Bless The Day You Came Into My Life, I Still Remember...
My name is Terri, I'm 23 years old and I'm a George Michael fan.
There, I said it, I used the word fan. I hate the word fan, as it indicates 'fanatic' and I don't see myself as a fanatic. More intrigued. A lover of music. Of genuine music. Talent. Even as a youngster I wasn't interested in boy bands and similar breathtakingly unforgettably groundbreaking... shite.
Given this whole ordeal started with an admittance regarding George Michael, I should probably get on with my point. Let me take you through a tour of how it all started, went on... and on... and on... and so on. The biggest joke is that I don't have one patient bone in my body. I've always wanted things to happen yesterday, so could I really have chosen an artist less likable to meet my desire? An album every 18 months like most artists? No. An album every 2 years then? No. Three? Nah. Four? Who are you kiddin'? Lucky me, I became a fan within the first year "Older" was out, which means I've been sitting on my pale tush for eight, 8 years, 96 months. Oh, I'm sorry, that would be 94, given "Older" was out in May and "Patience" came in March. Two months short of eight years. That really helps. No, really.
Ok, I'll go on.
I was 15, it was Christmas and I was at my sister's house listening to "Older" seventeen times in a row. By my own choice? Not really. My brother-in-law absolutely loved it. He's into the whole Kiss, Yello etc thing, and has basically never liked a pop record in his life. Naturally I was a bit shocked. We all were. At the end of the evening, he was singing (note that this was after approx ten glasses of wine) along - and the goldfish accompanied him on the chorus to "Fast love" and "Star People". It didn't move me one bit. I was the one moaning the loudest about having to listen to the, quote, piece of shit, unquote, for seventeen hours. So, I clearly didn't like George Michael or his goddamn music.
Exactly two weeks later I was on my couch, drooling over Brad in "Neighbours". Okay, take five minutes to laugh. I'll wait right here. Done? I'll go on then if you don't mind. Where was I... yes, in our living room, watching yet another episode of this thrillingly fantastic show featuring one tall, blond Aussie. (I'll knock your teeth in if you laugh one more time!) The commercial break. I didn't move an inch, continued vegetating in front of the screen until I heard "I'm never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm..." followed by some bloke saying "Wham! the final... the 80's best pop duo with all their hits." Already by the end of "guilty feet" I found myself two inches from the screen, drooling wildly. They played a number of clips from several videos, amongst them "Club Tropicana", "Wake Me Up", "Last Christmas", "The Edge of Heaven" and so forth. I did a great impression of a goldfish, glaring at the screen, gawking like some retarded idiot. (This impression would be repeated years later - keep reading!) I was 15 and I had just seen the most gorgeous creature on earth.
Once I managed to compose myself - about ten minutes later - (fuck "Neighbours" and Brad!) I stumbled over to the phone to give my sister, who was young in the 80's, a call. I asked, sounding rather disturbed I'd imagine, "WHO is that gorgeous guy from that group Wham!?" I was greeted by a silence, followed by roaring laughter. For about five minutes. I wasn't amused, wondering where the hell that man had been all my life. My sister finally managed to ask where I'd been for the past decade. I believe I said something in the lines of: "Obviously on the wrong fucking planet!" When I asked again who he was, and she said, "That's George Michael" I literally fell out of the chair I was sitting in. Wha-at! That devilish looking git was the same as the gorgeous youngster with the fluffy hair? No, no, no. Clearly not?
Clearly.
So I got myself "Wham! The Final" on CD and it didn't leave my stereo for about five months. I raided my sister's old records, her boxes in the attic for old George stuff. I found some records, amongst them were "Wake Me Up" 7 inch, "I Knew You Were Waiting" 7 inch and "Last Christmas" 7 inch. When I threatened to take off with'em, my mother reminded me that I was repeating myself from when I was about four, stealing my sister's "Wake Me Up" single, learning how to work the record player (meaning, how to hit "play") and danced around the living room to the track singing "Wake me up before you ko-ko." My sister would have twisted my head around if she knew at the time. 11 years later I was forgiven. I still have those singles.
So that's how it all started.
