A close-up, slightly high-angle shot of Stewart Copeland, the drummer of The Police. He has white hair, is wearing black-rimmed glasses, and smiles warmly at the camera. He is wearing a grey t-shirt under an olive green jacket, seated in his home studio. To his left sits a full Tama drum kit with a reddish-brown sunburst finish. To his right, a busy wooden desk is filled with papers, a pair of reading glasses, a vintage green stapler, and a bag of Trader Joe's Olive & Herbs Mixed Nuts. The background features a large, floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelf packed with books, instruments, and music memorabilia. — Stewart Copeland Credit: Screengrab by Josh Bradley/Creative Loafing Tampa Bay

Stewart Copeland can talk your ear off about his admiration for Lingala, Jimi Hendrix, and even Justin Bieber. But don’t even think about accusing him of being a jazz guy.

Before jazz fusion was really a thing, the Police drummer’s father—who was a jazzman himself—raised him on mostly big band artists along the lines of Woody Herman and Stan Kenton.

“My daddy raised me to be a jazz musician, so I’m not one,” Copeland told Creative Loafing Tampa Bay during a recent video call from his Sacred Grove home studio in California. He even admits that his longtime jazz fusion friend Stanley Clarke told him that he grew up listening to the wrong kind of jazz, mostly meaning big band material.

“And then Jimi Hendrix came along, and that blew all those trombones and trumpets out of the water,” Copeland added.

The 73-year-old can still bang the cans as well as he did with Sting and Andy Summers when new-wave was all the rage, but he knows that longtime ride-or-dies are chomping at the bit to hear the stories behind those days. And while he still takes to the road every now and then to perform Police hits with local orchestras, Copeland is trying something a little different this summer.

Typically, new books are supported by a speaking tour, but in his case, it’s the other way around. Last fall, after a series of critically-acclaimed speaking engagements in England, Copeland and his “unreliable friend” Johnny Morgan (an amalgamation of roadies, friends, and pot dealers he’s known over the years) put out a book version of the “Have I Said Too Much?” tour, which shares the same name. He figured it would be a good idea to immortalize the tales he’s explained endlessly over the years, and then some.

“The songs don’t get old, you know? And it’s the same with these stories,” he told CL. “‘How’d you meet Sting?’ ‘How’d you meet Andy?’ ‘Where’d you get that crazy name for your band?’ And such things, I’ve explained these a million times.”

So while calling this strictly a book tour may be a stretch, Copeland’s stop in downtown Clearwater this weekend appears to be his first time in Tampa Bay since The Police’s groundbreaking reunion tour took over the old St. Pete Times Forum (now Benchmark International Arena) in 2007.

Tickets to see Stewart Copeland at Clearwater’s Bilheimer Capitol Theatre on Friday, June 5 are still available and start at $34.

Read our full Q&A with Stewart Copeland below.

Stewart Copeland

Time Fri., June 5, 8 p.m.

Location The Nancy and David Bilheimer Capitol Theatre, 405 Cleveland Street, Clearwater

Hi, Stewart. Thanks for doing this with me. Are you in the Sacred Grove right now?

Indeed, I am. Here I am in the Sacred Grove. I call it home.

It definitely looks sacred. You’ve jammed with Jeff Lynne down there, Snoop Dogg, Stanley Clarke…who’s somebody that you really want to bring down there one day?

Jimi Hendrix, among others. I’d like to get Tom Morello over here…you know who I’d like to get over? Justin Bieber. The guy’s actually a for-real musician! When he first busted out, he was a bad boy and everybody was beating up on him. It’s not his fault that he exploded when he was like, 12 or something like that. But you could tell right away on drums, guitar, whatever, he’s the real deal. He’s really got it, and his only crime is that it all bust open at such an early age for him. But he’s actually the real deal.

He really is. That song that he did with Ed Sheeran, “Love Yourself?” That’s a great song. He really got a lot of crap.

Because he was a callow youth when everybody was looking at him, and at that age, you don’t know anybody better.

Yeah, I guess. But he grew up.

Yeah, so I hear.

I wanted to ask about the book and also your “unreliable friend Johnny Morgan,” verbatim, who helped write it. How did you guys meet?

Well, it’s actually a composite character of several people that I’ve known over the years. We got created this character who was, like, roadie, hanger-on, dope dealer, and confidante. He’s a collection of different people.

Oh, that makes sense. So what made the light bulb go off to take on this book project?

It was the talk tour that caused this. An English promoter said, “hey, how about we put you in theaters in small towns?” And so I did it, just to see what it was like, and I really enjoyed the hell out of it. I love lighting up a room. I’ve got no business chasing the charts anymore, or playing the gigantorium, so playing a little theater like that, telling stories, and lighting up the house is actually a lot of fun. I did another leg and they said, “how about we write a book to go with it?” which is what caused this book. It’s actually the title of the tour, “Have I Said Too Much?”

Right.

