We need to talk about the love of Sting...

Gunilla Brodrej gets goosebumps from three super musicians.

How should I start when I am now going to write about Sting again, as I have done so many times? I may, as male colleagues have reviewed Håkan Hellström or Bruce Springsteen, do it with a large dose of self-confidence. No bragging rights. Yet I must address the complication.

People, colleagues in my opinion-making industry, think that my positive attitude towards Sting is a gimmick. Faithful readers of Expressen's culture page know that my love for Sting is well-founded and sincere. In 2004, the then head of culture, Per Svensson, who sadly passed away a few weeks ago, wrote a column by the head of culture in my defence for “outing” me as a Sting fan. Svensson wrote that “The contempt for Sting is a fairly typical expression of the ritualized self-contempt of the homework-reading middle class”. When Sting received the Polar Prize, I participated in a P1 program with the headline “We must talk about the Sting hate”. Explain that to the audience in Dalhalla, someone.

And it simply sounds insanely good.

Because last night we, the homework-reading middle class, gathered to eat refined pop at the bottom of the large Dalhalla limestone quarry in Rättvik, a stop on a seemingly endless world tour. With him, Sting has his regular guitarist and wing man, guitarist Dominic Miller, who recently had an acclaimed gig at Fasching in Stockholm with his own jazz quartet. Chris Maas shines behind his drum kit and it is of course not just because he has put together his instruments with the discerning eye of a Michelin chef.

So there are three musicians, a set-up that is deceptively similar to The Police, who play songs from Sting's enormous song catalogue, half of which comes from The Police era. And it simply sounds insanely good.

Sting's songs, well-composed with verses, choruses and bridges, always open up in an unexpected direction. Many, actually excellent, pop songs today lack a bridge. They just go on and on. No elevation, no opening, no relaxation. Sting writes songs with the aim of surprising and in a musical tradition with roots in folk songs, the Beatles, Bach and jazz. When the listener expects something – he gives them something else. It is admirably difficult to categorize popular music. In Dalhalla performed by incredible instrumentalists.

Mobile cameras go up during “Englishman in New York”, “Shape of my heart” and “Every breath you take”. The audience loves it. Other songs sneak up on you, like the fateful “Never coming home” from the album “Sacred love” (2003) and the unfathomable “A thousand years” from the album “Brand new day” (1999). Goosebumps. Sting’s music is never boring. The chord progressions, the melodies, the riff, the bass lines, the arrangements, everything is refined. And he has kept his bright, penetrating, slightly raspy voice. So does the stomach support.

But something has actually happened. Sting has never been a crowd tamer but has rather been a bit of an introvert on stage. But already during the first song he invites the audience to sing along, and then it keeps going. Sting feels more open than he usually does. Chats a little. Flirts. At the end he even makes heart hands towards the audience. Everyone stands up and sings.

We have to talk about the love for Sting.

(c) Expressen by Gunilla Brodrej