Between January 1997 and May I scanned record stores for CDs by this "George Michael" character, and found "Faith", "Five Live" and "Listen Without Prejudice". In that order. Miraculous, innit? "Faith" I liked instantly. I then realised I'd already liked "Father Figure" for bloody years, after finding it on some love song collection. This album is easy to listen to, it's not all that complicated. I'm not saying it's simple, I'm saying it's easier than the work that followed. That you can listen to the songs and immediately think, "Yeah, I like this." I thought "Somebody To Love" on "Five Live" was the most extraordinary vocals I'd ever heard, and flickered between this track and "Calling You" for ages, being totally fascinated by the strength of the voice - and being particularly impressed because it was done live.
"Listen Without Prejudice" I remember I had to borrow money from my mother to get. I listened through it and only a few songs grasped me. The first was "Mothers Pride", followed by "Something To Save" and "Waiting (reprise)". I listened half-hearted through the album a few times, but had to let it rest and went back to my original love: Wham! I'd even managed to find a couple of rotten posters from my that box in the attic. I particularly liked a huge one of the "Last Christmas/Everything She Wants" single. Dressed in white, greenish background, the boys facing the right, glaring into the eyes of Patrick Swayze (another early obsession that was forgotten the same day "Neighbours"-Brad was forgotten. A.k.a. the day George caressed ropes and posed in way-too-tiny-Speedos on my screen).
May came and so did my birthday. I got "Older" from my other sister - the one that didn't pay attention when I said, "Anything by George Michael or Wham! besides that 'Older' thing!" So I got it. And I gave it one or two spins, was too much reminded of that horrid Christmas, and didn't touch it again until nearly a month later. I was in a miserable state, trying to deal with a major loss of a parent, when I decided to give the thing another chance. I'd just seen a so-called expert, called him a few things and stormed out of his office, and wasn't feeling much better. I couldn't cry, couldn't sleep without having nightmares, wasn't in the mood for eating, didn't want to talk about it. I believe it would also be known as denial. Of course he wasn't gone. I remember it clearly, I was on the floor between my bed and my stereo. "Older" was on the floor, halfway covered by a piece of clothing. I frowned as I saw the devil-git, sent Wham! flying across the room and put the black CD in. I aggressively ripped out the booklet and nearly against my own will started following the lyrics to "Jesus To A Child". Once I realised what it was about, I started sobbing. Uncontrollably. For about 24 hours. My mother is still insisting this saved my mental health.
I spent the following year moving, starting a new school, hating the education I'd chosen (Health and social studies) and listening to more George. Because of the previously mentioned experience, I automatically opened up to the possibility that this guy could be deeper than I'd first imagined, and that his lyrical ability did go beyond "wake me up before you go-go, don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo". So, not only did he have the most extraordinary good looks when he was like 20, had the most spellbinding voice I'd ever heard - he was something of a genius with words as well. Jackpot! Though I didn't really fancy the handlebar moustache, the "I'm-not-on-drugs" sunglasses and the "I'm-so-depressed-I-can't-wear-anything-but-black" image, I was getting there. Besides, who cared about how he looked (then) as long as his voice made love to my ears whenever I wanted, right?! I began collecting videos at this time. I got the "Final" video from my local Virgin Megastores, watches "Hit For Six" with Kate Thornton notoriously (she always played a video during their hour long show) and taped a zillion hours of VH-1 until I had it all.
April 1998 came and so did George. Well... you know what I mean. I vividly recall having a very loud discussion about his sexuality the day before. Actually, it would be on the day of the arrest, but the day before it was all over the fucking news. I had made up my mind that "George's privacy is his privacy, and even if he is, then so what, cause he's still a great musician, but I don't think he is until he says he is, and he'll probably never say that, if he is, so until further notice he's straight" and preached this until I managed to convince my brother-in-law that he was indeed straight, only to be woken up by him the following day with roaring laughter. I turned on the news and there he was, saying, "I don't have problems with people knowing I'm in a relationship with a man right now." This was fine by me, really. It wasn't like I really fancied him anyway! It was when the rumours about the details around what happened that I got a bit... alarmed. The first rumour was that he was shagging a minor boy in a toilet. Then a male prostitute. Then came the cop story. I was disgusted for about three hours, then thought, literally, "Fuck it!"
