Sting at Zenith Toulouse...

Some time ago, I wrote a review of the Incubus concert in Paris, a concert from which I was somewhat disappointed. I'd like to compare this review of Sting's performance at the Zenith in Toulouse, in a Battle of the Titans sort of way, because Incubus and Sting are both in the Top Ten of my personal musical pantheon, it was the first time I'd seen them in concert, and both played at a Zenith.

The Back to Bass tour was billed as a back-to-bass rock revival of Sting's standards, with Sting on bass, of course. I was therefore promised familiar songs with the risk of rehashing them, a rock version of something uncertain, given his diverse range of genres, all in the largest Zenith in France, whose acoustics I was apprehensive about given my Parisian experience. But it was Sting, and in a way, I had set a big challenge for this concert, along the lines of "if I'm disappointed tonight, I'll stop the music and hang myself." So you'll be reassured about the quality of the concert (if not reassured about my health) since I'm writing this review.

Just by arriving at the venue, you could sense that things would be different from the Incubus concert: large insulating curtains on the sides, background music already perfectly calibrated acoustically, and an "intimate" stage configuration; few visible instruments, ultra-low lighting centred squarely on the main microphone, no specific backstage. Less is more, as the English monk said; it seemed to me like an innocent preparation for getting your face smashed.

The list of artists who took the stage was already a poem in itself:

Sting on lead vocals and bass, no introduction needed (those who sum up Sting as The Police can rest assured, they've only missed the best).

Dominic Miller on guitar, a lifelong friend, unfailingly reliable (it would have taken the Zenith to collapse for him to lose his composure).

Vinnie Colaiuta on drums, no less (Frank Zappa, Megadeth, Herbie Hancock, and Sting, to name a few); when you're a drummer, it's enough to make your mother cry when he touches the drums.

That's half of the stage for the legendary stars. Opposite, three "youngsters": Rufus... Miller. Yes, his father's son, on second guitar! Introduced by Sting with great humour. Peter Tickell on violin and mandolin, an English musician I hadn't heard of, but who had actually already participated in the album "If, on a Winter's Night" (the only Sting album I didn't really like!).

Jo Lawry on backing vocals and violin, who had already accompanied Sting on the Symphonicities tour, and who notably sang with him on the sober and magnificent "You Will Be My Ain True Love" from the eponymous album.

Musicians chosen by Sting can't be bad... and indeed, we were given a triple whammy: sobriety, efficiency, and emotion. A true musical lesson, but also almost private-room rock, so great was the rapport with the artists, and between them. A show without stage frills, vintage instruments, almost monochrome lighting for a monochrome blend of black and white, in the end, the very essence remained: the one and only truly important thing: the music. No misery to hide behind superficial stagecraft, no fuss, no over-the-topness to mask the emotional poverty; everything rested on the interpretation of the songs, and nothing more was necessary than what was played that evening.

In a substantial set list of 22 songs drawn from Sting's entire repertoire, spiced with a bit of The Police, there was not a single fault in taste. I was able to hear some of my favourite tracks, but above all, I completely rediscovered songs whose potential I had underestimated in a new, totally inspired interpretation, like a groovy "Sacred love" and an absolutely transcendental "Inside". It's impossible to remain unmoved while listening to "I hung my head", in a version as fine as it is refined, "Mercury falling" played with an irresistible slow rise, or "Ghost story" built to touch the heart; if you don't get chills from that, you're a troll. I'm not a troll, I had tears in my eyes. You see, sometimes happiness makes you cry.

The show itself was a gentle build-up of excitement: wild gobo dancing, increasingly rich arrangements, a blend of vocals with soaring violin melodies, perfectly audible false drum solos—everything was calculated so that, without realizing it, you'd get caught with your hand in the jam jar and ask for more; a bit like the riptides on beaches in the southwest, where when the water is only up to your knees, you think it's nice and easy, and suddenly you realize you've been swept out to sea. Except that out there, out at sea, it's safe and even highly recommended for your health.

