Strange Things Happen: A life with The Police, polo and pygmies
A remarkable memoir from the legendary drummer with The Police.Stewart Copeland is a genuine rock legend. As the drummer with The Police he was part of the biggest rock band in the world. They sold over 50 million records, won 2 Brits and 6 Grammys and were inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. When they reformed in 2007 they played to nearly 4 million fans on a record-breaking world tour which grossed over $400m.But his time with The Police is just a tiny part of his story.Growing up in Lebanon, unaware that his dad was a major US spy. Being best friends with Kim Philby’s son. Singing in the choir in Wells Cathedral. Performing arts college in San Diego. Drumming with prog-rock gods Curved Air. Appearing on TOTP as Klark Kent in full camoflage make-up. Spray painting The Police logos around London at night. Rock stardom and fan obsessions. Filming experimental movies with a pygmy tribe. Playing polo against Prince Charles. Recording the score to Rumblefish with Francis Ford Coppola looking on. Composing operas. Reforming the band. Arguing with Sting. Embarking on one of the biggest tours of all time as he approaches sixty.These are just a few of the episodes covered in this revelatory autobiography. It is destined to be a must-read for thousands of Police fans and music enthusiasts.Strange Things Happen is an unforgettable memoir from a musician who has earned his place in rock history.
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Strange Things Happen
A Life with the Police, Polo,
and Pygmies
Stewart Copeland
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1 A LETTER TO A CHILDHOOD FRIEND 2009
CHAPTER 8 A QUICK HISTORY OF THE POLICE 1976-78
CHAPTER 12 OPERA HOLY BLOOD, CRESCENT MOON
CHAPTER 13 BAKE-OFF IN FORT WORTH 1990
CHAPTER 17 LA NOTTE DELLA TARANTA
CHAPTER 19 DANCING WITH THE (POLL)STARS
CHAPTER 20 SCORING WITH ANJELICA
CHAPTER 21 FOO FLYING WITH THE FLY FOOS
CHAPTER 23 JUDGE HARD PLACE AND THE BBC (NICE VERSION) 2006
CHAPTER 24 THE GRATEFUL DAD 2007
PART IV ABNORMAL AGAIN EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT; NOTHING HAS CHANGED
CHAPTER 26 LOCK UP YOUR MOTHERS: WE’RE BACK
CHAPTER 27 WILL THIS FLY? 2007
CHAPTER 28 EBERHARD SETS US FREE 1978
CHAPTER 29 A MIGHTY WIND IN THE MAGIC STINGDOM
CHAPTER 32 CONQUERING HEROES INSIDE THE EXPLOSION
CHAPTER 37 FOUR BEERS AND THE PRESIDENT
CHAPTER 40 BURNING THE GOLDEN GOOSE 1984
CHAPTER 42 TOAST IN THE MACHINE
Dear Iskandar,
A lot has happened since we broke that branch off of old Abu Tannous’s olive tree, behind the Tarazi Palace. Do you remember our little town in the Lebanese hills overlooking Beirut? That was back in 1965. The Russians had just made it into outer space and I was playing in my first band. I wonder what you and your mom are up to now.
We parted rather suddenly when my dad evacuated us after his CIA cover was blown. Do you remember that English kid, Harry Philby? Well, his dad’s cover was blown, too—as a double agent for Russia!
So we got pulled out of the American Community School in Beirut, and I was packed off to boarding school in England. Out in the misty wilds of Somerset, at Millfield School, I kept on blasting on the drums whenever I could. It was difficult because of the noise they made. Wherever I could find a cellar or an attic, or a distant outbuilding I would drag in my four big heavy cases, unpack my kit, and blaze away like fury. It never lasted. Someone was always annoyed by my art, and I would be cast out again.
But I got pretty good at it. By the time I left college, I could get into a semifamous group, and pretty soon I could break out with a little band of my own. We were called The Police and ended up playing huge stadiums. Our songs were glued to the charts. It was a blast! We struggled for two years, surged for four years, and then just sat there at the top of the world for another two years before walking away.
So now I’ve got a real job, a real family, and a real life! I write and record the music you hear in Hollywood movies. I have seven kids! No idea how that happened. Life is pretty settled now, but I keep having these strange adventures. Odd opportunities are attracted to celebrity, even when it’s much faded.
As I write this Lebanon is rebuilding. Again! Last time I checked, the old palace was still standing. But that was one war ago. If you get a chance, could you check it out for me? You’re probably a banker in Dubai by now.
Best wishes,
Stewart
SUMMER, LATE 1980s
One fine morning, I step out of the shower, peer into my wardrobe, and realize that my life is over. I’m looking at an exotic collection of leather pants, hostile shirts, and pointy shoes. Problem is, I’m a forty-something father of four, and I’m feeling kind of mellow. I’m not angry about anything, and as a tax-paying, property-owning, investment-holding lotus-eater, I am in disagreement with what my clothes are saying to the world. The thrill has gone from frightening the natives. I care not that the world be unruffled by my passage through it.
So what do I wear? What have I got in my closet that doesn’t say “FUCK YOU! I’M GOING TO BURN DOWN YOUR WORLD!” For so long, I have had to be worthy of the stares and furtive glances that follow rock stars. It would be unprofessional of me to walk out of my hotel room looking like I’d be safe with children. But now what?
All my life I have lived in self-imposed exile from the normal world. My arty friends and I feel like we are the only humans in a world of robots. A business suit is like the carapace of an insect. Conformity is surrender. Even long hair is a cop-out. Mine has had all color peroxided out of it—heaven forbid that I should be mistaken for a nice hippie.
