Guest post by: Kerry Apsey
A few years ago I saw Sting in Hyde Park on a glorious summer evening. The skies slowly deepened behind the London skyline and the crowd of thousands danced furiously and sang the well loved classics uncurbed. The stars came out as the opening sound of Desert Rose brought the loud appreciative swell of a thousand voices. It was a magnificent evening.
A few weeks ago I was in the right place and in the right conversation with some dear friends who happened to have heard about the upcoming Sting concert in Kuwait. There was so little advertisement of this, surely it couldn’t really be him, surely the tickets would be outrageously expensive, if we could even get them?
But, like so many experiences in Kuwait, I went in completely unsure of what to expect and I was gobsmacked by the whole evening.
The Opera House is wonderful. Exquisite lines and finishes and details from the moment you approach the magnificent building. I felt as though I wanted to run my hands across the beautiful surfaces but restrained myself. We were ushered into a theatre and sank into luxurious chairs. There were so many empty rows of seats, I almost didn’t quite believe the real Gordon Sumner was going to walk on stage. Part of the fantastic design of the theatre was that despite having the cheapest seats money could buy, we were close enough to see every expression on the mega rock star’s face as he strolled onto stage.
Initially I wasn’t at all sure what to make about the subdued atmosphere. I couldn’t quite believe the rigidity of the stewards armed with laser pointers shaming any cellphones daring to take pictures or anyone trying to stand up and dance.
It seemed at odds with the tumultuous rock music at times.
But the formality of the setting would only allow us to sit and respect the music and the artistry of the experience.
Even still, it was incredible.
What a privilege to have an intimate show. The sound was perfect and Sting’s sublime voice covering the dancing fingers of the phenomenal guitarists was an awesome thing to behold.
There were no masses surrounding us to get lost in and not much on stage to distract from the minimal band. Sting held up beyond expectation under the intense scrutiny. It was just the beauty of his poetry and the artistry of the music under the lights.
Towards the end every one got caught up in the wild joy of the music, and jumped up ignoring the angry red laser dots reprimanding them, for a little while at least. And after that he took us back down, “to go home thoughtfully,” he said, with a last breathtaking ballad.
We walked out smiling at each other in disbelief at the hidden treasure the evening had been.
Kuwait keeps on surprising me.