Police put solid lock on concert as opening acts lost in the mix...
The spirit of some 40,000 people celebrating in the open summer air last night did a lot to offset the grim fact the Olympic Stadium makes a far better sports centre than it does a concert hall.
The large and remarkably relaxed crowd had gathered together to participate in an evening billed as the event of the summer: an evening of music featuring The Police, Talking Heads, Peter Tosh and Stevie Ray Vaughan.
The Police had sparked wide- spread interest in this late-model cultural "happening" and they took the stage with the added impetus of an artistic triumph the night before in the intimate club confines of the Spectrum where they had taped a pay TV special.
The Big O concert was modelled for them. They alone, via their technical crew, received a semblance of a pre-show soundcheck, and their merchandizing paraphernalia covered every level of this leviathan-like architectural horror.
If for nothing other than proving that new wave can fill an old wave building, The Police deserve congratulations.
They received that and more from an adoring audience that applauded every move charismatic frontman Sting and his cohorts Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland made in a show they'll be taking across North America this summer.
Howls of frustration and joy greeted the arrival of seminal New York new wave band Talking Heads to the Big O stage.
Frustration because we'd been forced to sit through over an hour of video clips while the stage sat empty and seemingly prepared for their upcoming performance.
Joy because their show last night marked the first time frontman David Byrne and band had brought their edgy blend of funk and urban fear to this city. Indeed, many of those in attendance had made the trip solely to see the Heads heat up the night before relinquishing the stage to The Police.
It was an augmented version of Talking Heads that did battle with the low register monsters of the stadium.
The set opened with Byrne and his acoustic guitar standing alone and bathed in white light on the enormous centre-field stage.
The area was soon swelled by a group of eight and the set that would attempt to graft the body language of Africa to the mental anguish of "life during wartime" truly began.
The irony of a pioneering new music act struggling with the acoustic dynamics of mega-hall rock were not lost on this reviewer.
That the band fought valiantly and with great skill to convey the subtleties of songs like 'Burning Down The House' and Al Green's stirring 'Take Me To The River' (ending their set on a sweet high note) from their fine new album 'Speaking In Tongues' was obvious hundreds of feet from the stage.
That their album title should so accurately describe what actually reached the cheap seats ultimately proved one irony too many.
In all fairness it must be said the sound for the Head set was a vast improvement over the scraps fed to the earlier bands.
And visually, their set looked terrific, as percussionists, guitarists, dancers and singers lined up in front of the stage, flanked by gigantic red, yellow and blue fabric Police banners and flooded with a truly exceptional array of coolly atmospheric lighting.
Anyone doubting the power of reggae as party music had only to watch the crowd on the stadium floor as Jamaican star Tosh dug into the weirdly familiar strains of an islandized Johnny B. Goode during the second set of the evening.
Thousands of hands flung heaven-ward and twice as many bodies moved to the hypnotic rhythms laid down by Tosk and his group Word, Sound and Power in a performance that provided the first real sign the evening would prove anything more than an artistic disaster.
Though the sound was hardly worth writing a letter home, the bass-dominated mix that defines reggae worked in Tosh's favour with the men at the sound board. Tosh came on sporting chic rasta gear: A red, green and gold scarf, fez-like gold sequined hat and flowing black robes heralded the appearance of this talented and supremely self-confident artist.
Highlights in a performance that saw the sun set behind the stadium dome included 'You've Got to Walk' and 'Don't Look Back'', a song made famous when recorded by Tosh with vocal help from chief Rolling Stone Mick Jagger back in the 1970s.
In the moments before he opened the evening at six p.m., Vaughan paced the backstage area like a cat held in the world's largest cage, slugged back the last of his beer, and ran out to make and face the music.
The virtuoso Texan blues guitarist's case of nerves was well-founded. After all, he and his trio Double Trouble were facing the largest crowd in the largest venue since blowing on to the international scene some six months ago with the first genuine guitar heroics since Jimi Hendrix overloaded his circuits for the last time.
What's more, Vaughan was running hard into a wall of over 100,000 watts of stadium speaker power without the benefit of a soundcheck. The resulting acoustics in this airy oval coffin makes it difficult to offer a critical appreciation of the urban blues and straight-ahead rock'n'roll that Vaughan and company call home.
Though Vaughan's own work seemed up to his usual astonishing standards, the early evening crowd filing into the Big O was hard pressed to hear it over Tommy Shannon's bass.
Through no fault of his own Shannon had been amplified to play in Satan's basement, with the result that Vaughan's lead runs sounded like the faint cries of a child in a deep, dark well. This fine band deserved a better fate and will doubtless get one the next time they come to town.
It was only with the coming of The Police, using the wonders of modern technology and their own remarkable skills, that concert gained that element of magic missing from the other performances in this oversized extravaganza.