Followed by this came the MSN chat. I still remember sitting up until way past midnight in my sister's living room, trying to laugh as quietly as I could not to wake my sister, hubby and their two kids. I had a couple of 'whispers' from George, basically after being an ass. I asked if he could do those high notes in "Wake Me Up" anymore and before I knew it I got a message saying "GuestGeorge98 whispers to Knobby: Since I've had my pants altered, I'm no longer able to hit those high notes! ;)" I also got another humorous whisper after thinking he was gone and cracked some toilet joke I'd heard on the radio the day before. That was a jolly good time. It really was.
The greatest hits came and with it came "Outside" and "As", the first original songs I'd been able to buy since I became a fan. It was very exciting indeed. I recall thinking the voice in the beginning of "Outside" was beyond sexy, and this newfound openness and humour made me think twice about his physical attributes. He was, after all, a fairly decent looking bloke! This was also when I with horror realised that - after having a discussion with a friend of a friend - that he hadn't changed his dancing in like 15 years. (Compare "Wake Me Up" to "As" and see for yourself!) All this really followed by getting hold of whatever I could on CD, tape, vinyl and video. It's quite surprising what you can find in them rotten back street shops that sell hard-to-find stuff for less than a quid.
This was all topped up by a trip to London in 1999. I think I went to every single record store within zone 1 and 2, every dirty little hideaway shop I was in. I basically emptied out Camden Lock for anything George related, and even got myself "Rock in Rio" for a tenner. By this time I had everything he'd released on all the above-mentioned formats. For instance, a CD single isn't just released in one version, no no, it's the one you get for a pound 99 with the title track and one more song, then there's the jewel case version, the fold-out version, the remix version in the above mentioned formats... You can easily get six different versions of the same single. Trust me, you can. And I got them all. At one point I was offered 6000 quid for my collection - and it wasn't even complete at the time.
On this trip we also dropped by the Rock Circus where George'87 in his Faith video pose was to be found. In wax. My boyfriend at the time had a video camera and insisted on filming me while I was making a mockery of myself with this poor doll. In my defence, I was 18... actually, by 18 I should have known better... ok, in my defence, there was no one else around. So we had a laugh, he made me pose with this thing, and I ended up banging my elbow on it, saying something like, "Man, he's hard!" and my boyfriend saying, "How can you see that under the guitar?" I didn't hear him, but smirked and laughed along. It was when we watched our holiday movie for the first time - with his entire family consisting of parents, siblings, grandparent etc - that I realised what was going on. His parents never looked at me the same way again.
I moved away from home this autumn and looked forward to the rumours of a Christmas album. I thought this literally meant Christmas album, and had a laugh about possible re-written classics, like, "I Saw Kenny Kissing Santa Claus" etc. While waiting we were given an assignment at school to do a presentation about something or someone who meant something to us. 15 minutes. I was fighting the urge to shove my teacher’s head up her own arse, but then decided to do George instead. (How come that sounded wrong...? You know what I mean...!) So I did a biography, with pictures, music, learned everything by heart and entertained for 17 and a half minutes. Even those who didn't like the man and his music before were intrigued. And I got my first A+. Anyways. Christmas time came, and it became clear it wasn't a Christmas album at all, but a cover album. I immediately befriended the promo person at Virgin and got "Roxanne" and "Miss Sarajevo" on CD before the album was out. The most memorable song was "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face". I remember it clearly. I was going to have a test the first lesson of the day, I was on my way out when I found somewhere to listen to the song, listened to it, jaw hitting the floor and being totally paralysed by the beauty of it. I was late for my bus, the next didn't come for another hour (yeah, I was living in cow-land at the time...), I was already late for class, had to run to school which took about 45 minutes and missed the test.
