POLICED

THAT'S PRETTY ODIOUS," ANDY SUMMERS SAYS TO ME. "AN ODIOUS COMPARISON." HIS BLUEISH EYES DARKEN. ROUGHLY AN HOUR INTO OUR 90-MINUTE FACE-TO-FACE INTERVIEW, I'D ASKED IF IT BOTHERS HIM THAT IN TERMS OF REACH AND STAYING POWER, HIS SOLO OEUVRE WILL NEVER MATCH HIS WORK WITH THE POLICE.

- ROGIER VAN BAKEL

To me, the observation seemed factual and uncontroversial, like saying that the sun rises in the east. The Police sold more than 75 million records and played some of the largest venues in the world. The night before our interview, I'd watched Summers perform a show in a 400-seat theater in rural Waldoboro, Maine.

But my conversation partner feels I've belittled him and impugned his post-Police career. He looks irascibly out the plate-glass window into the rain-splashed courtyard of his hotel in Portland. No slight was intended, I tell him, and I apologize if my Dutch directness came across as a lack of manners. He softens. "Yeah, you do look Dutch, actually," he says, sizing me up before launching into a brief ode to Amsterdam.

Summers tells me he thinks of himself as a nice guy. He knows that fame and money, both of which he has in spades-his net worth is estimated at $100 million¹amount to power, and "with power comes responsibility. So, you're triple-bound to be nice to everybody. I think all three of us in the Police were like that. We didn't pull any nasty stuff, no matter the demands of the job"-the fans, the press, the sponsors, the endless parade of people who wanted something from him and his erstwhile bandmates. "You just go through it and be a good person."