Perhaps most amazing of the wonders the crowd witnessed during their electrifying set was the artistic skill with which the video team and giant screen mounted over the stage added to the drama of the moment.
From the first out-of-control moments of 'Synchronicity' caught in furious fast-cut action through the otherworldly 'Walking In Your Footsteps', The Police and their team showed consummate skill in controlling an awesome technology and an awful venue.
The sound for their concert-closing set was generally impressive, especially when one considers it was all created by three musicians and their three female back-up singers.
'Message in A Bottle' was given a real urgency in this live setting missing from the recorded version and the set in general confirmed that The Police are now putting the meat into the philosophical motion of their more politically-oriented material.
So 'Demolition Man' and others of the tougher tunes this consummately intelligent British-based trio seem to write in their sleep now truly sound like the work of a being trashing the fruits of a throw-away culture.
And all of the people who sat, stood and danced their way through this seven-hour marathon evening understood some kind of transformation was taking place.
They showed their understanding by raising a din that even the amplifier wattage couldn't overwhelm, a noise of celebration that shook the house to its very shaky foundations.
(c) Montreal Gazette by John Griffin
Fans enjoy magical evening - and hang the expense...
Every little thing The Police sang was magic and close to 40,000 fans packed the Olympic Stadium to be spellbound by the music last night.
A few fans had camped overnight Tuesday outside the stadium's doors, hoping to grab a spot near the stage. By 1pm yesterday afternoon, the group had swelled to 1,500 faithful, who were waiting for the 5pm opening of doors.
They were there for The Police, three British rockers riding a world-wide crest of popularity, with their latest LP Synchronicity at the top of the charts. But they were also given reggae star Peter Tosh, rocker Stevie Ray Vaughan and new wavers the Talking Heads.
Concessionaires made a killing on $15 sweaters, $12 t-shirts, $8 hats, $7 programmes, $4 posters and $2 buttons all emblazoned with pictures of the group.
And while 50-foot high speakers blasted forth the music, fans tossed frisbees, beach balls and balloons around the stadium's tarpaulin-covered field.
For the convenience of the faithful, the spot that usually marks home-plate during baseball games was covered by 18 portable toilets.
Most fans didn't flinch at paying between $18.50 and $20 for tickets.
"Just seeing The Police is worth it," said Louis Tessier, 21, of Ville St. Laurent. "I've seen them twice before."
"I've followed this group from the first time they came to Montreal three or four years ago," said Jean Smith, a 21-year-old nurse from Notre Dame de Grace. "They're excellent. I paid $18.50 for my ticket, which is not so bad to see all those groups.
"I just wish we could have brought our own cans of beer in. They (stadium security) let people in with wine skins and who knows what's in them? But we couldn't bring our beer in."
Christine Binette and Jo-Anne Tremblay had come from Ottawa for the show by bus yesterday afternoon and had planned to return home after it.
Both estimated the trip had cost them about $50 each.
"The Police know how to make people like their music," said Binette, a 20-year-old secretary, while she sighed at photographs of the band in a copy of the programme.
"The whole show seems to be well organised. They started on time and there haven't been any problems so far."
"I love The Police," said Tremblay. "Two weeks ago, I spent $45 coming to Montreal for the David Bowie concert. It's costing a fortune but it's worth it."
Binette and Tremblay said they'd probably increase their expenditure by buying souvenir t-shirts.
Stadium officials reported no security problems.
"People tried to push in when thew doors opened but we expected worse than that," an official said. "No one was hurt."
(c) Montreal Gazette by Stephanie Whittaker
Slick Police please 34,000 fans at Olympic Stadium...
One of the earliest cheers of the night came when a small plane flew over Olympic Stadium trailing a banner asking: "Bonny' will U marry me?"
It's possible the unknown suitor won Bonny over, but that still left thousands of females who would have offered their hearts on a platter to Sting, the blond-haired, blue-eyed leader of The Police.
Indeed, it's a testament to The Police's phenomenal height of new wave stardom that 34,000 faithful would cram a venue like the Big O and make a party of it.
The deafening greeting for Sting drummer Stewart Copeland and guitarist Andy Summers is all the more interesting when contrasted to four years ago when the English band played to half-filled bars in North America.
A number of factors have gone their way: innovation, good packaging, and a sex symbol leader, to name a few.
But what was most evident at the Big O was the band's slickness in a live performance.
Of the four acts that performed Wednesday, theirs was by far the cleanest sound no small feat in such a cavern. Together, the three members of Police created a remarkably tight package. Two female vocalists backed them up, but their presence was unnecessary for the barebones reggae-tinged rock that was played.
Theirs was a show of pacing. It opened swiftly with the title song from the band's latest album 'Synchronicity'; slowed to a moody pace with 'Walking in Your Footsteps' (Sting setting the pace playing a South American flute); and then launched into high speed with 'Message in a Bottle'.
Smoothly, the hits were trotted out one-by-one - 'Roxanne', 'Dadododo' et al.
