The Police

During the summer of 1983, when I wasn’t sunning at the pool or hacking a little white ball around the golf course, I listened to music every chance I had. The British music scene was especially appealing to me. On the soft side, I grooved to the New Romantic sounds of Duran Duran, Bow Wow Wow, Depeche Mode, Culture Club, Ultravox, ABC, Talk Talk, and The Human League to name just a few. On the edgier end of the musical spectrum, anything punk or glam was good. And somewhere in between, there was my all-time favorite band—The Police.

By the time my friends and I had driver’s licenses and permission to travel alone so that we could drive four hours to the Twin Cities for concerts, The Police had broken up. So my friends—Ann D. and Jenny E.—and I watched the concert videos, Around the World and Synchronicity, so often that it felt like we had seen the power trio play live.

Since the mid-eighties, I have had the good fortune to see Sting in concert (twice). And, I sat close enough to the stage that I could be hit by a bead of Stewart Copeland's sweat when he played the Fine Line with Animal Logic.

I even married a man who saw The Police when they played Dallas on the Synchronicity tour in 1984—and he never loved them half as much as I did.

But tonight—even though I despise the idea of watching old men strut around on a stage, trotting out their faded glory—I am going to see Sting, Stewart, and Andy play their reunion tour at the Xcel Center in St. Paul.

It is The Police after all.