Ex-Police Man Finds A New Beat By Teresa Gubbins staff writer of The Dallas Morning News Ah, what a touching tribute -- Sean 'Puffy" Combs rewriting the lyrics to the Police song 'Every Breath You Take' as an homage to his friend, deceased rapper Notorious B.I.G. A regular Grade-A tear-jerker, no? Not according to former Police guitarist Andy Summers. Sting may have chimed in on vocals with Puff Daddy at the American Music Awards, but Mr. Summers remains unmoved by the reworked Police song. "I think it's pretty bad," he says. "I find it kind of corny and sentimental. He did a version of 'Roxanne' which I thought was a lot better. My guitar's not on that -- but it dominates 'Every Breath You Take.' He replaced Sting's lyrics, so I'm the only one -- it's like a cover of me. It's my guitar and nothing else. To me, it's pure commerce." Mr. Summers is at the point where he doesn't have to worry much about commerce. He lives in Los Angeles, as do Sting and former Police drummer Stewart Copeland; when he calls for this interview, he's on vacation in Cabo San Lucas. Of the trio, Mr. Summers was perhaps the most serious in dis-position. After the Police split in 1986, he abandoned rock, drifting from atmospheric music to rockˇjazz to a fuzzy area in between. He's collaborated with Robert Fripp (I Advance Masked and Bewitched, both of which came out in the mid-'80s), Mark Isham (Charming Snakes, recorded in 1990 with saxophonist Bill Evens) and British guitarist John Etheridge (1993's Invisible Threads). His new disc, The Last Dance of Mr. X, recorded with bassist Tony Levin and Gregg Bissonette, continues in the same art-rock-jazz vein. Along with his original compositions, he does covers of Thelonious Monk's 'We See" and Charles Mingus' 'Goodbye Pork Pie Hat." At the Caravan of Dreams show Friday, you probably want to refrain from requesting Police songs. Rock has lost its appeal for Mr. Summers. "Why would I want to listen to most rock!" he asks. "It's all old ideas. I don't hear anything that really knocks me out -- nothing that I haven't thought of or heard played somewhere. All the arche-types were set in the '60s. Only the production has improved. "The lyrics certainly haven't gotten any better. All these new female singers, there's such a ... [flood] of them. To me, the greatest of them all was unquestionably Joni Mitchell. They don't hold a candle to her. They copy her vocal inflections, her lyrical ideas -- she was head and shoulders above most of these that are out now. He just doesn't need to be in a rock band: "I'm more in the jazz scene now," he says. And yet there was something amusing about the Puffy song. "I was amazed it became such a huge hit" he says. "In sort of a kinky way, I liked the way my guitar was on the No. 1 record again. Who would've thought it!" Andy Summers, Caravan of Dreams, Friday, 8 p.m. at Caravan Of Dreams, 312 Houston, Fort Worth. $15. Call (811) 429-4000.

Cop Stop Police veteran Summers far from arresting at Caravan By Teres a Gubbins staff writer of The Dallas Morning News FORT WORTH - You get a lot of leeway if you are, or ever have been, part of a hit-making pop band, as was Andy Summers, former guitarist for pop-rock trio the Police. For Mr. Summers, that translates into the pursuit of a career as a jazz musician and leisurely performances such as the understated one he gave Friday at Caravan of Dreams. "Understated" puts it nicely. Backed by an eager young drummer named Mike Shapiro and bass player Dave Carpenter, Mr. Summers reminded you that, in the old Police days, you rarely if ever took your eyes off Sting. It hurts to say so, because Mr. Summers has at least tried to do interesting things, musically, since the Police broke up in 1986, including collaborations with guitarist Robert Fripp and jazz trumpeter and soundtrack composer Mark Isham. He also received a boost recently when his guitar returned to the airwaves in Sean "Puffy" Combs' remake of the Police song "Every Breath You Take." But none of these factors could turn the stoic Mr. Summers into an animated performer. He showed only the slightest facial expression and barely moved his body, an approach you might call "cerebral," or perhaps English - or just plain dull. He was also an ordinary guitar player - not one of those Vai-type wizards, which in any other case would be a good thing, except that a little wizardry would have at least provided some showmanship. The show was part of a tour to promote the new disc The Last Dance of Mr. X. The title song turned up in the set; it began with a clash of electric guitar and "free-form" drums that sounded more like an ending than a beginning. The trio also performed covers of Mr. Summers' jazz idols, especially songs by Thelonious Monk, including "Misterioso," which opened the show. Mr. Summers played long, fluid notes that swooped up and down, trading solos every so often with Mr. Carpenter. If only there'd been some passion. Mr. Summers showed a bit more personality - just a bit, mind you - during the between-song chitchat. Of course, he was bitingly dry, so much that his humor was difficult to catch. "We have a rapturous communication tonight," he said to the audience, though it was impossible to tell who the "we" was. "My disc is heavily available in Fort Worth" - a pause - "Well, I can dream, can't I?" Then he rambled about becoming pregnant by Martians and the rapidly disappearing line between show business and politics. Aha. And yet, after all this came a payoff. Mr. Summers and company closed the show with two Police songs: "Murder by Numbers" and "Message in a Bottle." It was as if he were rewarding the audience for indulging his whims.