And there was even a seven-metre-high video screen above the stage that made the trio larger than life.
It was the ultimate deference to a stadium audience that was making heavy and necessary use of binoculars.
However, easily as entertaining as The Police were their immediate predecessors, the Talking Heads, who took their avant-garde adaptations of African - rhythms to heights of danceability.
Lead singer David Byrne opened solo, sauntering on stage in a white suit to pound out if you can believe it an acoustic version of 'Psycho Killer' backed only by electronic percussion.
Imaginative stuff to be sure, and the kind of experimentation that keeps the Heads fresh.
Byrne, as usual, was the dramatic centrepiece of the Talking Heads a deranged, kinetic crooner who'd pound himself on the head in suburban angst for 'Once in a Lifetime' or toss himself on the floor and sing in a prone position for a cover version of Al Green's 'Take Me To The River'.
Behind him was a band that has become more comfortable with the African beat it first began exploring for the album 'Fear of Music'.
Behind Tina Weymouth's impassive but precise bass guitar was a pair of energetic female singers and some mammoth bongos that overpowered the other set of drums.
It made their show joyously tribal, culminating in a raucous version of 'Life During Wartime' that was a virtual on-stage dance party.
Early on, with daylight still strong and the majority of the crowd outside dickering over Police T-shirts, guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan's entrance was inauspicious indeed.
With Vaughan and his band bedecked in jeans, many in the audience seemed unsure whether they weren't just stage-hands tuning up the instruments.
But Vaughan went ahead anyway with his beat-up old Fender, pounding out the trademark licks that have earned the Texan comparisons with Jimi Hendrix.
Changing from blues to outright rock'n'roll with ease, the up and coming Vaughan did himself credit not quite taking people's minds off the headliner, but staying on the crowd's good side nonetheless.
More at home under the glare of the evening sun was Rastaman Peter Tosh, the heir apparent to the title of Reggae King since the death of Bob Marley.
While rock'n'roll never seems quite in daylight, reggae seems to have been meant for natural heat and light.
Tosh's paeans to Jamaican jah and ganja - best embodied by his classic song 'Legalize It' - were a little overproduced for some purists.
Tosh is clearly a first-class entertainer of the genre. Backed by a quite professional band, all the material including his latest cuts from the album 'Mama Africa' steadily built the mood, the applause level and the amount of dancing.
(c) The Ottawa Citizen by Jim Slotek
The Police at the Stadium - Sting Enchants 35,000 Fans for Five Hours...
They arrived on stage to a deafening roar from the crowd. Five hours into the "show of the summer," all eyes were on The Police.
Sting, the undisputed heart and soul of the British band, dressed as a pirate - red trousers and a loose shirt - enchanted more than 35,000 people whose sole ambition was precisely to be enchanted. With an appearance that was sometimes demonic, sometimes angelic, the blond singer dominated the atmosphere throughout, thanks to his charismatic energy. On stage, The Police is solely and exclusively Sting.
Miraculously, the distorted, even unrecognizable sound that had plagued the other bands (Stevie Ray Vaughan, Peter Tosh, and to a lesser extent, Talking Heads) improved considerably for the headliners. On the floor and in the lower tiers, the sound quality was quite acceptable, while higher up, echo and reverberation prevented any real sound quality. Thanks to the gigantic video screen, everyone could revel in Sting's luminous gaze, the frenetic gestures of drummer Stewart Copeland, and the absent-minded expression of guitarist Andy Summers, clearly unaffected by the atmosphere.
For an hour and a half, the band performed their greatest hits and new compositions. From 'Walking on Your Footprints' to 'I Can't Stand Losing You', the teenage fervour emanating from the audience steadily grew.
In unison and with endearing docility, the young people sang along to the well-known tunes, expanding their lungs further with each angry glance from Sting. What wouldn't one do to please their idol!
From all corners of Quebec, on organized trips or independently, the young people came to see in the flesh the object of their unquenchable passion. The show lived up to their expectations.
On the floor, thousands of them danced and twirled, aware that they were participating in a unique event. There was magic in the air, a candid fervour fuelled by Sting's vibrant presence. And it was with great enthusiasm that the audience hummed along to "One world is enough for all of us," happy to blend, for a fraction of a second, into Sting's wonderful world. The romanticism and hope of youth reside at the heart of rock's magic.
After a single encore, the trio piled into the three limousines waiting for them in a line. While the applause still crackled, the stars silently sped off towards their hotel.
The audience, however, was quickly brought back down to earth: thousands of young people were left stranded, victims of the unexpected subway closure. It was one in the morning... All night long, the streets of Montreal echoed with the footsteps of young people searching for taxis or kind-hearted drivers. Some resigned themselves to walking, others to waking their families. Clearly, one world is not enough for all the inhabitants of the planet.
(c) Le Devoir by Mireille Simard
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