This was, if I remember correctly, followed by a number of concerts I wasn't able to attend. Trying to block that period out of my mind, really. I was going to Net Aid, but got mononucleosis, was going to Linda, but couldn't get tickets, was going to Stonewall but couldn't get tickets, wanted to go to Equality Rocks but it was too far. I do recall watching Net Aid on the web, waiting patiently while listening to a number of fucking annoying twats (I'm sure they were all lovely, but when you're waiting, you're waiting...) and during Equality Rocks I was up till bloody 5am and they didn't even show the fucking duet with Garth Brooks. I put together some interesting obscene phrases that morning. It was still worth it though, and I believe I saw more of him than those all the way in the back there. (Hah!)
In August 2000 I fled to London to escape my own boredom and stayed for exactly 2 weeks. As an au pair. I basically spent my time searching for items I didn't have, tried fighting off the urge to strangle the kids I was supposed to look after for 45 quid a week and heard the first rumour of a title: "Amazing". First single from the new album. Definitely. Due out for Christmas. Definitely. This would be the most recirculated joke in the history of George. "The album's out by Christmas". Yeah! Christmas my left boob. What I remember from this period was a lot of waiting. For nothing, really. I may have left London in August 2000, but returned in January 2001 to repeat the same mistake again, but I would not be defeated this time. I hated every second of the pretentious little brat giving me an attitude (hey, she may have been four but she was evil! "Hey, don't panic, alright!", "I'm gonna tell on you!" and "I don't like you" were statements I dealt with on a daily basis!), but stayed for six months.
This was when I started hanging out with someone at Sarm West studios. I basically met everyone besides George during those months. I had every Friday off, and to not be forced to handle the kid cause I wasn't "doing anything anyway" I went to the city (hey, that sounds familiar...!) to hang with my Sarm guy. This was around the time of the back surgery. I would have a laugh, talk to John Douglas and so on. I've lost count of the times I heard "Ow, you just missed him!" This wasn't particularly frustrating at all... I had a couple of messages passed on, got a couple of items signed, amongst them my special edition, fold out, double, Australian version of "Father Figure" (try getting your mouth around that!)(Sounds like something George'd say...)(Anyway!) where the poor sod smeared the inc all over the place, apparently saying something along the lines of "Fuck... this is a lovely pen...!" Can't you just hear the sarcasm? Bless. By the end of my stay I ran into his manager, we had a chat and he asked if I had a number he could reach me on, "or George can reach you on?" He said he'd tell George to give me a call if he was in town before I left and "set up a meeting". Obviously I was stupid enough to believe that, and slept with one eye open, holding my mobile for a week. Though it didn't happen, it was nonetheless exciting!
Then there was more waiting. We were once again promised an album for Christmas. Again. For the whatnot'th year in a row. Christmas came, no album, but the promise of a new single did. And it came. And so did a lot of people. (Sorry, recirculated joke.) I still remember getting "Freeek!" - after running 967 blocks to get to Universal before they closed for the night - and putting it on, thinking, "Fuck this is cool! Fuck this is cool!" and was convinced this would bring him back from the dead as far as single sales amongst youngsters were concerned. And that breathing at the end. And the video. Hel-lo! Sex-y and then some! August the same year came "Shoot The Dog", and with it came controversy and part one of the Iraq debate. Obviously an album would have to come for Christmas now! Nah. "Yeah, I'll get you the new George Michael album for Christmas!" *snigger* "What's always promised for Christmas but never arrives? George Michael's new album" etc. It was all very classy.
2003. What happened in 2003? Oh, yes, of course, part two of the Iraq debate, "The Grave", cute dog on Richard and Judy, debate, debate, a-bridge-and-a-chorus of "Precious Box" and more debate. It was such a big deal to hear anything new from him at this point that we'd take anything. A cover? Who cares, bring it on! Three different versions of it? Bring'em all on! When I first heard it I was seriously moved by the obvious passion in his voice. He took a lot of stick for his anti-war stance, but given the choice between doing something or nothing, George chose to do something and I respect him for that. The video for "Shoot The Dog" was hilarious! Absolutely hilarious! Even my five-year-old niece understood it. I was quite shocked, actually, as I showed her the video and she said, "Is that man like a dog for this man?" Point proven, thank you very much!
