Well I shall try not to cover too much ground already so expertly recounted by the Fisherman about the Police concert of 17 January, but I will pass judgement and raise other observations nonetheless.
Once the Fisherman had procured our free upgrade from general “turf” admission to the seated stands, we were able to enjoy some vary differing and not always complementary musical styles: Fictionplane (grunge/rock sound; “Stand and Deliver” stage performance); followed by Fergie (R&B, “Stage Show” performance); and finally Police (80s reggae-ish sound, “Stand and Deliver” stage performance).
Fictionplane, headed by Sting’s son (if the hairline didn’t pin him as Sting’s issue, the occasional Sting-like wailing definitely did), started off with a very loud roar. And they stayed loud, roaring throughout their not dissimilar song set. A box was provided on stage for the lead singer to jump off melodramatically every so often. Not really my thing, but they had fun.
Next up, Fergie. Easier on the eye and ear than Fictionplane, and flanked by a squad of hip hop dancers (she even managed to find white boys who could dance! The woman is the Indiana Jones of the music world), though not without her share of wardrobe malfunctions (see the zipper article ), she ran up and down the stage, used props to send messages about handguns inappropriate for a New Zealand audience, swore a bit, and was actually quite engaging, whatever one might think of her musical offerings.
Her own stuff was her own stuff (I can listen to it, but not quite my thing, though more so than Fictionplane), but she also offered up a Black Eyed Peas medley and another medley of random songs of her choosing. However, as the Fisherman has pointed out, her tour de force was a cover of Heart’s girl-power anthem “Barracuda”, which her powerful lungs gave definite attitude.
She talked to the audience, delivered for her fans, but in the end, she knew that this show was the Police’s, and she left wishing us all fun for main event as the sun set spectacularly over the city.
Again, Fisherman has described the Police’s offering in fairly vivid detail, so I won’t go into more here. Their “Stand and Deliver” performance was illuminated by an amazing set that colourfully lit up the night; I drank to the “conserve fresh water” initiative advertised on the main screens; and the boys stood there and delivered their greatest hits in a fantastic fashion.
They didn’t try and converse with the audience the way Fergie did, but they didn’t really need to – everyone there (not a capacity crowd, but definitely a loud one) was singing away to their favourites and shimmying ent
husiastically to the musical rhythm. Most of the hard-rock family next to me (Mum was a concert-goer from way back) were grooving with gusto, though the youngest would probably have preferred a Wiggles performance. There were no solo-Sting offerings; it was pure Police music, catchy and professionally delivered. We were wrapped around their finger (as it were), and they left me dee dee dee, da da da, and walking on the moon.
The number of people who tried to start up a version of "Roxanne" in the crowd crush on the way out was impressive, though the fact no-one knew the words after the first line kind of put the kibosh on the ad hoc performance after about 30 seconds per attempt. Quite a few people walked away in Police-issue t-shirts (some in police uniforms, not all of them sworn in), but everyone left with big smiles on their faces.
Verdict 1: Fictionplane – not my thing. A minor offence – probably deserves diversion. 1 Police Officers out of 5
Verdict 2: Fergie – amazing voice, incredible body, lots of attitude. Musically… A fairly serious crime (in a good way), though not a lot of evidence to convict (I am trying to be musically metaphoric here!). 2 and a half Police Officers out of 5
Verdict 3: The Police – back together and being very, very bad. Should be sent straight to the electric chair (in a good way). 4 and a half Police Officers out of 5 (even though there are but 3 in the band).
husiastically to the musical rhythm. Most of the hard-rock family next to me (Mum was a concert-goer from way back) were grooving with gusto, though the youngest would probably have preferred a Wiggles performance. There were no solo-Sting offerings; it was pure Police music, catchy and professionally delivered. We were wrapped around their finger (as it were), and they left me dee dee dee, da da da, and walking on the moon.
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