And, you know, a lot of the stories I’ve told and retold and retold, and…let me back up a little for second here. People often ask, “when you’re playing ‘Roxanne’ for the millionth time, how can you keep it fresh?’ And by some strange alchemy, it gets more and more fresh every time you play that old song, just because it’s got a thing to it.

It’s like a ceremony, in a way. And, um, they just don’t get old, and I’m sure you’ve had other artists tell you that. “No, the songs don’t get old,” you know? Bruce Springsteen probably loves playing born to run, you know? And it’s the same with these stories. “How’d you meet Sting?” “How’d you meet Andy?” “Where’d you get that crazy name for your band?” And such things. I’ve explained these a million times, and they’ve kind of honed into dinner tales, which I enjoy sharing with these audiences.

Nice. Going back a little bit here. Having grown up in the era of the British Invasion especially, a time when artsy kids were veering more towards learning guitar or even bass. What made you want to take up the drums specifically? Like, was there a drummer back then that caught your eye?

Oh, the drums came and got me. My father was a musician before he became a CIA man, and he filled the house with musical instruments so his kids would learn to play, but my three older siblings didn’t. They just didn’t pick ‘em up. But I did. I picked up every one of them. And just banging stuff — I was a scrawny kid, I was a late developer, and as soon as I started banging on those drums, I suddenly was transformed into an 800-pound, hairy-ass silverback motherfucker swinging through the trees! And so, that’s what drew me to the drums.

Right on. Fasting forward closer to the end of the Police’s main run, you did The Rhythmatist, and I’ve seen a lot of people call that a precursor of sorts to Paul Simon’s Graceland, which is one of my favorite records ever.

It’s not true, but I will take that accolade gladly! I doubt if Paul Simon heard The Rhythmatist and said, “hey, I should go do that,” but since you said so, that makes it official. For all your readers, yes, it’s now true. Paul Simon owes everything to me.

Haha, yeah. But I guess even though that’s not really the headspace you were in, how long did it take you to give Graceland a listen after it came out? Like, did Rhythmatist even come to mind when you first heard it?

I was right in there like everybody else. I would put that up there as one of the best albums ever made. I’m not even a Paul Simon fan, by the way. I don’t do singer-songwriters — that’s just not my thing. But that album stands out. The African effect, I guess, but one of those songs, “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes?” I can’t listen to that song — it’s too beautiful. It breaks my heart. I get a few bars in and say, “oh yeah, this is such a—oh no, turn it off.” Because I’m personally, very susceptible to music. It affects me emotionally, sometimes too much. There’s a lot of music I just can’t listen to, because it takes me into a weird headspace. And Paul Simon has one of those songs. The rest of the album, I listen to quite comfortably. Just not that one.

Gotcha. But we got a reissue of The Rhythmatist earlier this year for Record Store Day, which I still want to get my hands on a copy of. Do you think a re-release of the documentary you did to go along with it is in the cards at all?

Well, it’s kind of embarrassing. It was, I think, 40 years ago now, so I think I can shrug it off and laugh at the antics of my younger self. It’s really a dumb movie. It’s got some incredible scenes in it — me in a chickenwire cage, banging on drums while being attacked by hungry lions, racing with the giraffes across the Serengeti, on horseback… various incredible scenes, but the fundamental movie is really, really dumb. You know, we can laugh. Okay, a young guy there, dressed in black, crossing Africa, we can laugh. No plan to re-release it or anything, but maybe we should think about that. Or some version of it!

Which reminds me: Is it true that you got arrested while you were in Africa?

Yeah, yes, of course. Glad you asked. My night in jail in Kinshasa. It was in the Congo, which was then known as Zaire. And unfortunately, it was not like anything sexy, like drug-running, or gun-running, or anything like that. It was just a visa infraction, which landed us in the clinker overnight. But the good news was that while in jail, listening to the radio of the guards outside, I discovered a new music to me called Lingala, which is kind of a French language patois on American guitar bass and drums, entirely African.

I had gone to Africa to search for the roots of American music. We all know that the most distinctive feature of American culture is our music, and that our music pretty much derives from black culture. So I went over to Africa to find this, and I discovered, actually, that, no, the origins of black culture in America…long story. But I didn’t find the backbeat in Africa. I didn’t find the flattened seventh in Africa. What defines American music from black culture is American.

But I was over there to find that stuff. And, I found that—one thing that was interesting was that American music had returned to Africa, in the form of Fender guitars, electric guitars, drum sets and so on. And there are these Africans playing African music on American instruments with a kind of French patois language. Check it out — Lingala. Some artists to look up would be TPOK Jazz, Tabu Ley, and Franco. Start there.

Cool, will do. I know you’re also a huge jazz guy, and a few days ago, Sonny Rollins passed away. Did your paths ever cross? I know he was more of a New York guy and you were more of a California guy…

No, no, no, our paths never crossed. You say I’m a big jazz guy, which is kind of amusing because one of my favorite party tricks is to dump on jazz, just to piss everybody off. My daddy raised me to be a jazz musician, so I’m not one. I was into Buddy Rich and Stan Kent, and—my buddy Stanley Clarke tells me “dude, you were raised on wrong jazz,” which is to say white, big band jazz. Like Stan Kenton, Woody Herman, Buddy Rich, and Louis Bellson.

