Ghost In The Machine: 1981/82

Talking Heads a treat at Picnic...

The Police Picnic '82, the festival of five rock groups at the Canadian National Exhibition Grandstand on Friday, came close to being the Talking Heads Picnic. The Talking Heads which preceded the headlining English trio on the bill offered a forceful and irresistibly rhythmic hour on stage.

It was the Police, though, which won out with the audience on the strength of the band's catchy pop melodies, polished reggae rhythms and Sting's plaintive singing. Musically, it was the usual impeccable playing from bassist Sting, synthesised guitarist Andy Summers, and drummer Stewart Copeland.

The Police is now in a position where it can play nothing but hits, and that's exactly what it did - from the opening, Message In A Bottle, to an extended version of 'So Lonely' in the second encore - with adroit and faultless professionalism, drawing the optimum response from the well-disposed audience.Sting was every inch the rock star, a kind of uptown Rod Stewart, loping about the stage as he plucked out the emphatic bass line of the band, shaking his derriere at the crowd, lolling against his amplifier, taking a turn on the bass violin and urging the audience to dance and sing along with him. The most awesome moment came during the song, 'One World', when the stadium lights shone over the crowd to present an army of waving arms, as everyone sang along to the anthemic call for global tolerance.

However, the professionalism couldn't eradicate the uncomfortable impression of cynicism in The Police's presentation, something calculated that shows through the big-time rock star hoopla, the tricky/simple arrangements and simplistic lyrics. It was an impression that was underscored by the warmth of The Talking Heads.

The Talking Heads confined itself to a quick survey of its musical history; opening with Psycho Killer. David Byrne forsook his guitar after the first few numbers to dance to the powerfully communal rhythms of the music, and most of the audience on the grandstand field followed suit. The jagged funk lines and surging choruses, over the dense percussive bottom of the music, sounded even richer live than on record; halfway through the set, the floor of the stadium was a sea of upraised arms, swaying back and forth in unison. It is this capacity to create instant and enthusiastic response - combined with some of the most lyrical and intelligent writing and playing that rock has ever seen - which makes Talking Heads a band of such importance; the only regrettable part was that the group wasn't on stage more than an hour.

The Spoons, the Canadian band which kicked things off at 4 o'clock, was much more drastically limited - to just six songs - but the set was a convincing demonstration that the band's textured and seductive sound could be conveyed successfully to a large audience, and the experience must have been an educational one. Flock Of Seagulls, a visually exotic English dance band with flashes of Roxy Music and plenty of infectious energy, also fared well. But the most exciting act was The English Beat, whose relentless; tight and joyful ska rhythms, backed by a jumping saxophone, offered the day's best shot of adrenalin.

The odd girl out was Joan Jett who, with her band, The Blackhearts, was sandwiched between The English Beat and The Talking Heads. As the sole metal artist on a new wave bill, Miss Jett was not given the audience's undivided attention and respect; to be specific, a lot of watermelon rinds and pieces of hot dog were flung at her. It was despicable behaviour on the part of the audience, but it was also less-than-brilliant planning on the promoters' part to put her on the bill at all. Miss Jett ploughed on obstinately, kept screaming ''How ya doin' Toronto?'' and managed to win the audience's respect by the end of the set.

(c) The Globe by Liam Lacey

30,000 'arrested' by Sting's talents at Police Picnic...

Over the taped strains of 'Voices Inside My Head', a familiar English voice emerges from the darkness of the CNE Stadium stage and playfully enunciates, "Hi Toronto!" The 30,000-strong crowd roars its approval. After seven hours in the steamy heat, the long wait is finally over. The Police are back.

For a while it seemed like not even the Police could save the day's festivities. When Simple Minds backed out of the show, organizers were left without a big-name draw to complement the Police, and although Peter Tosh did eventually get the crowd up and dancing with some fine reggae (Don't Look Back, the Wailers' Get Up, Stand Up and a reggaefied Johnny B Goode were the best of his colourful set), the rest of the support groups ranged from pleasant (Toronto's Blue Peter; King Sunny Ade) to inappropriate (James Brown) to abysmal (The Fixx).

But once the Police jumped onstage and bounded into 'Synchronicity I', it was easy to forget all that had gone before, as attested by the mass of swaying, dancing bodies.

If there's an inclination to see this Police Picnic business (this was the third in three years) as just a little predictable, it was obvious the band was doing its best to make things different. Sure, they trotted out the hits that fans expected, from 'Don't Stand So Close To Me', to 'Message In A Bottle', to 'Every Breath You Take', but in the excellent new material they played from 'Synchronicity', there's a distinct sense of change, of moving forward.

Both guitarist Andy Summers and drummer Stewart Copeland - everybody's favourite goofy older brother - are getting away from the less-is-more school of thought and playing a few more rock'n'roll licks. As musicians, they're more adept, more versatile than ever before.