In June I moved to London. Again. Not working with kids this time. (It has to be said, if I did I'd kill one!) I had one great master plan, and that was to pursue journalism (that I'd been doing in Norway for the past four years. Norway is a small country, and I'd interviewed everyone there twice...). And once again try and pursue George. By "pursuing" I mean "meeting". Given I'd tried for fucking months in 2001 without any luck whatsoever, I didn't get my hopes up. I met up with a friend from the net, we went to Air studios to wish him happy birthday and give him a little symbolic pressie, and matter-of-factly pressed the buzzer and asked if George would come in today. Of course they weren't allowed to tell us that, but suggested we'd wait around, so we did. An hour later we were discussing who we had to blow to get the birthday thingy inside the studio, and in the middle of the most disgusting scenario involving one of the receptionists and discussing who would do the blowing, I noticed a huge grey vehicle approaching. I started banging my friend's arm, saying "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck" mechanically, and she replied with "Oh fuck, oh shit, I know, I know." There was George. With his goatee, his cap, his grin, his Tupperware box with weed and his patience. He humoured us for about ten minutes with autographs and pictures, and I did another great impression of a goldfish because I all of a sudden had nothing to say. Luckily my friend had a whole load to say, so she did the talking, basically. I tried not to laugh at the "Yeah, the album is out for Christmas" statement, and we were off. That was, after taking off with his car keys (that he handed to me, thank you very much!), realising I had a set of keys that weren't mine, calling him back ("Fancy having these back?"), having a laugh, giving him the keys back - we left him to his business. It was such a weird and such an amazing feeling, we had to pinch each other all the way home, and when I got the pictures developed it kicked in for real. I'd met George Michael. How fucking cool was that!
A few more meetings took place. He was always being very sweet, until I was being sarcastic about his progress ("So, how many songs have you actually finished, then?!" that made him laugh). After that we had an understanding: sarcasm and swearing was allowed. This was followed by a conversation starting with "It's fucking hot today, innit?". I could go into great detail of every meeting, but I won't. Been there, done that, was slaughtered, got the t-shirt. But it was incredibly enjoyable, we had a laugh, I was hugged twice (ah, bless!), kissed once (probably the most a-sexual kiss in the history of mankind!) and heard "Through" on his car stereo. His opening line was always (apart from the "fuckin' 'ot" approach) "Do you have a question for me?" This probably because we had planned to do an interview. I got as far as inside the studio, his studio for the past year, until we were interrupted and he went on with his last day at Air, finishing the final mix for Freeek!.
The whole interruption thing pissed me off for a while. A long while. But no hard feelings towards George. The fact that he, the most reluctant artist in the world, decided he wanted to do an interview with me is pretty unique. Oh, yes, I should mention I got his "yes" in July - nearly six months before he signed that infamous Sony deal. I was 22, a nobody, a freelancer - but he still said yes. And when asked again in January, he said "Call me here tomorrow and I'll tell you when. By the end of the week, yeah? Half an hour?" Purr-fectly fine. Half a bloody hour! I suspect the initial reason why he said yes in the first place was my promise of a Music Total interview, something I have yet to see in this round of interviews! (Hey, I'm still up for it, you know!)
Christmas had already passed and the album was still a no-show, but in January came "Amazing" and with it came a whole shitload of interviews. I was given the first one. (Ahem! Honestly, fuck it that it didn't pull through properly. I got the first interview! Hah!) I was in my room in a dump in Camden Town, trying not to wake my roommate, so I went up to the top floor and waited for 8:15am. Radio 1 presented "Amazing" as "Patience" and we were greeted with "da da da, da da da". I wasn't impressed to begin with. Thought "what the hell is this?" but then rewound, had another listen and what do you know... even from a happy-up-tempo song I begun sobbing, something I hadn't really done since "Jesus To A Child" and "You Have Been Loved". I mean, how moved can you get from "I'll be your educational lover, your one fuck fantasy"...? Anyway, the lyrics hit me where it hurt. "I guess that Cupid was in disguise the day you walked in and changed my life". What's sad about that? Well, apparently something.
