Jun 01, 1993
Regarded by some as the thinking man's rock star, by others as pretentious, Sting has undoubtedly done his best to bring intelligent discussion to the ephemeral world of rock. But he is no longer king of the pop charts. Since splitting from the all-conquering Police eight years ago, his fortunes have revolved around albums and tours rather than singles and videos...
May 02, 1993
Sting's image is that he's Mr. Dour, the hardest thinking man in show business. It's an image born out of a lot of sombre, serious songs, and a lot of involvement with sombre, serious issues like the destruction of the Amazon Rain Forest. But it's an image that he doesn't really agree with. "I think that's a very simple generalization, that I'm Mr. Dour," offers the former Gordon Sumner over the phone from San Francisco...
May 01, 1993
How we mock our most serious Star, our forest saver. Shouldn't he be protected, or at least respected? Sting must be a really horrible, selfish, cynical, manipulating, pompous, vain bastard. Stands to reason. We know that sort. Superstar rock'n'roller who preserves rain forests for Friends of the Earth; helps Chile, wants to save the world. Always trying to do good. Ergo, he must be be bad. It's weird how this happens Stick to drug orgies, teenage brides and smashing up hotel bedrooms, and the world loves you. What a card, what a bloke. But try to put something back, when you've taken out so much, and everyone is suspicious...
May 01, 1993
Ah, springtime in Paris. It's a postcard-perfect day, and Sting is sitting outside at a cafe, leisurely sipping coffee and occasionally ducking his head into his enormous sweater like a turtle pulling back into its shell. And despite being hounded with questions about whether or not he can program a VCR ("No"), if he's ever read a Jackie Collins novel ("No, I'm a horrible snob when it comes to literature") and how he'll react the first time a boy shows up to take out his daughter ("If he's a musician, I'll shoot him"), he is, as usual, in perfect humour. At the moment, neck and noggin safely outside the mouth of his garment, he is waxing philosophic about whether he ever waxes nostalgic...
Apr 02, 1993
Sting is in the middle of a two week stay at a North London rehearsal studio, remarkable for the fact that the most shockingly colourful item in the room is the carpet on the soundproof door. And that's brown. He, and the rest of the band - drummer Vinnie Colaiuta, keyboard player David Sancious and guitarist Dominic Miller - are attired in the universal musicians' colour, black. No, tell a lie, Sancious has a white shirt...
Apr 01, 1993
Bands that defy classification come all the time, but most are not in sight long enough that you would notice. In a medium as stylistically incestuous as music it is nothing short of wondrous when an act breaks through by sounding different than anything before it, and more amazing still is a band which rides more than flash and fancy to the top. The Police was such a band. Forging a blend of styles and sounds that had previously made programmers blanch, they carved a niche for themselves in pop music...
Mar 06, 1993
Policeman on a new beat: Tricky things, images. Ask Sting. Somewhere in the 1980s, this critically acclaimed, gorgeously photogenic, mega-platinum-selling rock god with the world at his feet turned into an embarrassing, pretentious bore carrying the world on his shoulders...
Mar 02, 1993
Fans and critics may think of Sting as a pretty serious guy, but his new record really isn't that serious. At least for Sting. Take the album's title: 'Ten Summoner's Tales'. It's "a mild literary joke," a takeoff on the story 'Summoner's Tale' from Chaucer's 'The Canterbury Tales' and also a reference to Sting's real name, Gordon Sumner. If that's not exactly 'National Lampoon's Loaded Weapon', it's still a change of pace for the self-proclaimed 'King of Pain', a man best known for tortured love songs ('Every Breath You Take') and social commentary ('Russians'), for reminding listeners, "There is a deeper world than this..."
Mar 01, 1993
The improbable sound of Sting's exquisite squawk reverberates around Ladbroke Grove underground station. His mellifluous ballad of betrayal and surveillance floods the tunnel between East and Westbound Metropolitan lines. The noon-day tube travellers' reactions to the busking superstar are a joy to behold: several frown inscrutably (they're not going to be fooled by some bloke who just happens to look and sound exactly like Sting); some catch themselves gawping and scurry on self-consciously; a few stop dead in their tracks; others are completely derailed and shunt spellbound towards the wall...
Mar 01, 1993
To go through life with a name like Sting takes a certain amount of swagger, and the erstwhile bassist for the Police can swagger with the best of them. But he's also self-deprecating, literate and one of the more accomplished - and, no doubt, wealthiest - songwriters of the last decade. Sting's a bit weary from jet lag, but hardly looks his 41 years as he sips hot tea in a mid-town Manhattan high-rise. On a brutally cold February day, he has the window cracked open six inches, presumably to keep himself alert after an overnight flight from his native England...