Sting, Joe Sumner & The Last Bandoleros take on Austin

Sting finally came back to Austin. I hadn't seen him play since he took the show to Houston. He sang with his buddy Paul Simon. Even in the nose-bleed seats, it was an amazing show. I remember last minute I called a friend, begged to stay on her couch, and I drove three hours. Spent $40.  Completely worth it.

This time, tickets weren't cheap. One ticket cost two days of teacher pay. And, a sitter on top of that. Too much. This meant going alone. So, I was thinking GA seats, but this meant plenty of room to stand, and of course, dance.

The adventure of going alone started with navigating the city, parking meters, and the wonder of taking it all in--alone. 

But, going solo wasn't so bad. The quiet walk alone opened up the story in another way. 

I loved the sound of my boots on the pavement and watching the glow of the silhouetted stick figure lure me across the street.

For a few blocks, the city felt like it was my escort. 

The downtown Austin streets were noisy and wonderful. I turned the corner and found pebble stones of treasure awaiting me. I see the tour buses. They're here - -the troops of musicians. We are sharing the same space. I don't want to be anywhere else.

I see the parked spaces where the roadies have backed up. Roadies are unloading speakers and black boxes with white labels. They don't seem too caught up in the magic. Yet, they are lighting up the night one box at a time.They are creating this sacred place. It all starts with a drive, a few hundred boxes, and lots of muscle.

I think about how I've prepped for the evening's hike. I consulted my music guru. He is my know-it-all music dude. He said with "Sting's crowd" they will come fashionably late. He is referring to the more mature audience.

I get in the door entry line at 4:30. It's two hours before doors open and four hours before the show. When I get there, there's a line of about 20 in front of me. Apparently, I wasn't the only fan to show up with the same plan.

And, I look around me, I'm still one of the youngest fans who's not bringing a teenager to tag along. I'm Joe Sumner's age.

I look at the guests' feet. Lots of New Balance shoes and those who describe themselves as "dressed for comfort." This group came with ponchos, umbrellas, extra crackers and water.

It was interesting too to see the two kinds of people waiting. There were those in GA "cheap seats" and those there for the pricier sound check.

When their line was called, the sparkle sound check kids rose up adjusting their invisible-we-own-this-kingdom-cloaks. They filed in ahead of us while we watched- -some of us pouting.

To soothe myself, I crowded my brain with humor.  I counted the amount of tight leather pants and glowing sparkling boobs.

Then, I got distracted thinking about Ross and how he got stuck in the bathroom in that episode of Friends. Baby powder. How can this generation wear leather pants knowing what happened to Ross?

Time fades into the next hour and I watch the streets.  I watch a ticket scalper looking for bait.

I watch the man in front me with the short wet mullet and tan leather dress shoes sit on the bench. He had propped up his feet showing off his striped brown khaki socks. I think he's looking for an extra ticket. I don't understand his 70s Miami Vice shirt. I am trying to give him credit.

The economics teacher next to me plays Candy Crush and his wife shares their adoption story. She tells me about her son's journey home. And, I hear about new schools in the area and stories about living near downtown Austin.

I also hear the flat tire story on the day they met their son. I hear about their son's life, strengths, and struggles. I hear that he is the most precious part of their lives.

We talk about employment, retirement, high school teaching quirks and Sting concerts we've attended in the past. Economics says he passed up a chance to see Joan Jett way back when. And, he missed The Police. He said he didn't know what he was missing in 1977.

I say I was born in 1977.

I talk about Sting's book and how he was an English teacher. I admit I've tried to weave in imagery from his text in class like a true Sting nerd.

Economics reminds me Sting was an English teacher too.

I said, "Yeah and he hated it."

I want to share my favorite cruise ship part of the book. Sting is young and the crew director makes fun of his shoes. It's as if he's not quite up to professional grade because his shoes don't sparkle. It's an interesting measure of how looks can contrast confidence. Sting was ready. He was doing his thing and then he was being cut down because of his age and an assumed lack of experience.

But, I didn't share that. Instead we talk about Tina Fey.

I meet these amazing ladies next to me. They have driven from San Antonio to be there. We exchange concert stories, travel stories and career lineups. I ask if they are BFF. Misty says they are married. Misty laughs the entire time. I don't know why she thinks everything I say is funny. But their partnership in this adventure keeps me safe. They save my space in line later so I can finally use the ladies' room and get water for our thirsty crew.

Two hours of talks later, we are wanded and led up the tiled staircase to finally get to the floor.

We join the sparkle kids. We are forced to straddle their fan gear and their BBQ sandwiches. They are sitting on the floor with their backs against the edge of the stage claiming their spots. The GA group that has joined them haven't eaten, peed, drank a sip in four hours and the smell of food is a bit like hazing. They eat like kings and queens in front of us. Even as these four take up space enough for eight, we are standing still. We are hungry. Tired. Done. But, just as eager to be there even if we don't have the sparkly red bags and disks tied around our necks.

At least two sparkle kids say aloud, "Well if I get down on the floor, I can't get back up.." And, most sit there for at least an hour.  It's a bit awkward to have them sitting beneath our knees while they sunbathe in the stage light glow.

We wait and wait some more and then the show is being set up. Finally. I see my high school friend. He is looking for me just as I am looking for him and his wife. I just happen to look right. He pushed his way up front to the bouncers to come say hello.

I reached up and said, "Hey friend!" I don't even think about the sparkle bosses. And, JUST as I was about to continue talking, one of the BBQ ladies starts yelling at me. She's wailing on me full force. She's beating me up with her words. She's waving her finger in front of my nose to scold me saying, "NO!" as if I am a child and she's this bossy grouchy bear.  She was suddenly paranoid I was taking her place.

