thediastema's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Some thoughts on the induction of peroxide's patron saints 470 diary entries have preceded this one. They've ranged, in mass, from epic length disasters to obscure three-word blips, but in most of them I have alluded to my membership in a very small religion. A religion which worships arrogant smartass towheads. We're not a particularly organised or unified sect -- even those among us who seem to be bosom kindreds sure as hell don't share everything, and so I am certain that some of my cohorts would disagree with me on the following testimony, but this religion's equivalent to a holy trinity is comprised of none other than the Police. They are certainly less blond than they used to be. Their induction, and their brief, backup-singer-studded reunion, wrapped up this go-round's ceremony for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame -- at least as the Vh1 broadcast would have me understand it. Before them, honours went to The Righteous Brothers (sent on first because the committee wasn't sure if they'd live through the whole ceremony), Elvis Costello and the Attractions (inducted by a delightfully foul-mouthed Elton John), The Clash (and Lucinda Strummer), and AC/DC (with whom Steven Tyler attempted to have sex, onstage). The old H2O2 gang were inducted by Gwen Stefani. (Stefani was, I noticed, the only woman presenting any awards.) The guys accepted their awards with reasonable poise, considering the obvious fact that they all bitterly resent one another to this day. Sting went first and kept it brief, thanking a few scores of behind-the-scenes people. Andy Summers went second and catapulted several giant gobs of sarcasm onto the crowd. Stewart Copeland took the mic last and spent about four minutes telling everyone it was important that he wrap it up quickly before he actually got to his thank-yous, which by that point had lodged themselves firmly on the tip of his tongue. The other guys spoon-fed him a few names (like, um, his brothers) and finally he closed with, "That's it, that's it, we're gonna play." They hit the stage. While the backup singers on "Roxanne" were appreciably talented (and, interestly, kept off-screen as much as possible), and while I was quite entertained by Paul Shaffer's attempts to coax harmonies out of Stefani, Tyler, and John Mayer (all of whom I generally admire) during "Every Breath You Take," I would honestly have preferred to see the unadulterated, sometimes-volatile chemistry of the three men a la carte -- nobody else up there, the way they did it in the days between Henri Padovani and Astronomical Success. As I am a bit of an iconoclastic Police fan, I enjoyed to my usual embarrassing degree the old footage of the guys smacking each other around. I believe there's a certain kind of alchemy in what they did back then -- just Sting and an unusually-prominent bass, Andy and what in other hands would be just a guitar, Stewart and a drumkit that would endure a monumental amount of abuse over the course of its short lifetime. And maybe a love doll, inflated and tossed up on stage during the opening strains of Andy's "Be My Girl - Sally." By the end of the "set," I noticed that Andy, with a good decade on the other guys, is holding up pretty damn well. I noticed that Stewbie's unorthodox, rigourous (some might say histrionic) drumming had busted a snare clean open. I noticed that Sting still interests me the least of the three guys, and the lyrics of most of their songs, while by no means shabby, still take a backseat to the instrumentals. Maybe this is what happens when white boys try reggae: the message is no longer a banner carried at the front of the song; it's a subliminal current under the texture and colour and flavour of the orchestration, and the stupid kids like me rocking out in their cars at stoplights the world over don't even always pick up on the message at all, because we're being charmed like pythons by the acoustic innovation. I might be forced to name my guitar "Man in a Suitcase." These guys are my all-time favourite band, and my recognition of that fact got a fresh coat of lacquer tonight. ~ETK 01:27 - 17 March, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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