The year was 1985. It was the year in which a certain saccharine paint thinner known as “New Coke” was introduced to the public. It was the year that Pinto from the movie Animal House was up for an Oscar for portraying an insanely extroverted, pink-coiffed Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. And it was the year that Rubik’s Cube continued to confound and govern the ritual on my school bus.

It was also the year that the members of a little old band called Van Halen told its raucous front man, “Diamond” David Lee Roth, to take his ass-less spandex pants and hit the road. This coming after a hell of a 1984, mind you, during which the band had toured relentlessly in support of its artistic and commercial zenith, 1984, which many consider to be one of the greatest rock albums of all time.

But personalities and egos managed to undermine a rock ‘n roll mainstay, and in the wake of an acrimonious split, Roth went on to enjoy a successful solo career for about two seconds (Eat ‘em and Smile anyone?) before toiling away in Las Vegas lounge act obscurity, while Van Halen decided they no longer wanted to be recognized as just a party band, but something more transcendent.

Now whether or not Roth’s replacement, Sammy Hagar, provided them such a distinction has been debatable for the last two decades. But at least Van Halen continued to be Van Halen even without Roth. The same could not be said for yet another iconic band, The Police, which saw its future undergo a precipitous change in direction in 1985 as well. After a performance during the famous Live Aid concert to benefit Africa, Sting, the group’s dynamic and beguiling leader, walked off stage and essentially walked away from what was arguably at the time, the biggest band in the world.

To a certain extent, we Police fans can forgive Sting for such inconsiderateness considering his work during that time-span did yield some immensely rich and diverse music (for my money, “Why Should I Cry for You?” remains the most haunting lament over a love that’s ended). But when Ryan Adams left Whiskeytown or when Phil Collins left Genesis or even when Tom Petty would periodically jettison the Heartbreakers, the indelible sounds that originated from those bands persevered through the solo efforts of their front men. It was basically just a continuation of the same group with a whole new rhythm section and one guy getting the credit. When Sting began his solo career, the jazz-reggae-punk infused amalgamation that was The Police ceased to exist entirely.

Now, more than two decades later, by either some ridiculously bizarre coincidence or opposing forces of nature in collusion with one another, both The Police and Van Halen have reunited under their respective, original incarnations for a world-class, kick-ass tour. And two weeks ago in Charlottesville, it was my extremely giddy and nostalgic pleasure to experience The Police’s first trip to Virginia since they played William & Mary Hall in 1984. In describing the occasion, there’s simply no other suitable expression than this: they just flat-out rocked.

Any traces of well-documented infighting or ego clashing had been excised—or at least expertly hidden—as the band took the stage and launched into “Message in a Bottle” (without, thankfully, the assistance of Kanye West). The visceral response from the crowd was immediate as the obligatory sing-alongs ensued (Sting milking every second of it), and from that point on, the band’s pacing and energy was unremitting.

Hey, when a rendition of “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da” causes goose bumps and head bobbing, you know you must be witnessing something special. They played everything you’d expect them to (“Don’t Stand So Close to Me” and “Roxanne”), as well as a few obscure—yet appreciated—selections (“Next to You” and the rare, punk-rock anthem, “Truth Hits Everybody”).

A surprising highlight of the evening was the juiced-up, percussion-fueled retooling of “Walking in Your Footsteps.” Actually, to proclaim any number that night as “percussion-fueled” would be redundant. Any cynic who would have you believe that Sting was the only viable member of The Police needed only to have witnessed Stewart Copeland’s remarkable and innovative drum work. And Andy Summer’s creations through rhythm and lead guitar are clearly unmistakable and, in many ways, define the sound The Police have cultivated—and now rediscovered without missing a beat.

With the music industry being so grossly oversaturated with product that leaves much to be desired in the way of diversity and originality, it was extremely comforting and reassuring to spend an evening with a band that predicated its legacy on being the exception, not the rule. Not bad for a band that named themselves after law enforcement.

Now if New Kids on the Block would just reunite, I’d be all set.

Todd Guill resides in Christiansburg, works in Roanoke, and dreams of leading the Jupiter colonization effort. He has written for Brick Weekly (Richmond) and The Winchester (Va.) Star.