This has been a bit of a nostalgic week for Madman Mundt. First there was Indiana Jones last week, which pretty much badly disappointed, and then last night…The Police at the Hollywood Bowl. And holy crap, was I blown away. I mean, blown the fuck away. I’d heard from some certain simpletons (who shall remain nameless) that they sucked when they played Dodger Stadium last summer (which I was out of town for), so I wasn’t expecting as much. Why I listen to fools like this is beyond me. But in hindsight it was probably better this way, as I’ve been dying to see the Police since grade school, and my anticipation was hovering just below that of meeting Boba Fett.

I grew up listening to my older brother play their catalogue on repeat, and they never ever got tiring. Sure I pretended to hate them, but when he went out I’d always sneak Outlandos D’Amour or Zenyatta Mondatta on the turntables and dance like a pre-teen hooligan to their madness. To this day, I would argue that the Police are one of my Top Ten bands of all time, which is saying a LOT. For 5 consecutive albums, The Police dropped classic after classic, with nary a single fodder track in sight, from 1978’s “Next To You” to their 1983 curtain closer, “Murder By Numbers”.

The Police seem to be a very polarizing band – you either love them or you hate them. Although raised in the punk era, they just were never hard enough to be punk – not to mention, Stewart Copeland and Andy Summers (and even Sting) were far to virtuosic on their instruments to be embraced by the Damned/Pistols crowd. Although they could be called proto-post-punk (an oxymorom?), they were way too reggae influenced for that genre. New Wave? Maybe.

For me, they were studio gods. But as I was too young to catch them before breaking up (and before Sting’s sad decline into Valium-inspired Adult Contemporary dribble), I’d been waiting TWO DECADES to see them live, my heart skipping at any notice or rumor of an impending reunion. Then, last summer, it happened. And, it happened I was never in the same country as they were. I shook my fist at the fickle concert gods.

Then, these shows at the Bowl were announced. Victory was at hand. But as previously mentioned, I’d heard mixed reviews so my expectations had been reasonably managed. Mostly, I heard Sting couldn’t hit the high notes, and his voice wasn’t the same.

I’ll just assume that was a consequence of early shows, cos his voice was sublime. Note for note from the albums, and with the same strength and intensity and soul as ever. Even on the difficult high notes of say, “Roxanne”.

Above all, hearing 18,000 people chant “I send an SOS to the world” in unison sent tingles up my spine. Literally, chill inducing. So many of their song’s deal with issues of the human condition — loneliness, despair, heartbreak, isolation…loneliness — that to be in a giant bowl, with nearly 20K people singing lyrics that seemed so deeply personal to me in my shuttered bedroom, was a thing of transcendent joy.

Of course, a quick scan of the crowd left me wondering if indeed I wanted to be sharing emotions with such a humorous collective. Mostly a hilarious mix of Uber-MILFs, balding guys on dates, Super-Cougar Club Nights out, and the occasional stray hipster, the people watching alone was nearly worth the ticket price. The best was when my girl lit up a tiny jay next to me, and within 2 minutes the mid-40s woman next to us started waving her hand around like someone released mustard gas. Incidentally, this chick had her blond hair in a ponytail, and was wearing an all pink Juicy Couture sweatsuit in a laughable, and failing, attempt to emulate her daughter. Dude, if you’re gonna dress like a 20 year old, then act like one and shut the fuck up if someone’s smoking weed. Of course, within seconds we had the doofus next to her tapping us on the shoulder:

“You guys smoking dope? (yes, he used the term “dope”.) Can you take it up there with the rest of the people smoking dope?” the guy said to us, dripping with condescension. So we look up, and we’re exactly 3 rows from the absolute back, as if he’s in the quality seats and we belong in the back with all the dopehead riff raff. Ahhhh, yeah Daddy Warbucks, we’ll take it up to where all the social flotsam hang out…3 rows behind you. Sorry to invade your airspace, Mr. Trump.

Anyway, here’s the setlist. I may have missed one or two tracks, but this is basically it. And yes, it was that good:

Bring On the Night
Message In A Bottle
Walking On the Moon
Demolition Man
Voices Inside My Head
When the World Is Coming Down, You Make the Best Of What’s Still Around
Don’t Stand So Close To Me
Driven To Tears
There’s A Hole In My Life
Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
Wrapped Around Your Finger
De Do Do Do De Da Da Da
Invisible Sun
I Can’t Stand Losing You
Roxanne

Then, the encore, which they slid into “King of Pain”. I turned to my girl and said, “God, I hope they play ‘So Lonely’,” which is pretty much my favorite track of all time. And guess what?

King of Pain
So Lonely
Every Breathe You Take

The transition from “So Lonely” into “Every Breathe” was spiritual. Possibly the most sinister Number 1 hit ever, I was kind of overcome for a second. I don’t care if that makes me a pussy, that was a moment in my concert history I will never forget. Need proof? Check out the video below (yes, the entire sold out Bowl was singing in chorus).

Then they went off, and were greeted with such a wave of cheering that they returned, which I’m not entirely sure was planned. As thanks, they went through an uptempo rendition of “Next To You”, the track that started it all for them in 1977, over 30 years ago.

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And off I went  into the night, as happy as that pre-teen hooligan in my brother’s bedroom…

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