At some point in the late 1980s or early 1990s, the musician who, at the time, went by the one-word moniker of Sting, started estrogen supplement therapy or a testosterone removal regimen, and decided that his next career would be as far removed from being awesome as he could get.
The Man Who Still Retained The Increasingly-Deceptive Name of Sting decided he would spend most of his time demonstrating that he was serious and intelligent and caring and serene and Zen and could, if asked, menstruate rainbows for you on cue. In other words, he became self-important and emotionally bombastic in exactly inverse correlation to his music's importance and rocking bombast.
What could we expect? He was Important and Smart and Meaningful, dammit!
Rock and Roll and its audience of rowdy ruffians now safely beneath him, The Artist Who No Longer Could Artistically Claim To Be Anything Like A Sting proceeded to soften His sound to the extent that His last three albums have consisted entirely of something sounding similar to the sensuous and self-serious susurrations of a monk in a library, like Yanni or Zamfir without all that messy dynamism.
So, I salute your complete "transformation," Mr. Gordon Sumner, but only in the sense that a transformation often takes the form of a fundamental breakdown. You have dulled your edges and softened your points and hacked away at a musical style which challenged listeners to find meaning and replaced it with a pompous meaning which challenges listeners to find music.
Therefore, you no longer get to be called Sting.
I am suggesting the following substitutions that better fit the pandering "man" you have become.
2) Mystical Enchanter of Song
5) Gordon M. Pussington, Esq.
6) Middle-of-the-Road Artist #793511
7) That One Guy, You Know...
9) Middle-Aged-Lady Whisperer
10) His Grandiloquence