The Police at Jones, Night I

I'm finished marinating and ready to spew my small and tall tales about a band that changed my life years before I lost my virginity, tweezed my eyebrows or pierced my ears for the second and third times. They are The Police, a three man band with power, brilliance and only five albums to boot. With such a small catalogue, the band was bound to play hit after hit and threw in a few ey-os and da doo doo da's to mix things up. Monday night was an appetizer for bigger and better things to come. We sat in Stadium I at Jones Beach, eager and ecstatic at the prospect of seeing my band for the third time in a lifetime, all within a one year period.

When the initial tour was announced in February of 2007, after much ado, yelling, hyperventilating and shitting my whitey tightey woollies, I promised myself that I was going to tour with the band, something I've wanted since I was gifted my first Elton John album at age five. I think I played Don't Shoot Me I'm the Piano Man, a thousand times, till the vinyl grooves no longer played "Crocodile Rock" without skipping. After Vic bought me tickets for MSG in August of 07', I made a quick, rip the band-aid off decision to buy tickets to see them at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. I hadn't flown in almost 12 years and knew this would be a huge task, yet I felt little fear when I thought about how I would feel, nestled up tight in my $75 seat at the casino's arena. Vic warned me if I clicked and bought the tickets, I was bound to the project and he expected me to follow through, no hems or haws included. As most of you know, I went through with trip and saw The Police fumble and fuss through their fifth show since reuniting. To me, I was in awe, loved the song line-up and overlooked a few hits and misses, making a mental note that they still weren't a tight band but they had 40 more shows to prove their Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame chops. I was hopeful. I think I cried most of that show, so happy that one of my dreams had come true. Is it normal to love a band so much? Who the hell cares! It's just another idiosyncrasy people can hate about me...get in line. If you can't take your ideology into your elder years, what do you really have left?

Monday's night show was all that and a bag of donuts. I danced, laughed and smiled till my cheek muscles became taught and my face tired from all its unusual happiness. Don't get me wrong, I'm an upbeat girl, but when The Police finally took the stage, opening up with "Message in a Bottle," I was in rock heaven, wishing I had seen them during their hey days in the late 1970's, when Sting still had a lobby limey schnoz and the peroxide dripped from all their bleached heads. CBGB's little punk darlings have come a long way since playing gigs in tiny gin mills and holes across America, finding themselves reuniting after more than 20 years of solo projects and much water under the bridge.

The song list on Monday was strong but very different than last years. The second song, "Walking on the Moon" from Regatta de Blanc (my favorite album) was spectacular and sounded full, with out any additional backing band. They went on to play some deep album cuts like, "Demolition Man," "Voices in My Head," and "Hole in My Life," before relying heavily on their stealthy catalogue of hits. To be honest, Syncronicity is not my favorite album and "De Do Do Da" is not my favorite song, but when moon was hung right on a night filled with excitement and anticipation, set at the beach during the dog days of August, it all sounded like nirvana to me.

Part II coming tomorrow.