A Decade of George Michael

This month, January 2007, it was 10 years since I became a George Michael fan. Ten years. His lyrics spoke to me more than anyone ever had before, and I can honestly say that his words saved my sanity. I dared connecting to my own emotions by feeling his. I’ll never forget that – and I’m glad I got to tell him what impact writing about his own grief had on me. He said that was precisely the reason why he wrote the “Older” album.

When I was in the UK for six months in 2001 I tried to meet him by going to his *other* studio between shifts. I was always too late or on the wrong day. “You just missed him” were the words I heard most. It was around the time of his backsurgery, and I was happy to find out that he walked from his convertible and into the studio to get his dogs some water. That was the first sign that things had gone well. We never connected then. Not in person, anyway.

Then I came back in 2003, had been in the UK for about a week and on the first attempt at the new studio: Bingo. I guess it was just meant to happen then and not two years earlier. I remember thinking he was better looking in real life. And shorter. I remember distinctively handing him a picture to sign, him mumbling something about it being taken in France, asking my name, me saying it and him looking at me with added shock and spelling it out with a huge questionmark on his forehead. When I confirmed, he chuckled to himself. Whateverthefuck that meant, I wasn’t sure of, but it looked like recognition to me. I suppose if he read his official forums at the time, he may have noticed me around…

4 years ago…

I’m about as photogenic as a toad…
so you’ll have to do with George

So we met a couple of times, arranged our interview, it was interrupted and things changed. For a while. I felt resentment – then I got an apology. On behalf of the vile pig that had treated me like a terrorist. Then we have the coming of the new album, the rumours of the tour coming up – though nothing actually happening on that front until two years later when voilá: George goes on Parkinson, looking lean and trim as a guitarstring, announcing his first tour in 15 years. Welcome mayhem. Everyone going insane about tickets and wanting to get into whatever we could, cause he won’t do this again. Also, if he cancels some, we’ll at least be going to one.

Tour actually kicks off, to the dismay of the press and the joy of his fans, and I was there. I flew down to Barcelona on the crappiest weekend of my life – except the gig, obviously. I was there, he was there, he was singing – could it really be happening? When “Jesus to a Child”, that song I’d heard nearly ten years earlier, seeped out of the loudspeakers, tears ran down my face. But it didn’t actually hit me until I heard the saxophone solo in “Careless Whisper” that I was attending the first concert of George Michaels first tour in 15 years. Even my friend was impressed – and ended up coming along to Wembley as well. Despite not being a fan. I went to Oslo, I went to Earls Court and finally Wembley.

The final night, the 17th, being virtually up front, so close that I caught his cold, was outstanding. Despite having been to… a few gigs by then, that was the absolute highlight. Ten years later, there I was, having the time of my life – with the man that had saved it back in the day by doing what he did best. And still does.

Bring on another ten years, I guess.

I never thought I’d hear…

…Peter O’Toole say the words “I thought about your c*nt” with added affection – and not get a slap for it.

Though he did get enough slaps for other things he – usually – did rather than said in his new movie “Venus”. So this is the deal: Lonely old man gets crush on girl in her early 20s and she amuses him by giving him the occasional… as she puts it… treat. One favourite is kissing her shoulders – but he always seems to take it too far and gets a slap or an elbow in the liver.

Even though my initial reaction to a 75-year-old drooling after a 24-year-old is to saw “ew”, there’s something about his performance that kind of… puts another layer to what can easily be perceived as the tricks of a dirty old man. She enjoys his company more than she cares to admit, and keeps coming back to him, even though he’s very straight forward about his desires for her. He’s intelligent, well-spoken, kinda famous and brings her out of herself – in return she gives him a reason to go on.

Having a 75-year-old wanting you may not be a dreamscenario for most, but to be open to learning from another generation may not be such a bad idea sometimes.

I hope they give him an Oscar this year. He’s been nominated 8 times and not got one yet – apart from his honorary Oscar four years ago that he initially didn’t want to take because he’s still around and in the game. So he wanted to wait until he was 80, but ended up taking it anyway.

I think my favourite ever Peter O’Toole moment was when he was on Parkinson with Robbie Williams and told the audience about being backstage at the Old Vic, pissing in the sink, when Katharine Hepburn came by and introduced herself. Then Robbie goes, “You nailed her, didn’t ya? You can tell me, come on!” and Peter not seeing the humour in it at all. lol. And certainly not letting up on whether he did or not.

You’re A Freak – Can We Take Photographic Evidence?

