De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da

When The Police played Kansas City in 1983 Carrie and I were eight—needless to say, we missed the show.

Twenty five years later we got a second chance.

So, last Tuesday we each played hookie from work and hit the turnpike—setting out on a journey to mark another act off our concert to-do list and restore a little bit of our rock n' roll street cred.

You might say we were pretty excited. So excited in fact that we somehow managed to roll out of Wichita with a collective $3 in cash—an oversight that became painfully clear as we tried to park at the Sprint Center four hours later. Luckily after hitting an ATM (located inside a convenience store that I'm pretty sure was either a front for some sort of counterfeit bus token ring or the host site for an illegal back-room Mahjong tournament) we were on our way.


First, let me say that we were pretty impressed with the new Power and Light district that surrounds the arena, it actually makes after-hours downtown Kansas City seem like a happenin' place rather than a lost scene from "I am Legend." We didn't have a lot of time to investigate the area (due to the aforementioned parking fund shortage) but we saw enough to actually want to go back.

Once we made it inside, the show was kicked off by a set by Elvis Costello—so to say there was an opening act was a bit of an understatement. Unfortunately, no one told the sound engineer because Elvis seemingly got the same mix those guys from the FreeCreditReport.com commercial would have. Fortunately what the mix lacked in quality, it made up for with sheer volume. Three songs into his set I could relate to the way Peter Frampton must feel when he uses his skull as an amplifier. Luckily, we each suffered enough hearing loss halfway through the set to actually enjoy a duet on "Alison" between Elvis and a bearded Sting followed later on by "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding" one of my all-time favorites.

Then it was The Police's turn.


While the show itself was somewhat low key compared to some other concerts we go to (a somewhat sparse stage and little multimedia effects) it really didn't matter, because this show was really about getting a near once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see three incredible musicians. But while I'm a fan of both Sting (who Carrie and I saw a few years ago) and Andy Summers, for me the concert was all about the drums. Stewart Copeland—in my humble opinion—is quite frankly one of the most incredible musicians in the world. While most rock drummers simply lay the foundation and keep the beat, Stewart creates textures that make the songs come alive. My eyes were glued on him all night as he jumped back and forth from his kit to a large rig of bells, symbols and timpany drums. As a whole the band was great, although there were a few slip ups here and there that came as a surprise. The biggest one actually had nothing to do with the band, some dude accidentally kicked over Carrie's coveted $5 cherry lemonade on his way back from his fourth beer run of the night. On the upside, by this point in the evening he was toasted enough to insist we take ten bucks from him as an apology. Generous drunks are OK in my book.

Here's a few clips we shot with Carrie's phone. The sound is terrible, so you get more of us than of Sting and the crew and I turned the volume down a bit because otherwise it just sounds like they're playing through the PA down at Big Boy.