But if the Police are changing musically, one of the constants of a Police concert is Sting's confident but light-hearted stage presence. A chronic over-thinker, Sting obviously finds as much of a release in playing as the fans do in singing and dancing. He makes the most of the absolute power he has for two hours, teasing the fans, prancing about, hamming it up, becoming one of the crowd. He has enough charisma to ask "How are you? It's been a whole year!" and make it sound like something more sincere than the stock rock cliché it is.

The standard show biz phrase about having an audience eat out of your hand was tailor-made for Sting. One only had to hear the nonchalant way he said "You know what to do," when it came time for the audience to a sing a chorus to realize the hold he had on the crowd, and he used it to pick them up and put them down again at will.

One of the reasons the show went over so well was because the trio made use of a pair giant video screens on either side of the stage. For the Police, video is an obvious move. Sting is as videogenic as he is photographable, so besides allowing everyone to see Sting exorcise his personal demons in songs like King of Pain, the screens allowed the fans to see him do a little hotdogging too, and that contributed a lot to audience rapport.

One of the cleverest uses the video equipment was put to was to follow the band on what Sting called a "tea break". With the blonde bassist beckoning us to come along, the cameras followed the band backstage, where they donned silly hats, horsed around and did indeed partake of a spot o' tea. For lip reading fans, the comic highlight of the night was Sting's reply to Andy Summers' question of "How is your tea?"

Far from being a compromise, the way the Police used the videos screens allowed them to have it both ways: it gave their fans the intimacy of a small hall without sacrificing the power and the spirit of togetherness that only comes from a huge crowd. It was an innovative idea that worked well enough to suggest that Police Picnic number four wouldn't be an unpleasant experience.

(c) The Hamilton Spectator by Jason Mitchell

The Police Picnic had ballpark rocking with joy...

They could have danced all night.

As it was, they danced through most of it. When midnight finally rolled around Friday, bringing to a close the mega-concert known as The Police Picnic '82, there were more than 45,000 exhausted but extremely happy people filing out of Exhibition Stadium.

They had cheered themselves hoarse and danced themselves ragged through eight hours of music from six bands, rocking what is generally perceived as a rather sedate ball- park with one of the biggest parties this city has ever seen.

And what a party. Everything fell precisely into place the sound was perfect, the weather was ideal, the crowd was friendly, and the performers fulfilled or surpassed everyone's expectations. Somehow, it just all seemed so right.

"It's coming off even better than we had hoped," promoter Gary Cormier said backstage during the show, "and it's thanks to all the great people who were involved. Every- one has been so co-operative - the bands, the management they've all done a lot of work.'

Some 32,000 advance tickets had been sold before the gates opened at 3pm, but by seven o'clock the crowd had swelled to 38,000 with a steady stream of latecomers rapidly filling the empty seats and less-populated areas of the field.

Everybody there seemed to know and like everybody else (it was that kind of atmosphere), and thus they were, for the most part, a pretty well-behaved bunch. The boys in blue had very little trouble and made only a few arrests, just a small tank of drunks and a man who tried to climb a light tower. There were no serious injuries reported, though a number of fans were treated for the usual concert excesses too much sun, excitement, booze or drugs.

The first act was The Spoons, an up-and-coming Toronto band who were warmly received by the large home-town audience. They began their set in the rain, but it never got past the drizzle stage, and when the sun reappeared it was cheered with the same enthusiasm as the performers.

A Flock Of Seagulls followed next, and though they offered no surprises, they delivered a short and slick, and more importantly, danceable show. But it took the energy of the seven-man ska band The English Beat finally to shift the party into high gear, and by the time they left the stage 40 minutes later the stadium was jumping.

When Joan Jett and the Blackhearts came on at 7pm they were greeted by a hail of debris, and spent their first few minutes on stage ducking hot dog buns and toilet paper rolls tossed by over-zealous fans. When Jett's road manager came out and threatened to stop the show, the target practice abruptly ceased.

Once they did get down to it, Jett and her band made less of an impact than one might have expected. Talking Heads, a last-minute addition to the program, performed a flawless hour-long set that was received with an attentiveness that bordered on reverence. And when finally, in an explosion of white light, The Police opened with 'Message In A Bottle', it was as if somebody had wired everyone in the stadium into one massive electric circuit and switched on the juice.

For the next 90 minutes everything and everyone was moving in time to the music, and if you weren't standing on top of something (or someone) you couldn't see through all the waving arms and bouncing heads. Backed by a three-piece horn section, drummer Stewart Copeland, guitarist Andy Summers and singer-bassist Sting expertly mixed the old and the new in a set that ended triumphantly with a double encore.

(c) The Toronto Star by Rob Salem