Nothing Like The Sun: 1987/88

Sting: Where is thy sing?

Who choreographed Sting's concert? Jack LaLane?

OK, OK, we know he's sick of the word "pretentious" and the frequency with which it's ap- plied to his heady new jazz-influenced sound. But is that any reason to turn a concert brimming with intelligent music and brilliant musicians into a veritable three-ring circus?

Picture this: A full moon is swelling above the Santa Barbara County Bowl's stage. Keyboardist extraordinaire Kenny Kirkland, face hidden by the brim of his hat, is taking a snippet of The Police's 'When the world is running down/ You do the best with what's still around' melody places you never dreamed it could go. It is funked up, vital, alive and thoroughly transfixing until Sting and company commence a choreographed little dance in the middle of the stage. Two steps to the left, two steps to the right, turn, jump... it was like spying on an aerobics class.

I cringed in embarrassment for Sting, the self-proclaimed poet and sensitive artist. Especially when they started running in place. The whole scene was downright undignified.

But that wasn't the worst part. The real tragedy is that the rest of Kirkland's virtuosic solo was lost among the leg lifts. The audience's attention naturally gravitated to Sting's every little move - and these moves were big, the stuff exercise programs are made of.

This sorry pattern kept repeating itself. On the funky and playful 'Rock Steady', Sting treated the adoring crowd to some serious hip gyrations as saxophonist Branford Marsalis squeezed off some high, hip and heavy animal squeals. What followed was nothing short of a shtick: Sting crept up behind Marsalis in mid-solo, then rocked, convulsed and mimicked the great saxophonist. On cue, Marsalis "discovered" the shenanigans and shooed Sting away, to the pleased tittering of the crowd.

And right on the Nabakov line in a very slick rendition of 'Don't Stand So Close to Me', Sting striped off his shirt. Women screamed. Soon, everyone on stage was doing leg lifts again.

Was this a showcase for serious music or a sideshow for Barnum & Bailey? Where was the tightrope walker? The elephants? The trapeze?

There was far too much silliness going on and far too little fly space for the talents of Marsalis and Kirkland and Sting himself. He regulated his considerable musical muscle to mere tambourine-tapping for half the show. Tracy Webb was only mediocre taking his place as bassist.

Undoubtedly, Sting's aim with the shticks, dancing, leg lifts, et al was to be light and entertaining; to battle the "pretentious" label; and to appease MTV-weaned masses by providing them with a steady stream of visual stimuli.

But it was simply unnecessary. Sting's music is good enough to stand on its own. It demands to stand on its own; it is deep and rich and resonant, multi-layered, complicated. If we are to understand and appreciate it, we must shower it with our full attention.

Sting's shenanigans made that impossible.

The concert's most sacred moments came when Sting cut out the garbage, picked up the guitar and sang. 'Fragile' was one of the highest points of the night; in a lone spotlight, he played the beautiful Spanish-style introduction on the guitar, then rasped out the sad and plaintive lyrics, in honour of Benjamin Linder (the American engineer who was killed by Con tras last year in Nicaragua). The same profound stillness hung over the crowd when he sang 'Message in a Bottle' to the accompaniment of his lone acoustic, and closed with the plain and beautiful 'The Secret Marriage'.

These were the honest moments Sting's concert needed far, far more of.

I guess we can chalk all this incongruity up to that modest, insecure side of Sting that isn't really convinced of his inherent worth, the side that is stridently straining to please.

I guess that's charming. Let's just hope Sting drums up a bit more confidence before he books clowns and lion tamers to entertain on his next tour.

(c) Santa Barbara News Press by Teri Sforza