Sean Coakley, Melanie Shrawder and Julia Clarke of Songlines were snapped leaving the wrap party for the pilot of the comedy/drama “Boyz in the Hillz” in West Hollywood last night. Trailed by three personal assistants and one life coach, the trio appeared to have embraced the West Coast look, adorned in their trademark leather wristbands, motorcycle boots and vintage blazers culled from old guys’ suits. Onlookers said they feasted on fruit, nuts, and tofu chowder at the star-studded event, before returning to a gated community where they were later photographed frolicking in their fake waterfall.
Shrawder and Clarke have recently been the focus of intense media scrutiny due to their fondness for a moisturizing process known as microdermabrasion. Though both claim to be younger than 32, a source recently revealed they are in fact 62.

I’ll be honest. My first thought when The Police walked on stage at Giant’s Stadium on Sunday night was “Bloody hell, Stewart Copeland looks old!” Not on a Keith Richards walking-cadaver-level; just in a comfortable, droopy sort of way (geeky spectacles, faded soccer T-shirt, hair held back by the ultimate 1980s fashion accessory: a sweat band). He had to have thought to himself when he was getting dressed: “Well if I’m going to be dinner for a few thousand mosquitoes while I hammer on the drums for ninety minutes under intensely hot spotlights, I’m going to be comfortable, dammnit! I’m Stewart Copeland!”

But then the light show started, illuminating the sea of expectant fans and within the opening chords of “Message in a Bottle” it was crystal clear why these guys bothered reuniting after all this time: man, Stewart Copeland can play. Still. His drumming was as precise and vigorous as any musician half his age, the creative flourishes no less impressive than the early days. And the same goes for his compatriots, incidentally: Sting’s voice, slightly lower in register but no weaker than in ’83 carried the songs almost completely true to their original form. He and Andy Summers played off against each other, and strutted the length of the enormous stage like cocky teenagers. Had it not been for the large TV screens, you might have believed that was what you were witnessing.

I’ve been known to complain when live shows sound too much like the recordings, but to be fair, they haven’t been playing these songs for decades, so there’s no reason why they would have evolved into something different. And besides, no one has heard these songs live in almost 25 years, so just hearing them at all felt like being involved in something very rare and special. The Police disbanded when I was two years old so this was a real treat for me, and apparently everyone else in the audience, including the trio of guys in front of us, who entertained us with an air version of every song. (Stewart Copeland is so good he inspires drunk guys to play air drums!)

Over the next hour, they knocked out hit after hit: “Walking on the Moon,” “Don’t Stand So Close to Me,” “Synchronicity II,” “King of Pain,” “Can’t Stand Losing You,” “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic,” “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da”… This last was sung half by Sting and half echoed back by the audience, who could hold a note quite well I must say. Given that The Police’s career consists of only 54 songs, we got a pretty good overview of their catalog in one set.

More than anything, the guys seemed to be having a blast onstage. You would think that would be easy when there are 80,000 people in the room who love you, and you’re playing hits that have endured decades, and you’re making almost three hundred grand a song. But as we know from other reunions, even that isn’t always enough to break old musicians of their crotchetiness. I still had half-expected an awkward we-don’t-really-like-each-other-but-two-out-of-three-of-us-
need-the-money stage presence. (Like Cream in 2005.) But my expectations were far surpassed, and I was overjoyed. And frankly, I didn’t care whether they really liked one another, or had their own cases of Evian backstage and refused to share; the fact was they were enjoying playing together. And that is why we go to see live music.

–Julia Clarke

Acclaimed songwriter Kim Richey has written in a wide range of styles for an array of hitmakers–James Morrison, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and Trisha Yearwood, to name a few. She achieves considerable success applying that shapeshifting ability to her latest solo album, Chinese Boxes, which has a more of a pop bent than her past work. The title, incidentally, comes from Kim’s fascination with Chinese boxes themselves; like Russian dolls, each is a distinct entity, and yet is part of the whole. And all could contain separate surprises. Kind of a cool metaphor for an album and its songs, no?

 

 Kim Richey podcast [4:05m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (129)

Kim Richey and her band performing live at WYEP’s
Summer Music Festival in June.

Kim is touring the Eastern U.S. now through the end of September. See if she’s coming to a venue near you.

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