For decades, The Police were seen as rock’s most unlikely miracle — three men who fused punk fire with pop perfection and conquered the world one hypnotic riff at a time.

But behind the scenes of the stadium lights, beneath the icy cool of “Every Breath You Take,” a slow-burning resentment was festering.

And now, nearly forty years later, that wound has erupted into a courtroom battle that threatens to rewrite music history.

Stewart Copeland, the powerhouse drummer who helped build The Police’s unmistakable sound, has officially sued Sting, his former bandmate and longtime rival, for millions in unpaid royalties tied to the band’s biggest hit — the haunting 1983 anthem that has earned more than $100 million and continues to make Sting one of the richest men in rock.

 

To outsiders, “Every Breath You Take” is a love song.

To those who lived it, it’s a ghost — a reminder of broken friendships, stolen credit, and a creative betrayal that never healed.

 

In the late 1970s, The Police weren’t supposed to make it.

Sting, the moody ex-schoolteacher with poetic lyrics; Stewart Copeland, the brash American drummer with a punk streak; and Andy Summers, the quiet guitar wizard with an ear for magic.

Together, they created a sound no one had ever heard — reggae rhythms colliding with pop melodies and post-punk grit.

Within just a few years, they went from smoky London clubs to global superstardom, dominating the charts and the airwaves.

 

By 1983, they were gods.

Their final studio album, Synchronicity, ruled the world — 17 weeks at No.1 in the U.S., knocking even Thriller off its throne.

But behind the music, the band was tearing itself apart.

Sting’s need for control clashed violently with Copeland’s rebellious energy, and their fights were legendary — sometimes physical, always brutal.

“It was chaos,” one insider recalled.

“They were geniuses who couldn’t stand to be in the same room.” Then came that song.

The one that would change everything — and destroy them in the process.

 

“Every Breath You Take” wasn’t just a hit — it was a phenomenon.

Eight straight weeks at No.1, a Grammy for Song of the Year, and a legacy that’s lasted decades.

From weddings to movies, it became one of the most played songs in history — and one of the most profitable.

 

But here’s the twist: while the credits listed only Sting as the songwriter, many fans — and the other band members — knew the truth was far messier.

 

Andy Summers created the hypnotic guitar riff that made the track unforgettable — that chilling, looping figure that feels both tender and terrifying.

Stewart Copeland built the heartbeat rhythm beneath it, a minimalist drum pattern that gave the song its eerie, stalking pulse.

Their fingerprints are all over the music. But legally, their names were nowhere to be found.

 

When the royalties started rolling in — millions upon millions — the checks all went to one man: Sting.

 

That decision planted a ticking time bomb that would take decades to explode.

 

Copeland has often described the tension that surrounded Synchronicity as “volcanic.” Fights over creative control, over mixes, over money — it all spiraled out of control.

By the time the album was done, so was the band.

The Police went their separate ways, each chasing solo projects, but the bitterness lingered like an unending echo.

For Andy Summers, that haunting guitar riff was both a blessing and a curse.

“It made me famous,” he once admitted, “but it also reminded me, every day, of the money I never saw.”

 

For Copeland, the pain was even deeper — his carefully restrained drum pattern, deliberately pulled back to match Sting’s moody vision, became iconic.

And yet, the publishing royalties — the true goldmine of the music world — never came his way.

 

Decades passed. Sting built a solo empire, selling millions of albums and touring the globe.

And then, in 2022, came the final straw: Sting sold his entire songwriting catalog — including “Every Breath You Take” — to Universal Music for a staggering $300 million.

Copeland and Summers weren’t included. Their life’s work had been sold off — and they received nothing.

 

Now, Stewart Copeland has had enough.

After forty years of frustration, he’s suing Sting and his publishing company, Magnetic Publishing, for millions in unpaid royalties and lost earnings.

The lawsuit, filed in London’s High Court, argues that Copeland’s and Summers’ contributions were far more than mere performance — they were composition.

In short: without their parts, the song would not exist as the world knows it.

In his filing, Copeland insists that his drumming wasn’t just background rhythm — it was part of the song’s DNA, the element that gave Sting’s obsessive lyrics their chilling edge.

Andy Summers’s claim focuses on the riff — arguably one of the most recognizable in rock history — and demands both recognition and compensation for the decades of royalties that flowed to Sting alone.

 

For Copeland, it’s not just about money.

It’s about justice — about rewriting a story that history has told wrong. “Every Breath You Take,” he’s argued, was the creation of a band, not one man’s ego.

 

Insiders say the stakes are massive.

If the court rules in Copeland’s favor, it could redefine what it means to write a song.

For decades, session players, drummers, and guitarists have shaped the sound of hits but walked away with nothing because they weren’t listed as “writers.” This case could blow that system wide open.

 

“Every Breath You Take” isn’t just a song — it’s a money-printing machine.

Sting reportedly still earns over $500,000 a year from it, thanks to constant radio play, streaming, and licensing deals.

The song’s value soared even higher when Puff Daddy’s 1997 tribute, “I’ll Be Missing You,” built entirely on Summers’s guitar riff, became one of the best-selling singles of all time — and yet, once again, Sting alone profited.

 

If the courts decide that Copeland and Summers deserve co-writing credit, the ripple effect could reach every corner of the music world.

Suddenly, decades of hits could be open to re-examination — drummers, producers, and guitarists from classic bands might start demanding a piece of the pie they helped bake.

For the industry, it’s a nightmare. For the artists, it’s long-overdue justice.

 

What makes the story so tragic isn’t just the money — it’s the history.

Sting and Copeland weren’t just bandmates; they were brothers-in-arms, musical foils who pushed each other to greatness.

But that creative chemistry came at a cost.

Their friendship was consumed by rivalry, their trust shattered by fame and fortune.

What began as a shared dream turned into a decades-long cold war.

 

Now, as lawyers battle over publishing rights, fans are left heartbroken — wondering how a song that once defined love and devotion could become a symbol of betrayal and greed.

 

“Every breath you take, every move you make…” The words once sounded romantic.

Today, they feel prophetic — a haunting reminder that in the world of rock and roll, success always comes with a price.