Sting swung between high class and cheesy karaoke...

It would be a shame to say that Sting still wields the baton in today's pop landscape. Those days are long gone. When he returned last year with his first real pop-rock album in over a decade, it was not met with much more than a shrug.

At one point on the album, he sang - probably as a tribute to David Bowie and Prince - that we tend to imagine that rock stars don't die. That they only fade away. There may be something to that. But with his trim, soon-to-be 66-year-old yoga body, Sting didn't look like someone who intends to die anytime soon in the Royal Arena on Sunday night. On the other hand, he sounds a bit like a musician who is fading away. Like the varnish on his beloved Fender Precision bass.

The entire upper balcony was closed off, and the audience area was reduced. But even if you can't sell all the tickets at the Royal Arena, you can still fade away with honour intact. Sting has always made it look easy, and he did the same at the Royal Arena on Sunday night.
 

Maybe a little too easy. It quickly became clear that this evening was about the music and not much else. No sleazy errands, no grand show. Just highlights from Sting's career with The Police and solo, delivered by himself and his team of excellent but also very workman-like band. Among other things, his 40-year-old son, Joe Sumner in a horrible batik t-shirt, spoke on choir and tambourine.

The start of the concert offered an excellent deluxe dubbed version of »Englishman in New York«, while »Shape Of My Heart« and »Fields Of Gold« impressed in the department of sophisticated adult pop.

It was less convincing when they tried to rock out like on the stiff-legged »Petrol« or »She's Too Good For Me«, which felt like being at one of those hideous exhibition concerts where “skilled” musicians have to show off all their techniques in front of some nerds.

The class difference was palpable when they immediately launched into the Police classic “Message In A Bottle.” Songs from that end of the catalogue generally stood out strongly: “So Lonely” is still a pure energy bomb, while an otherwise worn-out “Roxanne” was given new life midway through with a call-and-response over a white reggae breakdown, a small detour to Bill Withers "Ain't No Sunshine" played like a slamming 80s fuzak, before a heavy funk breakdown sent us back into the Roxanne chorus.

The larger meaning escaped me, but it certainly wasn't predictable.

Elsewhere, one had to put up with Sting's clumsy attempt at world music fusion pop on "Desert Rose". And then I'm close to having to take a star off just because of Sting's son's cover of David Bowie's "Ashes To Ashes". It was simply too flattering and added nothing new to the perfect original. Let Bowie rest in peace. Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

The same could be said about Sting's concert activities. Not much new was added to this evening. And what was done couldn't live up to the achievements of the past. On the other hand, he showed that he is still a good musician. And that - after all - counts for something.

(c) Berlingske by Michael Charles Gaunt