Summer: 2012

Hugging and clapping party to razor-sharp tones in Fruens Bøge...

Thursday evening on the lawn in Fruens Bøge in Odense. A few clouds, but otherwise blue skies on a warm day. Many thousands of people are gathered in front of the large stage, where a lonely figure wearing a guitar entertains.

The man is James Walsh from the now-paused Starsailor, and he stands all alone with his reddish-brown guitar and tries to hit the right expression before the main act starts. The average age of the audience is perhaps 45-50 years. A few people nod their heads a little at the music. "O-den-se, is that how you say it", says Walsh and is mostly just stared at.

Someone nearby turns and says: "Well, at least it's not annoying to listen to." Nah, let's keep it. Walsh plays a Starsailor song, and it suddenly becomes clear that the melody was written for a band. A single man on a guitar, no matter how hard he plays, can't turn band melodies into more than half-time. Which is perhaps very appropriate - after all, people have paid 600 spiers for the ticket, and it's probably a good thing they're not exactly standing around getting annoyed by it. 

A little over half an hour later, when numerous men carrying these cardboard holders for five sloshing beers have passed, the headline act comes on without any drama. Including the main character, there are six on stage. Sting is wearing a simple white T-shirt and his long bass. He has a guitar, drums, violin, choir and keyboard. As soon as he sings, you almost have to stop and think: How old do you say he is? Born in '51? What does he put in his Earl Grey to make his voice so clear and supple? Joni Mitchell must be green with envy day and night over this.

It's been a long time since Sting was a big-time bassist who appeared in David Lynch's film Dune as the perverted knife-wielding sex symbol Feyd-Rautha. Here he is, almost 61 years old, singing as if he doesn't recognize the concept of passive smoking.

Right from the start, we are treated to some of the most recognizable hits associated with Sting and The Police. 'Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic' is followed by 'Englishman In New York'. Both are simply flawless. There is obviously some pollen in the air this evening, because during the songs I feel a little moisture forming in the corners of my eyes, but of course I wipe it away immediately.

The band moves away from the sure hits, first with a good rocking break in the form of 'Demolition Man', and then 'I Hung My Head', which was so beautifully recorded by Johnny Cash towards the end of his days. Again some pollen passes, but this time I just sniff it away. Others try hugs. Long hugs and rocking back and forth. Sting speaks directly into our souls.

After this it is as if the band has played its best cards. Or maybe just wants a breather. Sting talks a little about the background to a couple of the songs. The barley fields around his "castle" are the inspiration for the song 'Fields of Gold', where the audience again takes the big hug.

We also get 'Message In a Bottle', but it is as if the audience is a little tired, or perhaps has difficulty keeping up the spirit when we go from world-famous 30-year-old hits to semi-(un)known songs from 10-year-old solo albums. In any case, we have to wait until the end of the concert before people really liven up again.

But then it also comes, as expected from the ever-professional Englishman from Newcastle: 'Desert Rose', 'King of Pain' and finally an extended version of 'Every Breath You Take'. The audience quietly goes crazy. The light show also gets a notch up, and people clap, jump, sing and hug. As in a play, the band lines up and bows before leaving the stage.

This performance was rock solid and measured. I would normally give four stars for that. But the band is extremely competent, the sound was polished and good, and Sting was almost phenomenal. There were no irritating moments and no big arm movements. For the experienced concertgoer, the little anecdotes could seem like thin butter: You noticed that they were there, but you also noticed that it was going a little fast, and smelled of routine. It gets five small stars - mostly because four stars is too little.

(c) Gaffa by Morten Gottschalck