If you told me that there was a law in England that bands had to have at least one terrible Caribbean-sounding song, I would believe you. But if any band were the undisputed kings of “worst English reggae band”, it would be The Police.
The Police are only on my mind because of that half second of Roxanne at the end of the CBGB’s trailer. Which, by the way, makes New York in the ’70s look like Happy Days with a drinking problem. Is that what Millenials think the past was like? A cuter version of now, but nobody had heard of anything because there was no internet? Then again, there’s some evidence that CBGB’s actually WAS Happy Days with a drinking problem. Have you kids ever heard of Robert Gordon? No? Good.
Anyhow, Roxanne is on my mind, because it’s one of those songs that sticks in your head because it’s annoying. The part I always get is the very start, where Sting annoys me and then the guitar annoys me even more: “RAWWWWWWW-KISANNNN GINK GINK GINK GINK GINK GINK”. It’s like The Police are hitting you in the forehead with a hammer and yelling “THIS IS A REGGAE SONG! THIS! IS! A! REGGAE! SONG!”
Why on Earth does Sting sing in that accent? Were they practicing one day and Andy Summers said, “Hey, Sting, try it in a reggae accent”? Is that what it is? I think white people need to apologize for The Police, because Sting’s “reggae singing” is the closest we can get to wearing blackface without obviously having to feel ashamed about what we’re doing. Except obviously, we should feel ashamed. Sting’s singing is racist.
There’s absolutely no not-racist reason for Sting to pronounce it “day moon” instead of “the moon”. In addition, these may be the stupidest lyrics anyone over the age of six has ever written, and Sting wrote a song called De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da:
Giant steps are what you take
Walking on the moon
I hope my legs don’t break
Walking on the moon
That’s literally all Sting knows about the moon (yeah, yeah, I know it’s a metaphor): that there’s less gravity there. That’s because Sting is a moron. For fuck’s sake, he named himself Sting. If we can address De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da for a second, I’d like to tell Sting that a) when you write a song about nonsense words that has a nonsense chorus (think Wooly Bully) you’re just doing the thing that you’re talking about and b) if all you have to add to the genre of songs with nonsense choruses (think Da Do Ron Ron) is that the lyrics “rape” you, you might want to quit while you’re ahead.
Sting’s lyrics get really rich on Don’t Stand So Close To Me. How rich? How about namedropping Nabokov rich? Full disclosure: if you’re walking around trying to convince people that you’re a smart guy by telling them that you know Nabokov wrote Lolita, you’re fucked from the get go. Moreover, what kind of world was the early ’80s that a band rose to the top of the charts with a dumb song about falling in love with a prostitute because you’re a man and you can save her, a dumb song about how you only know one fact about the moon and even then not really, and a dumb song about the sexual tension between schoolgirls and a young male teacher whose complete knowledge of Nabokov is the one that had a film adaptation? You’d be right if you answered, “A world in which rock stars were named things like Sting, and The Edge, and Huey Lewis.
Sting really becomes the worst after he quits The Police to star in Dune. To be fair, I don’t think there was a better bet at becoming the biggest star in the world in 1984 than starring in Dune, a movie whose mass appeal seems clear from the outset.
While not on 1985’s amazingly titled Dream Of The Blue Turtles, this song sums up solo Sting: weird about reproduction. I don’t just mean his widely publicized tantric sex preferences- I mean that We’ll Be Together was allegedly written for a beer company, yet contains the line “I see you with me and baby makes three”. What does he mean? That he’s going to impregnate the beer? There’s something you can take to the bank: if you’re ever drinking with Sting, make sure you never take your eyes off of your drink. He’s going to De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da in your glass.
And even if he did do something in your drink (like make it pregnant because he loves it), it still wouldn’t be as bad as listening to this turd full of nails coming out of your ear butts: