Sting Brings Masterful Intimacy To London’s Hammersmith Apollo On The 3.0 Tour...

The lights dim at the Hammersmith Apollo, and the crowd’s gentle chatter fades to a low hum of anticipation. A bass guitar hums through the PA — deep, resonant, unmistakable. Three silhouettes appear on stage: Sting, his longtime guitarist Dominic Miller, and drummer Chris Maas, best known for his six-year stint with Mumford & Sons. No fanfare, no grand entrance — just a quiet walk into the light. Then, with a single snap of the snare, the trio ignite. Tonight is the second of three shows at the venue on this run, following an even more intimate London outing at the O2 Forum Kentish Town the previous week.

Message In A Bottle bursts open the night, a familiar plea of isolation now transformed into a communal singalong. Miller’s reimagined guitar tones — bright, rhythmic, almost orchestral — stretch the classic Police riff into new dimensions, while Maas brings a sharp, precise drive to the groove. The song’s chorus becomes an exchange between stage and audience, thousands of voices returning every word in unison.

The 3.0 Tour is Sting’s experiment in reduction — stripping away the big-band arrangements and world-fusion trimmings of recent years, distilling his five-decade songbook into its purest elements, just as The Police had been just a three-piece for its era-defining duration. It’s not a nostalgia show, though it easily could be. Instead, this format forces reinvention — old songs reborn through space, texture, and trust. I Wrote Your Name (Upon My Heart), from his 2024 record, slides in next. Its Americana-tinged pulse feels weathered but hopeful, underpinned by Maas’s steady beat and Sting’s mellowed vocals. The contrast between eras — from the ragged urgency of Outlandos d’Amour to the matured reflection of his later work — makes for a fascinating journey through one man’s lifelong musical conversation.

Then comes If I Ever Lose My Faith in You, which prompts a full-house clap-along. Midway through, Miller’s solo bends the familiar melody into a jazz-inflected reverie before Sting introduces his band: “I’d like you to sing with me. It’s my favourite thing — when the audience sings, it makes my job so much easier.” That invitation carries straight into Englishman In New York. The groove is lighter than air; Maas leans back into a delicate shuffle, while the crowd handles the “ooh-oohs” with joyful precision. By the time the band lead sings “Be yourself, no matter what they say,” he barely needs to — the room has already taken over.

After Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, he pauses to reminisce about his early London days: “We are delighted to be back in Hammersmith, on this hallowed stage. I used to play in the pubs here — The Red Cow, The Greyhound. I used to dream about one day playing on this stage, because this was the biggest show in London. The Beatles played here. I saw James Brown here, I saw Weather Report here. I did imagine one day perhaps I’d appear on this stage, perhaps. I think this is the 16th time I’ve stood here, so thanks for sharing it.”

It’s a tender reminder that even for a global icon, venues like the Hammersmith Apollo, or Hammersmith Odeon as it was once known, hold something sacred. Then, in a shift of tone, he introduces Fields Of Gold. “So Hammersmith, then I pinched a lift to the countryside — a little cottage, well, it’s more of a castle really,” he jokes. “It’s surrounded by barley fields… looks like a sea of gold all around the house. One day, I’m sitting on the front step thinking: there’s a song in this.” The performance that follows is luminous. Miller’s fingerpicking shimmers beneath Sting’s soft tenor, each note echoing across the hall’s curved ceiling. For a moment, it feels like the whole crowd is holding its breath. The mood darkens with Never Coming Home, a song about a woman leaving her husband — “we have to imagine she has a good reason,” Sting adds wryly. The sparse arrangement amplifies the storytelling; his voice hovers over Miller’s subtle arpeggios like a confession.

Then, the haunting riff of Mad About You seeps through the room. Sting introduces it like a preacher delivering a parable: “A story in the Bible. Second book of Samuel, 11 to 26.” Maas adds a heartbeat rhythm that grounds the song’s biblical drama in something raw and human. A hypnotic Wrapped Around Your Finger follows — its slow swing and eerie harmonics dissolving into a cathartic Driven To Tears. The Police cut becomes a storm of syncopation and restraint, Maas’s drumming landing with sharp intent, Miller’s guitar lines threading tension through the gaps.

Then comes When We Dance, from 1994’s Fields Of Gold compilation LP, rendered hauntingly sparse — its emotional weight carried almost entirely by Sting’s voice. By now, the crowd is his choir. Can’t Stand Losing You ignites a full-on singalong, the audience echoing his every “yeah-oh” as if they’ve been waiting decades for the chance. Sting grins: “This is my favourite part of the set — you get to listen to Chris Maas play the drums all on his own. All we’re hearing here is restraint, discipline and training. Philosophy, poetry.”

