When the broken chords of Message in a Bottle fill the 65,000 seater, I am running. After 27 minutes of queuing and carrying 3 beers to our seats just 20 metres from the stage (Thank you, Ravin) I succeed in spilling them all. I queue for another 20 minutes, but this time I am anxious. 2 yummy mummies from Essex inquire how I keep my hair shiny. While hair is a topic I easily warm to, especially when it concerns my own, my mind is elsewhere. Do I watch The Police minus beer or do I risk missing their grand entrance?
I am 3 from the front. But the lights dim and the crowd roars. Fuck the beer. I say goodbye to the Essex ladies and sprint. And I see Ravin at the entrance and Andy Summers playing a C# minor.
We get to our seats and I watch a huge screen colour itself in primary red, yellow and blue, the colours of the Synchronicity album. It’s breathtaking and I wish for drugs. But I don’t need them. I am watching Stewart, Sting and Andy playing Message in a Bottle. The guitar growls like something out of the grunge era, the drums sidestep the fluid bass and when Sting (yes, Sting, not Gordon) announces that he is sending out an S.O.S., 65000 voices join him.
* * * *
There are many musicians that I like. I like the Stereophonics, Marvin Gaye and Sinead O’ Connor. Meaning I own some of their albums and I enjoy them. I really like the Chillie Peppers, Floyd and Faithless. Which means I own most of their albums and love most of their songs, but not all.
There are only 5 bands of whom I own and love everything they have ever recorded. They are, in no particular order, The Beatles, Cake, System of a Down and Radiohead. I don’t think I need to name the 5th.
Much has been written about The Beatles and I don’t need to add to it. I will just say this. They recorded 6 phenomenal albums (counting Magical Mystery Tour and discounting Let it be) and over 30 hit singles. But they rarely included the singles on the album. They would release wonderful songs like Hey Jude or Strawberry Fields, say, and then follow them up with albums like Sergeant Peppers or Abbey Road that excluded the singles.
Most bands make albums around singles. The Beatles made albums minus singles and each one set the blueprint for what we know as music. Remember that the next time the tabloids are dissing Sir Paul and comparing him to Madonna and Sir Elton. There is no comparison.
When my grandchildren are asking me why seeya’s generation melted the polar ice-caps, Radiohead will be looked upon as The Beatles of our time. And remember what I said about pop music being disposable and having little shelf life? Forget Kid A and Amnesiac. I can listen to The Bends, an album that even Nickleback fans could get into, for the 2398th time, and still hear something I’ve never heard before.
I have many close friends who are metallers and I have 3 gripes with heavy metal music. Lyrics. Lyrics. And lyrics. Why do intelligent people who make complex, affecting music still have to write about “chasms of darkness and rotting carcasses of fury?” Why do they write as if they are penning gothic novels in the 1850s.
SOAD write about US foreign policy, pepperoni pizza, prison reform and nonsense. And they mix meditarrenean music with thrash metal. I saw them live twice and both times they blew the roof off.
Finally, Cake, are a band with sharp lyrics and sharper grooves. I wondered if John McCready, their leader, resented the fact that lesser bands have enjoyed more success. But when I saw them at the Astoria I realized three things. (a) He is a genius (b) He doesn’t give a shit and, (c) He doesn’t need to.
If you got an objective critic to rank these bands according to greatness, The Police would be fighting for 3rd place behind Radiohead and The Beatles. They may lose for not being as original as SOAD or as cerebral as Cake.
So why does none of this shit matter? Why is there absolutely no contest for me? Why do they still stand on the highest mount and sing the sweetest? I’ll tell you after the gig.
* * * *
They played every one of their hits bar Spirits. From Don’t Stand to Can’t Stand. From Every Breath to Every Little Thing. They lengthened jams like Voices inside my Head, simplified punk riffs like Truth Hits Everybody and even did a verse from Ray Charles’ Hit the road, Jack.
Stewart was in top form. He pulled out his gong and his percussion weaponry for Wrapped around your Finger. Andy Summers erupted into an uncharacteristic solo during So Lonely (my 3rd favourite police song behind Bed’s Too Big and Darkness) and bathed the stadium in warm sound. It was crisp, tight, triumphant and uplifting.
Sting was the weakest link. He couldn’t hit the high notes and didn’t even attempt to. His banter was tired and only mildly amusing. But it was a small complaint. They played for 2 ½ hours, encored with Every Breath you Take and pushed old songs into new realms. The evening was perfect.
Was it the best gig I’ve ever seen? Nope. Rammstein at Brixton, SOAD at Reading, Coldplay in Berlin and Placebo at Hammersmith surprised and dazzled me more.
But does it matter? They were The Police. They had rescued me from Rick Astley. Rescued me from teenage despair. And led me to discover my own sound.
The least I could do, was drag my sorry ass half way across the world, and spend more than I could afford, to stand amidst the devotees and just say Thank you.
* * * *
They say men never get over their first love. Incorrect. Her name was Rebecca Gibson. We got back together a year after she broke my heart. And while I hope she is happy and well, I hardly ever think of her.
But who says your first love has to be female and cute? Can it not be 3 scruffy men 20 years your senior? Must it involve romance? Can it not involve a Sony walkman and 5 well-worn cassettes.
I have loved a few women in my time, but none have lasted beyond the customary 2 years. I have loved the Police since I was 13 and despite that grunge influenced hiccup in the 90s, this love shows no sign of abating.
I am no expert on the subject, but I believe true love is about forgiving a myriad of sins. If my girlfriend recorded with P. Diddy and Pato Banton and released albums of lute music, I’m not sure I’d speak to her again. True love is about sticking with your partner, even if something better comes along. Sorry Kurt. Sorry Eddie. Sorry Thom. I am already spoken for.
So the next time I meet you, I will tell you about the life-affirming event that was The Police concert and you will give me that polite look. But it won’t matter. Because The Police are the closest I have to true love. And the true love is worth traveling across worlds for. True love is certainly worth staying up all night and writing 12 pages for.
New York City, 11.9.07.
END