The day began as any vacation day away from work might. I began Thursday, July 5th, by sleeping late.  This was followed by dying my hair twice (ugly orange color the first time) and giving myself a hair cut, as I had slept late and run low on time :)

 

Getting on the train to get down to the fan meetup, there was no stopping my smiling.  "Police Blonde" hair and Police shirt, my destination was obvious.  Those I passed on the street, though, could they understand the sweet experience ready to unfold before me? My radiant smile? My giddy nature? For years and years I've harbored the fantasy of one day seeing The Police play together, believing I had been born right out of my time for such an experience.

 

Here I am, though! Walking down the street, my heart pounding. Can this be real? Is this a dream? Oh, please let me wake sooner than later if this is only a dream, I tell myself. My tongue thirsts for some Newcastle Ale to loosen my knotted stomach. The Red Lion served this up, along with Welsh rarebit.  Joe, Ana, and Allison showed up to swap stories, with Allison finally getting me my ticket (thanks again!).

 

So, skipping a few parts, like sitting in traffic in a taxi, Jo, Ana and I bantering with the Iranian taxi driver.... the concert

 

I missed most of Fiction Plane, though caught the last half of Two Sisters, my favorite song by them.

 

I waited. And waited. And waited. Would they ever go on!? At least an hour passed... and suddenly I caught a glimpse. From a door in the outfield, a trio, one jacketed, one sleeveless, and one in white gloves walked behind the stage. The gloved one pumped his fists in the air, as though triumph were already his.  That was the moment I knew. Tears began to form in my eyes before a single note had been played. This was no dream.

 

The Police kicked it off with Message, which I basically ignored as I worked my way up to better seats. After hassling with an official seating goon, who practically hauled me bodily away from seats which had not been, and never were, taken, I eventually found a great vantage point where, wonder of wonders, everyone else had done the same as I, moving to empty seats to see the show they had paid hard earned money for.

 

After that, it's kind of a wild emotional blur.  Sting's voice was in GREAT condition! He hit LOTS of high, long notes that I have not heard him hit at other shows (the couple I've heard). His renditions of many songs were much less "Stingified", faster, and more Police-like than ever before. Andy was allowed free reign numerous times to carve his soaring, ethereal anthems into the hot summer night. Stewart stayed behind the band most of the time, but always lending his unique atomic energy to the songs. Walking on the Moon was amazing with the cool light effects, for instance. It left me stunned... although it may have been a contact high from some of the marijuana I smelled in the air numerous times :)

 

Wrapped Around Your Finger was exotic and spectacularly creepy as Stewart added some sort of bell percussion to the music.  Sting did all the normal crowd cheer-back parts that I've heard in live recordings, and I sang and cheered as though tomorrow would not come.  After all the years of sitting in the car/apartment/dorm room singing along with live tracks, Regatta de Blanc was one instance where I just let loose with "Eyooooo-eyooooo-eyay-yoooo..."  At first I was one of the few people clapping, dancing, singing and cheering, but as the show moved on I found the whole section (and stadium, for that matter) singing, dancing, cheering, even high-fiving each other in the middle of songs in one instance!  People were drawn in by the energy, and it was obvious that the boys fed on this. 

 

The version of Next to You that they played was AMAZING!  They came out for an encore, and ripped right into it. At first, people seemed stunned at not knowing the song, but it allowed me to completely rock out.  The song's tempo and energy built and built, and at the end the boys turned up the fire on the tempo to warp speed, just like on the Message in a Box track.  Lights and images spun ridiculously, like a runaway train gone off the track, and at the last chord sweat and people and music and cheering careened into one another in a glorious finale.

 

Look, if you haven't been to one of these shows yet, you need to go. Like, you need to go as in to the nearest ticket booth, scalper, or whatever. Now. They've gotten it just about perfect, with the exception of maybe one or two moments where the show got a little chuggy or tedious (perhaps it was the guy next to me who seemed to be there because his wife is the fan, not him), and just a couple of lyrical boffs and technical missteps, which were really no big deal.

 

Sting has added little vocal flourishes all over the place. He did not seem lazy at all about the songs this time. His power and charisma were in full force. Andy's longer solos tore into the darkness, just daring mother nature to bring on the night. Stewart provided the syncopated spine of snare, cymbal and schwerve. It doesn't matter if you get front row or nosebleed, this concert has to be heard to be believed.   No, I did not drink during the show or ingest any other drugs, as others at that show seem to have done.  The only drug I needed was The Police, and it was more potent than I could ever have imagined.