Sting came to Melbourne and had everyone dancing (politely) in the aisles

MUSIC
Sting ★★★★
Rod Laver Arena, February 23

It’s easy to be cynical about Sting.

As frontman of The Police, he was one of the coolest exports of the British New Wave. As a solo artist, he became a byword for a unique brand of cringe. His strident human-rights activism, startling turn as an actor (and even more alarming metallic codpiece in the original Dune), his enthusiasm for tantric sex – all while purveying his searchingly earnest soft-rock –made him an easy target for ridicule.

Performing in Melbourne, Sting had the crowd wrapped around his finger.Credit:Rick Clifford

And yet, Sting slaps. This tour is named My Songs, and it showcases decades of songcraft. Some of those songs are among pop’s greatest. Some are not; but that’s hardly the point of the night.

The set opened with Message in a Bottle, then slipped into the radio staple Englishman in New York, before a delightful up-tempo slice of Every Little Thing She Does is Magic. A bravura opening – including a drum breakdown/call and response section during Englishman that felt only a little mega-churchy – had the audience dancing (politely) in the aisle. It was hard to spot someone in the crowd who did now know every lyric, a fact Sting acknowledged, thanking everyone for singing along nicely, before launching, somewhat apologetically, into new material.

Sting performs on stage at Rod Laver Arena in Melbourne on February 23, 2023.Credit:Rick Clifford

No matter, the crowd dutifully took their seats for a few down-tempo selections from The Bridge (2021), then pogoed up again for a bracing version of So Lonely, which segued into a cover of No Woman No Cry.

For nearly two hours, Sting’s vocals never tired. The plaintive thirst of Fields of Gold, the rasp in Roxanne, the Arabic-language intro to Desert Rose originally sung by Cheb Mami – Sting nailed them all. Occasional vocal slips were smoothed by carefully supportive backing vocalists, who also provided virtuosic R&B and gospel vocal showcases.

It has to be noted that throughout the night Sting had the crowd, to paraphrase a lyric from the charming bric-a-brac of the setlist, wrapped around his finger. The years have been kind to Sting, but kinder to his music. His brand of mature vulnerability – that read as a sort of protean soft-boy cringe back in the jaded days of Fukuyama’s End of History – feels more welcome in today’s callous world, where authenticity and connection come at a premium.

This is a performer who kept ploughing ahead until the world was ready for him, a sort of pop-cultural tantric session. For a musician to reach this sort of a climax so late in a career, well, it’s a kind of magic.

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