I looked at her and said, "This is my friend. From high school. This is a big moment.  I am JUST saying hello . . . NOT taking your place!!!"  I beg off. Make it a quick hello. I only see the guy once a year or so. But this bear is breathing down my neck. I was hoping if she'd known this was my friend of twenty years, she'd back off. But, no prize.

I find my place back in my old spot about 6 inches away. Bossy bear straightened her nose and unruffled her feathers.

Then, the lights part and the audience exhales. Sting walks up like he's part of the stage crew.

As casually as if he was walking into our kitchens for afternoon English tea, he is there. It was this casual no-ego hello. No grand gestures. No loud lights or drama- -just him and a guitar.

It was this graceful entry gesture bow that made standing for four solid hours feel like no time at all.

Then, he introduced the opening band and gave great props to a musician he'd "known his entire life," his son Joe.

This is my seventh Sting concert. I've seen him with Annie Lennox, The Police, with Jonny Lang and then some, but this show was different.

Sting was more reserved and more the family man. The three bands had their own time to shine, but throughout the show, they were all sharing the stage as one band.

Sting played the tambourine, sang back up, and all performed like a traveling family. It was like we were watching their private get-together music time.

Sting played a few of the older classics, some off his new rock series and kept us dancing and e-oying.

And, he stopped plenty to listen to us sing with him. He reflected on that experience more in this concert. He also shared that it was meaningful that we knew all of the words. He said he didn't take that for granted.

When he sang Walking on the Moon, I thought about how I'd read about Sting being in the hospital after his wife gave birth. One of the attendants was walking down the hall humming this song as a serenade.

Beyond this reflective perspective, I loved watching Sting's son sing with The Last Bandoleros. And, I loved seeing Dominic Miller's son Rufus. Sting laughed and mentioned that with Rufus along, now he had backup in case Dominic leaves. He said, "You never know."

Sharing a mic at times, Joe and The Last Bandoleros sang together laughing like a band of brothers. It didn't feel like a formula performance. It was an all-in-two-way love fest- -audience and performer.

Considering the audience, and the way bossy bear lady treated me, I know I am a generation behind most of Sting's fans. I discovered his music in the early nineties. I was a freshman in high school. And, I couldn't get enough.

But, with the amount of loyalty this sparkle crew took with planting themselves on the floor in strike for spaces, I wonder if they could be more loyal to the musician and the man behind the show.

Maybe it's just me, but I feel like the musician appreciates me too when I put down my phone and bless him back by just listening with my arms down.

There were women watching the show, but not really watching the show. The Liza Minnelli look alike with parachute dress pants flashed the I love you sign every four minutes or so.

That was sweet. But, the thing is, twenty minutes prior, the guards reminded us face-to-face to respect the performer. The guard asked for no flash photos and no recording, but Liza, along with about three others, were on the front row recording more of the show than they were watching.


It made me angry because I came to see the show, not watch the show through their glowing Iphone lenses and triangle arms.

I don't mind the pictures, but recording full songs and eventually three-fourths of the show, just seemed like they were robbing the artist. I mean, if you spent $250 or more to see the person live, why not enjoy the person live?

I thoroughly enjoyed the live show because it felt like an informal family venture. Watching Sting sing his son's original lyrics, and watching him watch his son play was, of course, moving. Sting would sneak away in a careful bow and then sneak back on stage romancing the moment.

True to the last six concerts, he had two encore songs. But, this time, he closed the concert in the same way he started it with just an acoustic guitar and a chair. He told the story about a journalist fighting for the truth and losing his life. He talked about the empty chair, how a family must have grieved, and the bravery of the writing soldier standing up courageously with words. The room quiet, he said he wanted to leave us with something thought-provoking.

He entered back a final time to take a bow with his musical family. It was sweet, rich and relevant.

It felt like it was his first performance on tour. I saw the true warmth in the the eyes of the performers. They were giddy to be there- -as giddy as we were to have them there in our courts.

And the lights went down. The fans scattered. Concrete posts were abandoned- -their beloved spots suddenly worth nothing.

I hung around a bit to say hello to my high school friend and his wife. He was a roadie for Sting a few years back. He was enjoying watching the show from an audience's perspective. It was neat to watch him hugging sound buddies and sharing stories like no time had passed.

Now, the stage lights were off. The boxes were being packed.

I left the room and ran into my San Antonio line lady friends smiling with a copy of the song list. I took a quick picture and headed out the doors. They chimed "Bye! So glad to meet you! Be careful!" Seven hours together standing we'd become like family members too.

I left walking down the stairs in the drizzling rain. I knew we were about to be pounded. In just a few moments the weather radar would scream tornado alerts. Our contractor would lose his roof.

But, for now, it was quiet. just a few drops of rain hit my cheeks. I took a moment to say goodbye to the Willie statue. I looked around at the fans holding hands crossing the streets. Tired and wet, they were racing to their cars.

I passed a fancy hotel. I passed people walking dogs. I lingered near the tour buses snuggled up inside the curbed spaces. The buses looked like they were napping.

I saw the big red trucks loading up equipment just as quickly as they'd unloaded them four hours before. I looked down the lit garage and saw the no-video bouncer. I smiled.

I left alone, yet, I didn't feel alone. I was singing Every Breath You Take and humming a serenade to the roadie troops.  I saluted the muscle men with a smile as they loaded the truck for the next show. I wondered about the next place all of those boxes would land. I thought about the lines of stranger families that would be waiting in the next city.

I took my time to cross that scene. It was a lot of magic to leave behind. I followed the glowing stick figure back to my car. I saw impatient rain drops plopping on the dusty windshield.

I started the car and wondered what concert story Economics would tell his son. I wondered if my lady line friends would make it back to San Antonio safely. . . I hope they do.