As Maas rolls into a loose groove, Miller begins the crystalline opening to Shape Of My Heart. The hall falls silent — reverent. This is one of those Sting songs that seems to transcend time; tonight it feels both intimate and infinite. That stillness is shattered by the pulsing bassline of Walking On The Moon, the trio transforming it into an otherworldly dub odyssey. “Eyooo, eyoyoyoyoyo,” Sting chants, and the crowd sends it back, wave after wave. So Lonely follows, morphing jarringly into Desert Rose, the blend of reggae and Arabic melodies producing one of the night’s most exhilarating transitions. The main set closes with a knockout pairing from Synchronicity — King Of Pain and the anthemic Every Breath You Take. “Hammersmith, I’ll be watching you,” the band lead grins as the final chord echoes.

The applause barely subsides before the trio return to the stage for tonight’s brief encore. Roxanne erupts, its reggae rhythm morphing into jazz as the audience belts the chorus. Sting laughs mid-song, leading a call-and-response: “Okay Hammersmith, let’s see what you’re made of!” The entire hall responds, “Roxanne-oh!” Then, just as suddenly, the energy softens. Sting lays down his weathered Fender Precision bass, takes up an acoustic guitar, and takes a seat on his stool. Under a single spotlight, he closes the night with Fragile. Each note is crystalline, each lyric deliberate. “On and on the rain will fall, like tears from a star…”

As the final notes fade, the room is silent for a heartbeat before erupting into a standing ovation. He smiles — humbled, grateful, present. At 73, Sting remains a study in control and charisma. The 3.0 Tour distils his art down to its essence: precision, poise, and emotional clarity. There’s no gimmick, no excess — just three musicians at the peak of their craft, weaving sound and story with near-telepathic understanding. This wasn’t a greatest-hits nostalgia trip. It was something rarer: an artist still deeply curious about his own creations, reinterpreting them not out of obligation, but out of love. When Sting first sang Message In A Bottle in 1979 at the age of 27, it was a plea for connection. In 2025, that message feels finally answered — not tossed to sea, but delivered directly to an audience that’s been singing back for nearly half a century.

(c) Rockshot by Kalpesh Patel

A feisty Sting fires up the crowd as he recalls old haunts and revisits classic hits...

There are many Stings, but his determination to keep his music driving forwards means audiences haven’t seen much of the pugilistic garage rocker who forced himself into the big league. Until now.

As a trio, his current “Sting 3.0” band naturally recalls The Police. And there are plenty of moments in a near two-hour show when guitarist Dominic Miller and drummer Chris Maas recall Sting’s start.

It’s made explicit early on, as Sting reminisces about The Police playing nearby pub venues The Red Cow and The Greyhound, thinking they might just be good enough to play Hammersmith Apollo one day. “This is now my 16th time up here,” he smiles, before joking “It’s actually more of a castle” about his countryside home that inspired Fields Of Gold.

That hit is played with the delicacy it needs, also present in a beautiful Shape Of My Heart which waltzes elegantly around the stage. It’s a contrast to Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic and So Lonely, where the 3.0 tear into those early classics by ignoring restraint and nuance in favour of returning Sting to the days when he still had it all to prove.

At the start of the gig, Sting had played a similarly prowling Message In A Bottle, gesturing impatiently at a section of the crowd who had the temerity to still be seated. With Sting in this mood, they didn’t stay sat for long.

If Englishman In New York and even Every Breath You Take are played with more aggression than you’d expect, Miller and Maas are adept enough to rein it in when needed. A Thousand Tears is both moving and magisterial, while Wrapped Around Your Finger sums up the trio’s talents, stately at first until showing its teeth to remind the audience not to get too relaxed.

Only in a meandering When We Dance does musicianship arrive at the expense of the song, the jamming self-indulgent, even if Sting hitting a high note and staying there is a reminder his vocals are in pretty good nick for someone whose vocals should be wracked by now.

After a rowdy Roxanne Sting announces: “We should leave you with something quiet and thoughtful,” as Fragile ends the night on a contemplative moment. It’s a touching finale. Yet it’s the explosiveness and tautness of the power trio which lingers. If Sting returns to the feisty The Red Cow mood for his next music, it could be one of his most exciting and unexpected moves yet.

(c) Classic Pop Mag by John Earls