Blue Turtles: 1985/86

It really wasn't all that bad...

I was all for getting snotty about Sting's past, and his current pretensions. I wanted to grouse about the megastar menopause. You know, when our affluent lumps of beefsteak decide they want 'artistic integrity'. They want to write poetry, climb mountains and sail around the world. They want to do solo projects. They usually go on to make total jerks of themselves.

But hold on. Sting's no dope. He's got together a bunch of top jazz musicians, and a handful of decent songs. It was hard not to be impressed. The audience might have been full of teenyboppers and bank clerks, but we shouldn't blame him for that.

The set combined older songs with those from the Blue Turtles album, in a generously long show. The new ones came over well, actually benefiting from the rawer live edge. And given the calibre of Sting's musical sidekicks, it was pleasing to note an absence of ego problems. We certainly didn't have a drummer (who mentioned Stewart Copeland?) trying to upstage everyone else.

Police songs were surprisingly successful. 'Every Breath You Take' changed from a sinister, possessive song to an uplifting declaration of love. Another one to enjoy a servicing was 'Roxanne', with a simple arrangement of voice, acoustic guitar and sawn-off saxophone. 'Demolition Man' bombed, though; the jazz-trained band was too disciplined to 'get into' the sloppiness of rock and roll.Lowpoint of the evening was an indulgent work-out of the old blues chestnut, 'Need Your Love So Bad'.

Blues might be enjoyable to play, but it's boring as hell to listen to.

Encoring, the ever-cool Sting announced, ''This is a song I've never played live before'' (bet he says that every night), and so goes into 'Russians'. This song rhymes 'precedent' with 'president'!

Even so, you get the impression that the man was being sincere. A singalong version of 'Message in a Bottle' was a predictable, if not offensive, nightcap.

So it looks like he's pulled the whole project off rather well. The transition from pin-up to (semi) credible artist is only rarely achieved, but you have to give Sting some credit. Call it the acceptable face of adult-orientated music, or what you will... it really wasn't that bad.

The first show of a six night residency at London's Royal Albert Hall was notable for the sight of Stewart Copeland in the audience. Other music biz stars attending these London shows included Elton John, Billy Ocean and Pete Townsend.

(c) Record Mirror by Stewart Baillie

King of pain...

Sting's looking good. He looks exercised and worked, - very hi-fibre and masssage-pariour. Sting? He's shaping up, He employs a tour masseur to relax him in the evenings. Nice touch.

And this is where I'd like to start with Sting, with the way people talk about him as if he was a racehorse - he's very bankable, a safe bet. Groomed, And I remember when girls would drag you along to see The Police and stand there gaping and say, just look at his nipples! The way he moves. Those little gestures. And that little knees-up jig he does which suggests earnestness, not trying to look cool.

And so-this is my point, at last - you're faced with a whole set of mental roadblocks when you set to thinking about Sting as a musical entity. His acting, for one. And, some people would say, his songwriting, But you should see him now. He's such a major-league charmer that he even makes the act of working his way through a thin song into some kind of drama. Watching him as he attacks and, in turn, is attacked by his one-man version of 'Roxanne' is a heart warming experience. Sting can't lose. Again, nice touch.

And another thing: there's a certain softness, a gentle pastel delicacy which surrounds him.

There's a veritable creche of babytime images here: everything from the fine, slightly mussed-up baby-hair to the baggy, cotton gear and all that ee-o ee-o singing, which goes very well with his song sentiments and the ingenuous lyrical stance: ''don't the Russians love their children too.''

So it's a pity that we got stuck in the snow. Great story: walked into the throbbing Apollo, looked up and Sting said 'Thank you and goodnight'. So I'll have to tell you about the encores. I'll have to tell you about 35 minutes of Sting pushing himself forward into his songs with more grinning self-belief and less wacko frenzy than I've seen before. There's a great - here I'm stuck for a phrase 'economy of mincing', I suppose. Whereas you feel that Paul King is pure poncing around (Toyah is the ultimate example here, I think) wall-to-wall froth with nothing underneath, Sting just jigs about and raises the occasional eyebrow.

That band, as it turns out, is mighty. There's a jazzy feel to the keyboard (Kenny Kirkland) and sax (Branford Marsalis) arrangements which means, in terms of rock, that they're prepared to diddle about and slide out of line a bit. But the drums (Omar Hakim) are really crisp, so it elevates the sound onto a rhythm-platform in the manner of 'Don't You Forget About Me'.

'Roxanne' is, like I said, a cathartic experience under these circumstances; a short, gladiatorial struggle between man and material, the perfect opener. 'Every Breath You Take' - a jealous man's pained self-indictment - is so stunning that we just gape. There's a solid 'Need Your Love So Bad', a sickly 'Russians' - a Christmas carol, a direct rip from 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen', it is and it's such a jumble. An emotional tumble dryer. All human life is here, and soon.

(c) New Musical Express by William Leith

Sing like a butterfly and Sting like a bee...

Even at 34, and temporarily without The Police, Sting is still one of the golden boys of pop. With the right lights shining behind him, the blond locks are indeed the colour of ripened corn.

