“Hey, was that your dad at the Police concert?”

I now have boomer closure as it were. What better way to wrap up our three week tour than to see someone else finish up a leg of their tour Sunday tonight. Not as bad a situation as Eddie Van Halen having his kid in the band, but still, The Police just cemented what I feel about bands I love: while a cool experience for my son to see them, I could probably have lived with the memory of the last time I saw them 20+ years ago and just listen to their CDs from here out. Don’t get me wrong, even though Sting said he’d never be this old on stage singing Roxanne, they sounded tight, and even reworked some arrangements of their hits instead of just playing a straight medley. The light show and video screens also showcased the entire band by playing off album artwork and shooting them all separately.

Still, it’s a greatest hits tour.

I couldn’t help but think that the $35 one-sided t-shirts and $125 army jacket with logo was going straight to fund another summer home for Sting. And even though they were really fucking loud, (no, I’m not that old either, but their mix was way off), opening acts Fiction Plane and The Fratellis obeyed the opening act commandment: the sum of their parts did not exceed the whole of the headliner, or something like that.

Another broad-brush opinion cemented? Most boomers are obnoxious as hell at concerts.

Hey, I know, let’s tailgate for three hours, then have 12 beers each on the way to our seats–and then get up every two seconds for refills while making the whole row stand up like they were in church: sit-kneel-stand-sit-pray-stand-sit. Don’t forget to turn to each other and shout messages during the songs constantly too. How rude of the band to play while you’re trying to shout. Drunk chicks, beer in one hand, the other raised to the heavens swaying off-tempo to songs like they were seeing Hootie anyone?

To each his own, but let’s not forget this other concert staple: the attention-seeker. Could there be more big-haired former cheerleaders roaming the stadium trying to get some like Dyan Cannon at a Laker home game rescuing puppies from a burning car–on camera?

Oh, and to the 42ish woman with the purple t-shirt four sizes too small, covering a body 3 sizes too large while sitting on top of your seatback, don’t worry, you didn’t look a day over 21–as far as you know. I’m also sure nobody saw you standing up every 10 seconds yelling in your boyfriend’s ear while holding your cell, calling nobody in particular while waving to someone in the distance. You rocked, and it’s Sting’s loss he didn’t spot, then pick you to come up on stage for the encore like that Springsteen vid.

And yes, disenfranchised poser youth of boomer boneheads three rows ahead of us: your band is way fucking cooler than the opening acts, even though you haven’t played out anywhere yet, and your carefully selected retro rock t-shirt, nose stud and eye-covering haircut is way way cooler than theirs too.

Tags: The Police

(Photo found here.)