Arts :: Music
Gentleman George by Brian Jewell
contributing writerWednesday Jul 30, 2008 "Who remembers 1990?" George Michael asked the enthusiastic crowd halfway through his high-energy show at TD Banknorth Garden last Sunday. The sea of dancing bodies, largely composed of thirty-somethings, were certainly flashing back to Michael’s heyday in the late ’80s and early ’90s when he ruled MTV with songs like "I Want Your Sex" and "Freedom ’90." I know I felt like I’d been transported back to my college days, and not just because of the drunken straight woman clinging to me. But snippets of his music videos, both solo and from his Wham! days, reminded of Michael’s 25-year journey from the innocuous teen pinup of the ’80s to the would-be sex god of the ’90s to his scandal-prone recent years.
On his first U.S. tour in 17 years, Michael unveiled a new avatar: host with the most. Still sporting his trademark stubble and sunglasses, Michael looked suave and confident in a grey suit with a black T-shirt; in the rare moments when he wasn’t in motion he looked downright elegant on the spare stage dominated by three video screens, with his band and sextet of backup singers tucked away upstage on several levels of scaffolding. Most of the time, though, Michael bustled around like the perfect host determined to make sure that everyone had a good time: exhorting the crowd to sing along to his greatest hits, shaking the tush that launched a thousand ships, and getting the entire Garden to sing "Happy Birthday" to his drummer.
Like a good host, Michael tried to make his guests feel special ("The whole meaning of tonight is thank you, thank you, thank you," he offered,) to be charming and witty ("I know it hasn’t always been easy to be a George Michael fan.") and not to dwell on any unpleasantness. The crowd seemed happy to gloss over the fact that the show started over an hour later than advertised due to a delayed flight; when Michael cheekily announced that he never starts on time anyway, because "I don’t want anyone to miss anything," the audience cheered.
But the loudest applause was reserved for the opening chords of each of Michael’s hits, from a bouncy if perfunctory "I’m Your Man" to the triumphant finale, "Freedom ’90." Throughout Michael was in excellent voice, his soulful tenor reaching a piercing purity on ballads like "One More Try" and "Careless Whisper," a little-boy-lost quality on a bluesy cover of "Roxanne," and a power to rival the driving drumbeats on his club hits.
The songs didn’t come in chronological order, but the set list did faithfully track Michael’s career in another way: it kept getting gayer. Michael didn’t change any pronouns in the songs from his closeted days, or turn "Father Figure" into "Daddy Figure," and it was often a toss-up as to which part of the video projections seemed more out of place: the generic computer imagery, or the footage of female supermodels, burlesque singers and sex workers.
But strained jokes about keeping the straight guys in the house happy were eventually abandoned. And it was soon clear that if Michael had been reticent about the gay thing, he needn’t have worried. When he dedicated "Amazing" to "My man, Kenny" the crowd applauded enthusiastically. And when Michael took off the metaphorical gloves to don the real leather gloves of a cop uniform for some throbbing House songs from his post-closet days, the evening, and the crowd’s energy, hit its peak.
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