Grooving From a Great Height

Fang was invited to attend the reunion tour for The Police (the band, not the institution) by one of his work vendors, a large multi-national printer that is an empire unto itself. This sold-out show at Madison Square Garden has been the subject of national attention since it kicked off.

Alas, poor Fang was traveling back to New York from California last night and couldn't honor the invitation. Guess who got the ticket by default? Yeah, that would be me.

Not only get I get the ticket, I had the pleasure of viewing said concert from a luxury skybox in the Garden. Featuring a bountiful buffet of food stuffs, a full bar, luxurious seating with lovely vantage points of the stage, I was in my freaking element. My host, the delightful Boychick and his beautiful missus S-S-S-S-Sylvia were affable and fun (I suppose it doesn't hurt that we are also personal friends). I enjoyed them immensely last night.

The show was surprisingly intimate, yet still utterly spectacular. The Police were a mainstay of my late teen and college years. The sound they put out last night, 20+ years after I first heard them was indistinguishable from the original recordings. Andy Sommers still plays a kick-ass guitar. Stewart Copeland's percussion was brilliant. And Sting...the poster child for Yoga has just converted me to its benefits. If that delicate means of exercise is responsible for his physique and the astounding voice control he exercised, then I'm a believer. He was incomparable. His voice was powerful, controlled and even more nuanced than it was decades ago.

Only the trio occupied the stage, with no other theatrics, bells, whistles and hoohaw to distract from their simple musicianship. The audience ranged from teenagers to late baby boomers yet everyone there sang "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic" so loudly that the band was drowned out. By the encore when Sting belted "So Lonely," S-S-S-S-Sylivia and I were bopping up and down with our arms in the air like teenage girls. It was completely exhilarating.

At the end of the evening we three walked out to 31st Street. I had planned to get the subway home, still floating on the fumes of my revisit to my formative musical years. I learned there are benefits to ones older years; Boychick had prearranged a lift home for me in a luxury ride, courtesy of the multi national publishing company. I'd say this equates the best of all worlds.