There's no need yet for the face-lifting and infilling that hold together some of his more ravaged contemporaries.

Mr. Gordon Sumner is still the right shape to appear on posters sporting a pair of stonewashed Levi 501s and able to thank them for sponsorship as he arrives back in Britain on the last leg of a world tour.

On stage, in striped blazer and Oxford bags, we could still be in St. Tropez however.

The music - much of it to go with his solo album, 'The Dream of Blue Turtles' - is sufficiently laid back to give that cosmopolitan feel.

The White Reggae sound which so distinguished The Police is still there, but ideas are extended between vocal passages, sometimes to the point of self-indulgence.

Yet here, at least, is a man who can run an idea into the ground in style. Or in several styles, if it comes to that.

When the tempo rises things do become very animated, even pelvic. It's right back to the days of The Shadows, without the blatant guitar riffs.

At times the voice floats like a butterfly, but at least it knows how to sting like a bee. The power, and the chiff on the high notes make you wonder whether Sting missed his vocation as a cappella folk hero.

Not that he doesn't have his own folk idiom; a song about coal mining and the economy shows he can pack a political punch too. Like Messrs Weller and Duffy, he doesn't go in much for romantic slush.

On Live Aid he gave us one of the most memorable spots using only a guitar for accompaniment.

But this show - repeated at the Apollo tonight - goes for the works with a stack of 41 speakers that can make a clarinet sound like a trumpet and an electric piano like a hailstorm.

A big Liverpool contingent is helping with the sell out: fans like Kate, Sally, Lesley and Lisa behind me, who gave as good as they got and screamed their heads off.

(c) The Liverpool Echo by Joe Riley

Sting puts vim and vitality in solo tour...

The night the craftsman came to town was a night many will not forget.

His first solo tour - which included two sell-out dates at the Apollo - kicked off its North-west visit in typical, uncompromising style leaving the concert hall's walls and floors shaking with enthusiasm.

Tracks from the brilliant 'Dream of the Blue Turtles' proved as accessible on stage as off - helped by a talented backing band who proved their worth.

New songs were mixed with old - including affectionate numbers from the Police stable.

'Roxanne' became acoustic and Sting's prolific song-writing style was caught in the spotlight but not for the first time. 'Russians' and 'If You Love Somebody (Set Them Free)' played their part in the magical show.

'Every Breath You Take' brought a rapturous audience to their feet as the bass/drum intro thundered out.

The crowd were not hard to please. If you closed your eyes it could have been the Police.

(c) The Southport Visitor

Sting at Manchester Apollo...

One thing was obvious from rock superstar Sting's solo debut at Manchester Apollo - he's determined to break out of Police custody and cast aside musical straight-jackets. For a while at least.

So as the first of his two sold-out Apollo shows unfolded, we had jazz, reggae, rock, a searing blues, a touch of New York rap and even a little folksy Geordie sentimentality about hewing coal.

For the most part, however, his two hours on stage were a live celebration of his solo album, 'Dream of the Blue Turtles', with his specially-recruited black American four-piece piling on the kind of driving funk that left us - and him - breathless.

Darryl Jones bass and Kenny Kirkland's key- boards, in particular, formed the nucleus of a stunning rhythm section which played fast, furiously and with apparent consummate ease.

Hiring such distinguished company, though, appears to necessitate indulging them. Jones, Kirkland and drummer Omar Hakim were all afforded lengthy solo spots which proved their virtuosity beyond doubt but the auditions took place almost a year ago.

For Sting himself, the solo project, still lacking a major single hit, has proved a point and has worked. So much so that his performance of three of Police's massive hits came as a bonus rather than a frustratingly awaited necessity.

'Every Breath You Take' was a full production number, but Roxanne was accompanied by only Sting's acoustic guitar, Branford Marsalis's horns and 2,600 raised voices. 

We sang him off with 'Message in a Bottle' as the assembled company lined up theatre style at the front of the stage, to take their bow. Satisfaction all round.

(c) The Manchester Evening News by Ray King

A Sting winner...

Cop that! You could say Sting has made his point in concert without The Police.

Sex symbol singer Sting, who plays his second sell-out gig at the Manchester Apollo tonight, conquered a difficult audience which fell into two distinct camps.

First there were the young couples, paying good money to hear sophisticated jazz-orientated pop music from a mature artist surrounded by black master musicians.

Then there were the "fans," mostly female and screaming, direct descendants of Sinatra's Bobbysoxers and the hysterical Beatle-maniacs - and just as daft.

How Sting managed to gel the two I'm still trying to work out, but he certainly did it.

The music looked after itself, well over two hours of the stuff culled mainly from his solo material, though there were brilliant renditions of The Police's "Roxanne" (with classical guitar and wailing sax) and Fleetwood Mac's "Need Your Love So Bad."

Particularly effective in the band - and what a band - are saxophonist Branford Marsalis, brother of genius trumpet player Wynton, and Weather Report drummer Omar Hakim, who even played a solo with dry ice, would you believe?

Anyway, it was the best concert of the year so far (sic) and if you're going tonight, you won't be disappointed.

(c) Bolton Evening News by Denis Mann