Sound-wise, it was a real success. The subs were masterfully crafted. I would have liked a little more bass presence at a few rare moments, because I love this instrument (and I think that it is, wrongly, far too often hidden as simple support behind loud guitars), but the star of the concert was not the bass, it was the music, and I had no trouble coming to terms with it. Just to nitpick, it seems to me that there was a little saturation on the treble when Vinnie was in "full-cymbals-I-send-steak" mode; but besides that, what a pleasure to hear all the flexibility and roundness of the playing, what a joy to have a ride that sounds good and a snare drum whose subtleties you can hear! It is therefore with genuine pleasure that I once again send to the doghouse all the preachy trolls who claim that a powerful sound hurts the ears. When you're dealing with competent people, earplugs often reveal what they truly are: the necessary crutch of a system handicapped by its prejudices about rock.

As for the musicians' playing, obviously, there's not much to criticize.

Vinnie Colaiuta is a raving lunatic incapable of playing two hits in a row without adding nuance or colour; finesse, precision, and sheer madness, he can do it all, and his vigour is formidable. If we had put balls of yarn on the ends of his sticks, I think he would have knitted enough to dress the entire audience during the set.

Dominic Miller and Sons provided us with some very enjoyable moments during the show. One can't imagine the pressure young Rufus must sometimes feel with such a father and such a frontman… At 26, he looks like he's in his early twenties, and it was touching to see how his face reflected both the desire not to be distracted and the pursuit of pleasure in his playing. A Rufus Miller on the verge of a trance bodes well for a bright future.

Peter Tickell is the same age as Rufus, and his performance energy deeply touched the audience; his solos ("Never Coming Home," "Love Is Stronger Than Justice," etc.) were true moments of almost furious melodic virtuosity. I've always found the violin to be a particularly ungrateful instrument if it's not perfectly mastered, but Peter is astounding. I also appreciated the use of multi-effects on the violin, and the judicious choice of sounds when he interpreted parts originally played on synths, saxophones, or other instruments. The exercise was all the more perilous with an audience that was very familiar with the repertoire being played, and that needed convincing.

Jo Lawry was also technically impeccable; her voice forms a particularly aesthetic duet with Sting's. The vocal layers on certain pieces were extremely well exploited. If I'm nitpicking, I'd say that while his good humour was a pleasure to see, his sometimes very affected stage performance had an irritating and somewhat "out there" side compared to the rest's sober effectiveness.

Sting, for his part, was true to himself: an artist in the full sense of the word, capable of delivering troll-busting music while sounding like he was walking his dog in Hyde Park, who took the time to speak French but didn't demand extended applause after the songs, all with an almost regal but never overwhelming presence and a great sense of humour.

To conclude my battle of the Titans, Incubus versus Sting, it must be noted that during the concert, someone fainted again a meter away from me (I'm going to end up wondering if I'm the one causing the fainting spells!); Except this time, several people immediately attended to her, and she was evacuated in seconds. I love that spirit.

Despite my already well-received review, I can't end without one more word about Sting (he's in my Top Ten, damn it). The concert was sold out; as long as Sting's concerts are sold out, I'll have hope for humanity's mental health (and our ability to defeat the trolls). While he knows how to combine what I believe to be the bare minimum of a truly great musician (demanding, technical, sincerity, intimacy), he adds a charisma that is uniquely his own. You might say that as a long-time fan, I'm biased... I'd answer that I'm only a long-time fan because he possesses this special presence, this constant demand for quality, and this astonishing understanding of everything related to music, whatever he does; When you can play rock, jazz, pop, world music, and always be at the top of your game, there's a reality to which you have to bow: you're in the presence of a brilliant musician. I had a fantastic evening.

I'll leave the final word to my companion, a metalhead at heart, perhaps more objective than me given that he knew very little about Sting, who said to me in the car while we were looking for a CD for the ride home: "After a concert like that, you can't listen to anything else, everything seems bland!"

(c) La Grosse Radio