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He died on Christmas Day, and probably smiled. That sly smile, with a face begging for a slap of aristocratic beauty. He wanted to be alone, sought and claimed solitude: if he had been born in Italy he would have become Lucio Dalla.
The time to put the Wham! together and climb to the top of the world already bubbling, already wanting to escape: still within the duo, he felt the need to release two solo tracks, ‘Careless Whisper’ and ‘A Different Corner’, why? It wasn’t megalomania, it was the urgency of an introspection that was more about wanting to discover himself as introverted.
He hated, in no particular order: men, women, record companies, colleagues, politicians, religious people, institutions. But he never took to the streets, never raised his voice. He smiled, when he felt like it, lending that wonderful voice, which he modulated however the hell he wanted, to poignant, deep, vulgar, playful, delirious lyrics, depending on the case.
Sexually voracious, he stuffed it wherever he could: in the debut album he placed ‘I Want Your Sex’ parts 1, 2, 3. In ‘3’ he claimed to be a gentleman and clarified: ‘I’ll wait for the gin and tonic to hit you’. Chapeau, as Cassano would say.
He depicted Blair making out with Bush in ‘Shoot The Dog’, accused of consenting to the Iraq war like a subjugated puppet.
In 1998 he was caught making love in a restaurant bathroom with a policeman. He hit two birds with one stone: came out and created a breakthrough song (‘Outside’) for the first official collection.
The debut album, ‘Faith’, sold beyond expectations, shattering records. Diverse, catchy, danceable, it earned critical acclaim due to its intelligent craftsmanship.
With its successor, ‘Listen Without Prejudice Vol 1’, brimming with introspection and laden with a sadness that from there on would never leave him, he began his crusade against Sony: bastards, you don’t promote me enough, you don’t support me, I’m not a cash cow.
It was war: ‘Listen Without Prejudice Vol 2’ never came out, ‘Too Funky’ was released for charity purposes. There are demos on YouTube, little else. I recommend 'Disco', it’s beautiful.
He grew sullen with the years. He sided with the disadvantaged, more than the weak. Of course, when Take That disbanded, he took Robbie Williams under his protective wing, eternally high, drunk beyond any limit, and went on the radio to declare that Gary Barlow had no talent.
In 1996 he published ‘Older’, embedding gems such as ‘Jesus To A Child’, ‘Older’, ‘You Have Been Loved’, and ‘Fast Love’.
He reprised his intents in 2004 with ‘Patience’, where he condemned the war (‘Do you want to destroy my home for your freedom?’) protested, reviving the concept of faith (‘Tell me: why if Jesus is alive and well John and Elvis are dead?’). He remembered his mother, the partner who died years ago (the same one from ‘Jesus To A Child’), and continued to make us dance.
Then he said enough, meaning: ‘I’m rich, too much even. It no longer makes sense to earn with music. From now on I will release songs with a free offering, for charity’.
And so he did. From this collection, I liked ‘An Easier Affair’. ‘They believed I could be a family man, but does it seem like it?’ Exactly.
George Michael was a lonely man. By choice, by pain, by fear. He teased the crowd, only to reject it. He didn’t seek approval; it was approval that hunted him.
He found it, predictably. Rolling joints, but not even: ‘There are those who do it for me, duly salaried,’ he once said, in front of a dumbfounded journalist.
And that scoundrel smiled.
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