And then Jimi Hendrix came along, and that blew all those trombones and trumpets out of the water. It was all about guitar and drums from then on.

Jazz, like any other form of music, has a lot of crap and a lot of great stuff, you know? There’s some mild stuff that is transcendental, and there’s a lot of bullshit, as well. And jazz, I would say, 97% of it is bullshit, whereas something like the blues, 97% of it is real. You know, ’cause blues, you’ve only got three notes to choose from. And you can only play the blues if you have lived a life.

And it doesn’t matter how many notes you play, but they’ve all had meaning. Whereas jazz, I’ve been playing music for 74 years. You can’t fool me — most of them are just wiggling their fingers in a meaningless fashion. Except for the towering greats amongst them, like Miles, some modern jazz, which isn’t—I don’t even call it jazz. Mahavishnu Orchestra, Return To Forever, Weather Report. That is some fantastic music. Oh, wait a minute, you’re calling it jazz. Where’s the “ting, ting, ting, ting, ting, ting?” My daddy wouldn’t have called it jazz because it don’t swing, so it wouldn’t have meant a thing to him.

But, that fusion stuff is pretty cool. But there’s no other way to light up a dinner party, other than with such statements as, “you know, the problem with jazz musicians is that they all suck!” That definitely will get your party rocking right there right there. Tongues will be wagging, people will be throwing food, suddenly, a boring dinner party is now great. Or another one is, “you know, jazz is the last refuge of the talentless.” Okay…discuss. And by the way, I can tell you some of my best friends are jazz musicians.

I figured. That’s why I brought it up — mostly because of Stanley.

Another thing about jazz is that it’s much more fun to play than it is to listen to. Jazz is a lot of fun to play, ’cause it’s all about the chops. Chops are fun. And for that reason, I may diss upon jazz musicians, I dump on them at every opportunity. But jazz fans are deeply beloved. They are the best fans in the world. OK, jam band fans are pretty cool too. And the reason why jazz fans are so great is because they pay good money to hear you play cool stuff.

They’re not about the song. The song serves the band rather than the other way around, and jazz fans want to see all your cool stuff that’s fun to play. So come on down, all you jazz fans. I love you all, even though I am not such a studious practitioner of the jazz arts. And I just can’t help dumping on jazz musicians, ’cause they got that attitude, you know? And their attitude about skinny rock musicians is, “they don’t get paid as much as we do and they don’t get laid as much as we do,” so you gotta cut them some slack. And for all you jazz musicians out there, I love you. I respect you, and I’m sorry that you can’t earn a decent living, and then you have to teach in a music school instead of playing music for a living.

Go off, king.

Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch! The only true part of that outrageous statement was that… I love you. And the reason this was on my mind, by the way, is because just the other day, I played a jazz festival here in Santa Monica with my good friend Stanley Clarke and a bunch of other jazz people. It was a day of jazz. Oh, my God. Jazz music is even funnier than death metal.

How so? It’s funnier than death metal?

Well, I mean, these guys standing up, they’re looking all serious, and playing. And like I say, these wonderful people who turn out to hear this bullshit, and actually loving it! I must be missing a couple brain cells or something like that. I don’t get it. Even though I love my fellow musicians. Backstage, we’re all hanging out. We’re all good. But I’m listening to what’s going on onstage, and thinking, “okay, gosh.” And by the way, none of these jazz musicians that are back there? They’re all illustrious in the jazz world, but none of them get hired for sessions…why are we spending so much time dissing on jazz? I love jazz. I love everything about jazz. Come on!

Nah, it’s hilarious. But anyway. Tell me a little bit about Wild Concerto, because that was your main focus last year, right?

Yes, yes. There was a man called Martyn Stewart, who has spent his life collecting sounds of birds primarily, but all kinds of animals all over the world. Every known form of bird and their call. He’s spent his life out there on his hands and knees in the jungle, getting this incredible soundscape. And he sent them to me to see if I could do anything to—he’s on an ecological mission and I’m not. I’m just a guy who bangs shit. But he sent me all these sounds, and said, “could you make music with these?” And so, I did. I took these different animals, the hyena, the red-breasted nuthatch, and all these different animals. Howling wolves…speaking of jazz, those wolves are deep, cold trained, man. You put a trombone up next to a howling wolf and now technically, that wolf is atonal. Very atmospheric and emotional, but there’s no actual pitch.

But put a trombone next to that bad boy, and suddenly, that wolf has now been tuned. Your ear, cognition, your brain joins the two sounds together. And now, that wolf is some jazz wolf. And it’s just a beautiful thing. Same with the hyenas, and with these different birds, I’ve got the actual sound of the bird. I don’t fuck with the sound, but I place them rhythmically, and then I have a big orchestra around them.

I went to Abbey Road Studios and recorded a big bad orchestra to accompany all of these animal sounds.

Dang. That’s pretty remarkable.

Yeah, “60 Minutes” did a nice piece about it.

*This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

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