Symphonicity: 2010/11

Sting in string soup...

The British star had allied himself with The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra on Sunday night. He shouldn't have done that.

Bright eyes, angular cheekbones, smooth skin and a slender, slender figure.

Sting is 58, but looks like he's 38 as he stands there on the Royal Danish Theatre's Old Stage in his tailored suit and accepts the first expectant applause.

Behind him he has the highly regarded The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in full force - strings, woodwinds, brass and percussion to the very large, refined gold medal.

Truly an impressive sight and together with Sting and his more modest backing band they embark on 26 new interpretations of songs from the star's back catalogue.

Symphonicity, the project is named with a nod to Sting's Police days, and a good portion of the evening's songs are also taken from that golden era, which is boiled down with ample amounts of songs from his somewhat more tortuous solo career.

But let's start with the best, namely 'Russians', which is delivered in a dramatic version, where The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra adds a big, violent sound to the originally meek song, reminiscent of old Russian propaganda music and thus fits in nicely with the content of the verses about fear and the Cold War.

The fine, fine 'Englishman in New York' also stands strong in the sold-out hall with its tingling Spanish guitar and hanging clarinet, which colours the sound space with bright poetry and a sadness the size of Eastern Europe.

It is simply breathtakingly beautiful, and here everyone on stage functions as part of the same softly undulating vision, and here Sting is the safe centre, who knows how to economize with the many available means.

But the expectations that 'Russians' and 'Englishman in New York' instil in the initial phase of the concert, yes, they are unfortunately never fulfilled.

Because with the old super hit 'Roxanne' as a frightening example, the evening degenerates into a run-of-the-mill affair, where all, far too many numbers are put in the same sticky string sauce.

And far down in the sticky mass, which the swallow-tailed Stephen Mercutio enthusiastically stirs the conductor's baton around in, drowns out, among other things, 'Every Breath You Take'.

The version of the old master number about an amorous obsession ends up quite simply as something that should not be played anywhere else but in an elevator between two business floors, and the same sadly applies to many of the concert's other features.

In the middle of it all stands Sting, singing with his characteristic bright, slightly hoarse vocals, and he is, as always, very charming when he tells anecdotes about this and that between the numbers with his semi-aristocratic and even very British vocal cords.

But, but, but. Sting never seems as if the evening at Kongens Nytorv is anything other than an extremely well-paid social time, and it is as if he was not at all aware of how much he is letting down his own songs, which - seen through the string sauce - look confusingly like soggy kitsch and sugary sentimentality.

(c) Berlingske Tidende by Jeppe Krogsgaard Christensen