After a whole series of interviews, half a video and a shitload of airplay came 15 March 2004 and with it came "Patience". Yes, PATIENCE! What a fucking piss-take! It has to be said, a week before that came 30 second clips of each song in rotten sound, but it gave you the general idea. We were also given the fortunate advantage of having to listen to Radio 2 all-fucking-day to get a couple of songs. On a first listen, my immediate favourites were "American Angel", "Through" and "My Mother Had A Brother" besides "Freeek!" and "Amazing". At this point, even the 30 second clip of "American Angel" left me sobbing... not to mention when I got the full version of the song. "...through all of those battles, then you came... stepped out of the fading light, said, 'Baby, I'm American, dry your eyes again, cause I'm here to save your life'." is absolutely beautiful. Had there been more love songs like this the genre wouldn't have such a bad rep. At this point you may wonder what the hell is wrong with me and all that, crying from two plain love songs, but that's the thing. They're not just plain love songs, they're real love songs, from the heart; songs about real love... "My Mother..." has some phrasings that does it every time for me. "Tears in the dirt and all over your newborn treasure" sends shivers down my spine. Every time. And if I'm alone I may even allow myself a quick sob. "But mama will you tell him from your boy" leaves my neck-hair standing. I'm trying to think of an artist who's able to bring me this kind of sensation, whether it's happiness, sadness, any kind of emotion, and I find that I can't.
It has to be said, at this point I wasn't too impressed with the other songs. Was a bit disappointed, perhaps. To me "Faith" was easy. "Listen Without Prejudice" was more of an effort. "Older" was hard - and "Patience" harder. (No sniggering in the back!) There should be regulations against forming an opinion of a George Michael album before you've listened to it 30 times, given - if you think about it - he's clearly progressed from "Faith" to now, and the result is more sophisticated, more complex, and it takes a while to grasp the depth of high quality music. Bearing this in mind I decided to listen to it, give it time, and what do you know... It's brilliant. "John and Elvis" has kept me awake, pondering and wondering about the mystery of the track. Not the meaning so much, but the feel. The feeel. (Sorry, in-joke...) We'd discussed this song about five months earlier, where he presented this as the first single off the album. I obviously thought he was taking the piss when he couldn't even give me the title without grinning widely. I'm still wondering what the hell happened to that piano intro - and will we ever hear that original arrangement?
I could go on and on and on about what each song has meant to me through the years, but this thing is too long already, and if you're still reading you should give yourself a pat on the back (and you should probably also remind yourself to get that hobby). I'm going to round off. Yeah, eventually.
What I'm pleased to have found out during my seven years as a fan (I actually cringe as I write that word), is that by meeting George I got the feeling it was all worth it. The waiting, the waiting and the waiting. I've loved his music for a reason, and part of that reason has been that I've grown fond of the man behind it. His sense of humour, wit and sarcasm, his ability to share his own experiences, good or bad, through his lyrics and the way he gets under your skin with the compassion and feel of his voice. He can make you believe anything. Whether it's that he's your father figure, your sexual freeek, that music fell like rain to the streets or that his Texan geezer is amazing. When you listen to his songs and the phrasing of the words you think, "Well, of course! When you put it like that!"
He never fails to amaze me. It's not always a positive amazement, i.e. "Oh, not this Christmas either...", I don't always agree with his choices and statements, but I wouldn't say that's too weird. He's not perfect, he knows it, I know it, and nobody can be perfect. But as he once said: "It's not what you have that makes you a star, it's what you don't have." That may be true. But it's also true that those who have the raw talent, those who have the real passion, those who can't imagine life without their art, those are the ones who deserve to stay around for years and years to come. And I believe that no matter what he decides to do, whether "Patience" really is his last album, I do believe that he'll never stop making music. It's what he's good at, it's what he does - what he lives for. He may be through with the business, but he's not through with the music. In one way or another he'll keep touching people like myself by sharing his life, giving us a tour of his emotions - because it's what he's meant to do. "May you live to be a hundred, and may the last voice you hear be mine."
Date: very late 30 April/very early 1May 2004