On Wednesday, the ex-Police member shared the bill with Rag'n'Bone Man. Reverence on one side, confidence on the other. But, in the end, it was just one big concert.

On the bill, the two names were the same size. On stage, one devoured the other, and it wasn't the thickest one the most voracious... Rag'n'Bone Man should have been wary of Sting, "the stinger," who stings even when he's not there to fight. But by agreeing to open, even a luxurious one, for the ex-Police member at Montreux Jazz, his compatriot knew what he was up against.

The absence of competition does not prevent comparison, especially when the festival rightly emphasizes the loyalty of a new generation of stars who appeared within it after the death of Claude Nobs, whose vision and personality had ensured the regular presence of the greatest artists of the last century in Montreux: seven times for Sting! Who will not hesitate to remind us of this when dedicating a song to the founder: "I miss him!" Rag'n'Bone Man, for his part, returned to the Riviera for the third time, crowned with a global hit in 2016, "Human", and a successful first album that always needs to be confirmed.

The voice is there, obviously, even though the 39-year-old Englishman, who'd been on a spree in the city for three days, woke up feeling unwell and canceled the interviews scheduled for the release of his next album next fall. One senses apprehension beneath his braggart appearance, a reverence so evident behind the tattooed bad boy mask that he states into the microphone the honor it behooves him to share the stage with Sting. "Fucking brilliant!" in short.

The Market Square, still in broad daylight and partially full when he enters the stage, is a challenge that Rag'n'Bone faces without fail—without letting it falter either, aside from the obligatory cheers whenever a bit of a duet with one of his backing singers pushes the vocals into the red. "The Voice" syndrome where the slightest hint of vocal prettiness deserves applause? From the Uckfield baritone, we would prefer an interpretation inhabited overall by the depth of his timbre, an additional risk-taking that dares to escape the very conventional and radio-friendly form of his music. A more to-the-bone, more solid "Bone." Freer from the exaggerated sentimentality that serves his marketing image. 

More Sting, really! For here is the admiral. He often docks on the shores of Lake Geneva (most recently at Paléo in 2022) but seems to have not aged. At 72, he flaunts swimmer's biceps beneath a t-shirt elegantly dotted with holes and a sly self-assurance beneath a well-bred exterior. "Good evening, neighbors! Excuse me for the noise," he simpers—in French in the text—to the buildings surrounding the square, whose balconies are as jammed as the sidewalks behind the fences.

Sting is a jazz lover who rose to fame in the punk era, the biggest British star to emerge from that abrasive period, a virtuoso dressed in rock. His immense strength is being able to dose the musical components of his songs as he pleases, so confident that he walks around, Fender on his side, in front of 5,500 spectators as if he were going from his living room to his kitchen, testing a different flavor on each piece, sprinkling a little jazz here, a touch of bossa there, and some funk jolts there again. Like a star chef, he gauges the success of the banquet as the dishes pass by.

Some seem a little bland, or too saccharine: the downside of being too lax with the jazzy lounge flavor, to the point of ruining "Message in a Bottle," which unfortunately too often opens concerts without the gaunt brilliance of the original. "If I Ever Lose My Faith in You" also lacks determination. As a trio, however, Sting can't stray too far into idle arrangements, although his guitar partner, the formidable Dominic Miller, is no exception when it comes to adding harmonic prettiness. Or when he has fun starting "So Lonely" in a new scale—a clever detour into "No Woman No Cry" restores the situation.

Because when inspiration is judicious, it truly is! The appetizer drifts towards more invigorating entremets and moments of grace, including a "Fields of Gold" that pushes the concert towards the sky or a "Mad about You" all about refined reverie. The rest will be a slow rise in glory until the final three of a kind, a series of hits by Police or Sting but received with equal fervor by the crowd. Barely has she caught her breath after "Every Breath you Take" than "Roxanne" blows up the place but also its surroundings in the same chorus singing the same name, the same refrain. Another evening where she will not have to "light her red lamp": Sting has set the place on fire.

(c) 24Heures by Francois Barras