Brand New Day: 1999/01

An English patient in great spirits: The former Police man thrilled his fans with old hits and his exuberant joy at playing...

What's wrong with this man? He's talking, he actually talks to the audience, blowing kisses, echoing "I love you" back when a young woman belted out "I love you" to him. Hard to believe when you think of the concerts where Sting stood stiffly behind the microphone and left the stage at the end with a noncommittal wave.

Today, at least, he's different. Perhaps that has something to do with the new Sting, who no longer wants to solve the world's big problems. Who prefers to talk about love. What he's presenting this evening in the Frankenhalle, however, is primarily his old music. Perhaps the Munich concert gave him pause. He experimented with new things for too long there. The mood wasn't really building. The fans were only satisfied with hits like 'Roxanne' and 'Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic'.

In Nuremberg, Sting is completely present, not absentmindedly immersed in his music as he so often is. He flexes his yoga-hardened muscles (of course, he's wearing a sleeveless T-shirt), takes a sip of the stuff that looks like a vitamin C tablet dissolved in water – it probably is, after all, he caught such a bad cold that he almost had to cancel the concert. It's a good thing he didn't. The charismatic man from England is in a good mood, almost exuberant. He constantly changes tempo, jumps from one corner of the stage to the other, and bends down to the fans milling around his feet.

The transitions are perfect, song flows into song, his voice fills the hall, which isn't exactly famous for its acoustics. But Sting makes you forget that. Glaring spotlights pan across the audience. Then darkness falls: 'Desert Rose' - desert flower. Okay, Cheb Mami, the Algerian, isn't there. But Sting manages to deliver by far the most beautiful song on his new CD quite well on his own. Fires blaze on the stage, transforming it into an oasis of otherness.

After 'Moon over Bourbon Street,' he needs a sip of his energy drink. His throat has gone dry from the howling of the moon. Sting doesn't pause, doesn't let the fans wait, doesn't let the mood cool unnecessarily. Then a skyscraper backdrop: 'Englishman in New York' - a thousand-voiced choir accompanies him. During 'Fields of Gold,' the lighters come into play. They're waved back and forth above their heads.

After an hour and a half, the band leaves the stage in single file. "But you can't be serious, can you?" No, young man, you can't be serious. Sting picks up his acoustic guitar and plays Fragile for his fans – fragile, as human beings are. Sparklers spray stars into the darkness. Sting puts his palms together, bows to the cheers, and disappears.

(c) Nürnberger Zeitung by GS

Love in a Bottle...

Of course, young academics, successful people, cosmopolitans, discerning people, singles, victims of midlife crises, and of course, the much-vaunted new middle class also have a right to good entertainment. In case of doubt, Sting is responsible for that. For more than twenty years, he has guaranteed musical quality and taste, political correctness, and heart-building. He is a man in his prime who likes to flex his muscles, but he's not a macho; he doesn't confuse emotion with sentimentality and doesn't cause a riot, but at most, quite a traffic jam – like during his guest appearance at Nuremberg's Frankenhalle.

Part of Sting's success probably stems from the fact that, even in the age of email and SMS (short message system), many people secretly yearn for a message in a bottle with love messages. Meaning, romance instead of electronics. How else can one understand the collective cry for help during the ever-popular 'Message in a Bottle'? The star stands alone on stage, accompanied by the massive choir of the 7,500 enthusiastic attendees. But by then, the concert was drawing to a close, and the mood was reaching its peak.

Earlier, Sting had once again confirmed his good reputation. Freshly recovered from the flu, which forced him to interrupt his tour, the singer presented himself in Nuremberg, taciturn but enthusiastic. The first two tracks already indicate the breadth of the program: the new 'A Thousand Years' is followed by the old hit 'If You Love Somebody,' and so it goes. Roll forward and back. 'Brand New Day' is the name of the excellent current album, but little is that brand-new on this evening. Which doesn’t have to be a disadvantage.

The real surprise is Sting's newly formed, top-notch band, which masterfully navigates the musical slalom between styles. A total of six musicians and two singers are on stage. The sound in the troubled Frankenhalle offers no cause for complaint. Sting has never been closer to the elegant jazz-rock fusion of his 'Bring On The Night' phase than now. Following the death of Kenny Kirkland, Jason Rebello now sits on keyboards, demonstrating a distinct jazz flair, just like trumpeter Chris Botti. The second keyboard player is Mark Elderidge, and Sting's long-time guitarist Dominic Miller joins the line-up. Breath taking drummer Manu Katché is in a class of his own, also stunning as a French rapper on 'Perfect Love...Gone Wrong'.

The eclectic, signature Sting sound sounds more cosmopolitan than ever: Arabic rai music (Desert Rose) and Kurt Weill quotations (Moon Over Bourbon Street), country, cool jazz and rap, rock and pop – all opposites dissolve into perfect harmony here. Sting doesn't put on a show, but relies entirely on the music. The irony-free songs, including, of course, the obligatory Police reminiscences 'Roxanne' and 'Every Breath You Take', are gently refreshed, and the musicians are given the occasional opportunity to indulge in solos. Undoubtedly, this is the most versatile Sting ever.

(c) Nordbayerische Nachrichten

The magic signal...

Sting's concerts are a bit of a thing. You never know exactly what you're going to get: almost brutally delivered rock or a melodically playful version of his extensive oeuvre.

At Nuremberg's Frankenhalle, the 48-year-old Englishman opted for the latter alternative. Rather lost in thought, he plays with the tones, letting the songs from his current CD, "Brand New Day," and its predecessor, "Fields of Gold," glide by. Subtle and delicate music that really belongs more in a small club than a large hall.

Accordingly, the audience listens more or less attentively to Seven Days and "Mad About You." The atmosphere is unusually sedate for a performance by a global rock star. No rhythmic clapping, no erupting cheers, hardly any lighters. But Sting still has his stuff from his "Police" days in his stash and uses it as a counterpoint when things need to get going. "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" is the signal. That's what the fans have been waiting for.

And Gordon Sumner, aka Sting, hammers and plucks his bass with squealing delight. No sign of the flu that has recently forced him to cancel several shows. The first highlight is 'Moon Over Bourbon Street,' which presents itself in a wonderfully jazzed-up way. The choreography is like a build-up: 'Englishman In New York' serves as an appetizer for the current hits 'Brand New Day' and 'Desert Rose.'

In between, the obligatory Roxanne is honoured. Sting has rarely performed the old 'Police' classic with such power. Now it's time to showcase the entire repertoire of his supporting cast. 'Bring On The Night' is once again an experience. Not only because Sting demonstrates the skill of placing himself in the foreground or background as needed, but also because Jason Rebello's fingers dance nimbly across the keyboard and Chris Botti coaxes the most surprising jazz sounds from his trumpet.

The goosebumps department is satisfied with the brilliantly staged follow-up: An exhausted Sting, acoustic guitar strapped to his stomach, breathes through the solo "Message In A Bottle" and invites his band back on stage. For "Fragile"—what else? Many couples in the audience have already embraced each other.

That's the thing with Sting concerts: You never know exactly what you're going to get. Under no circumstances should you leave too early.

(c) Volksblatt by Josef Schäfer