And while that’s the worst idea ever, there’s something about how he sings so sincerely about luck and chance that creates this mystery that we all seek in our relationships — even if, in the real world, things are slightly less idealistic. One of the most significant things about Sting’s performance was his unwavering ability to still reach and maintain those incredibly high notes without falter. But we’re not in our twenties anymore, man. Truly. But, whatever: The couples coupled and forty-somethings swayed to the creepy “love” song, joyfully jetting back into time to a place where they were once happy with a stranger cuddled in their arms. The age group at the show has now experienced all the things they’d once only heard about on the radio. He performed “Message in a Bottle,” “Walking on The Moon,” “I’m So Happy I Can’t Stop Crying,” and “Desert Rose.” The only break he took was to sip what I can only imagine was tea out of a stark white mug. Sting-type love is not possible. He’s a lover. Notes:
Sting’s son slayed “Major Tom,” looks and sounds like his father and is certain to ruin love for a whole new generation. He’s a romantic. In the middle of our favorite jam, he started wailing “Ain’t No Sunshine.” It wasn’t the way he sang this classic that was so offensive; it was the placement. With no real storytelling, Sting moved through his set without thought or delay. Case in point: last night’s “Englishman in New York.” His wailing struck a chord with the aging and increasingly drunk ladies in the crowd who were continually getting shushed by their spouses throughout the evening. Sting is known for his astral lyrics, raspy wail, and perfectly toned body, so when the 65-year old crooner took the stage, the antsy crowd gasped that gasp that you have right before your first kiss, or the deep inhale you take before a big interview. And then: “Roxanne.” If you were alive in the 20th century, you know Sting is the only man in the universe who can make a song about a hooker romantic. In 1993, Sting released this song and every person who listened to it fell in love with gamblers. We’ve been out there. Our eyes are open. His acceptance of his lady, even if she’s a hooker, and then missing her when she’s turning tricks? But Sting says that’s all true, and so we believe. (Photo by Seth McConnell/The Denver Post)
But because we love nostalgia, we all showed up at the Fillmore Auditorium last night to be reminded all over again just how far behind the love curve we still are.
And because it was Valentine’s Day, and that people have zero sense of what the song really means, he sang “Every Breath You Take.” Yes, one of the top wedding songs in the ’80s and ’90s was about a stalker, kids. Sting? And because Sting, in his teeny-tiny t-shirt and skinny jeans, doesn’t care about his greatest hits, he dove into “I Can’t Stop Thinking About You,” “One Fine Day” and “Down Down Down” from his new album “57th and 9th.”
And then came “Shape of My Heart.”
Can we take a moment? This breath is nothing new to Sting. Right? Of course, no man actually believes that whiny demands are a turn-on, or that hating everything he likes makes a partner endearing, as the song hints. And you know what? Who the hell are we to say it’s not possible? DENVER, CO – FEBRUARY 14: The Last Bandoleros perform at the Fillmore Auditorium in Denver, Colorado on February 14, 2017. It doesn’t faze him, but it slays us. If you’re a child of the late ’70s and ’80s, you innately understand that Sting ruined love. Sting-type love, people. *swoon*
Best wishes at The Academy Awards, S-Money. And sure, he’s given us completely false hope that a handsome, ab-tastic Englishman will sing us a song, tell us we’re beautiful, and quote Proust. There’s nothing ascendant about divorce and heartbreak (which is why fans piled into this sold-out show in the first place). Sting-type love: It’s romance and heartache and the gratitude for having had both. We want it to all mean something, and Sting gives us that. He didn’t just do it with his dreamy eyes, his oiled abs, and tantric sex moves; Sting’s songs blurred the reality of love, and worse, gave us hope that a Sting-type love is possible. Real life is less rosy. When he started belting out the lyrics to “She’s Too Good For Me” from his 1993 album “Summoner’s Tales,” it jolted the audience into that ethereal space, the romantic non-reality that only Sting can create. He performed the song under bright red lights and with gusto, but that’s not what killed us.