn’t kidding when he named the tour “Back to Bass”. That’s what we got. A stripped down, professionally executed set spanning over 25 years of a career that defies labeling. He’s written so many brilliant songs that he couldn’t possibly have played everyone’s favourite, so he dug into the archive and produced a half-Police, half-solo show that was all Sting no matter how crunchy, twangy, jazzy or rock n’ reggae the piece. He’s a musician first, a songwriter second, and a singer third. The order may change on a given day, but it’s a holy trinity of talent no matter how it’s numbered.

That said, I admit to being a bit confused until I figured out that what he was playing was absolutely relevant to the name of the tour. My first thought was, “Man, that’s loud.” Which actually means “that’s loud for Sting”, though in truth it wasn’t. He was an angry young man when he started with the Police and has since mellowed considerably, so methinks I was fooled into expecting a reprise of his later offerings when in fact what I got was, well, loud. His sound crew remains the best in my experience, though – after I accepted what I was being served, my ears ceased to bleed. This was a rock concert, pure and simple. And it was fun!

More recent fans might have been disappointed. I was a Police fan from “Message in a Bottle”, so I knew every single song he played. He didn’t spend a lot of time chatting, but he told a story about attending his first NHL game a few weeks back. He named the New York Rangers and the Boston Bruins, then scolded the audience: “What are you booing them for? Most of them are Canadian, for ***’s sake!” Which got a laugh, but really, not popular teams in Canuck country. Anyway, he used it as a segue into “Demolition Man”, and that’s when I realized where we were headed. A diehard fan has favourites beyond the radio hits, so I had to acquiesce for the most part. “Every Breath You Take” is a great song, but I tune it out when I hear it, and I’m unsure that he’s as in love with it as he may have been a million performances ago. He played it anyway, with a few other must-haves, but sprinkled throughout were gems from gentler times. “Fields of Gold” and “Shape of My Heart” stand out, and I’ll never tire of “Englishman in New York”. “Message in a Bottle” was done so mind-bendingly well that I can’t remember a better version of it over the half a dozen times I’ve seen him. “Wrapped Around Your Finger” was played to this really cool light effect where a dozen white spotlights drew lazy circles over the crowd; we were all hypnotized by the time the song ended. And he ended the show gently, of course, with “Fragile”. *sigh*

Each of his players were highlighted at various times – the most excellent Dominic Miller on guitar, David Sancious on keyboards, Vinnie Colaiuta on drums, Peter Tickell on violin/mandolin and Jo Lawry on backing vocals. Each a superlative performer in his/her own right, perfectly blended to support the master. I adore Dominic Miller; it’s as much fun watching him play as it is to watch Sting. I forget that he can play killer rock riffs as well as classical melodies, he’s a tall skinny guy with loads of charisma and an elegant manner of playing that marks him as a natural musician.

I could rave on about every little thing (he does is magic, ha ha), but overall, I had blissfully sublime moments when I closed my eyes and let the joy pound with the bassline. I sang, I laughed, I stomped and clapped and cheered and dreamed and even wept a little … “King of Pain” is a weird one for me. I care for it as much as “Every Breath …”, but every time I hear it live, I start tearing up about halfway through. It’s the line about the black winged gull with the broken back that gets me; I have to quit singing along at that point else I’ll start bawling. I wonder what past life is tweaked by that image? Maybe I was the gull?

When my Cohen-worshipper at work asks me tomorrow how the Sting gig went, I’ll have to confess that Leonard’s show in March was probably the more religious experience of the two … this time. Sting is definitely a god – Ter reiterated his status after the show – but last Friday, he was less a deity than he was a rock star.

Not bad for an old guy.