Back in November, I had a post entitled “Paranoia: When You Think Something Is Wrong“.

So anyway, after another few months of arguing with my GP with what said bump on neck/jaw was, I eventually ended up in a hospital to get it checked out. I was getting pretty livid, considering I’ve said what it is since November and the doctor said it’s probably something else, but not actually having any valid suggestions. Besides “more blood tests may be worth it”. I was put on antibiotics for a week for no reason as well, if I may add.

Anyway, I was finally at the hospital, reading my 7 year old edition of OK! magazine, and got called into the office. Another young male. At this point – considering my GP is of said species – I was getting vary, but sat down. Finding it a bit odd that I had to be accompanied by a nurse at all times. She never said much, just tailed me for about an hour. The doctor started by asking how my lymph nodes were doing, and I said they were fine – and had nothing to do with said lump, “as lymph nodes aren’t on your jaw, wouldn’t you agree?” He happily agreed, took one look at the thing and agreed with what I’d told my doctor back in November: That it’s a cyst. Harmless, just not very pretty.
This is where it gets interesting. He asked some routine questions before he blushed and thrusted a form in my face and asked excitedly if I would be so kind and allow them to take some pictures and stuff because, and I quote, “we don’t see this that often”. This is, of course, a sentence every hospital patient wants to hear. In other words, I’m officially a freak show. I looked to the nurse that nodded confirmingly, mouthing that she’d never seen it either. I was asked to sign said form, to use information and pictures for… teaching purposes. So I figured… if it helps one person from going through six months with this shit, then sure. Take all the pictures you want, study’em, drool over’em, wank over’em, I don’t care. Just teach these doctors how to fucking spot one. As I was about to sign, another doctor popped his head in, sneaked a peak at my x-ray and mumbled, “Huh, I’ve only heard about this happening.”

I’m glad my misery makes so many people happy. lol.

Cute AIDS Ads

The Gay Version:

The Straight Version:

George VS Robbie

So, Da Knob is back in the UK and the nominees for the 2007 Brit Awards have been announced. George is nominated. Robbie Williams is nominated. In the same category. Those are the only real contestants in Best British Live Act category, me thinks. So, who’ll win? You can influence the vote on Radio 2.

Robbie Williams:

Positive: Robbie has, as far as I’m aware, ruled the Brit Awards since George stopped spewing out material every few years. In other words, for a while. Robbie’s young-ish, he’s handsome-ish, he’s got people’s sympathy vote and he does usually do a great stage show. Just cause he’s more of an entertainer than a singer – in my opinion.

Negative: Robbie’s, apparently, fallen off the wagon, he cancelled the Asian leg of his tour, other gigs have been cancelled – and vocally he’s been even worse on this tour than he’s been before. His last album didn’t do much in the charts. Maybe the public is bored?

George Michael:

Positive: George toured for the first time in 15 years last year. The fastest-selling tour since… like Elvis or something. Until Genesis came along, but we don’t talk about that. George is, besides, the last British solo star to make it huge in the US. His stage show was outstanding, expensive, cool – appealing to everyone. He didn’t cancel a single show, he did the nurses thing for free and has a tendency to always bounce back. Besides, the Brits have a certain affection for him – and Radio 2 listeners are practically his listeners.

Negative: Well, there’s the falling asleep at the wheel thing, the crashing cars thing, the fake falling asleep at the wheel thing, the being caught with cannabis thing, the being accused of being unfit to drive and denying the charges thing, the being portrayed as selling out to a Russian billionaire thing…
What do you think?

VS

 

From Popbitch

>> Corporate Whore <<
Bush-hater sells to highest bidder

Pop music stopped being a symbol of alternative
culture years ago but it hardly needed
another nail in its coffin. On New Year’s Eve,
self-appointed left-wing political spokesman
George Michael earned around $4m to sing for
Russian businessman Vladmir Potanin, the scion
of a privileged Communist family. Potanin was one
of the architects of the post-Soviet Loans for
Shares programme, in which well-placed friends
of then-premier Boris Yeltsin were given control
of Russia’s state enterprises and wealth, and
hence became 89th richest man in the world.

George is not alone. A Who’s Who of rock
stars can all be bought by anyone with a
fat cheque and private jet, from Bob Dylan to
Christina Aguilera, Robbie Williams to Gwen
Stefani, Rolling Stones to 50 Cent. In fact,
within the music industry only two acts are
known for taking a stand and refusing these
lucrative invitations – U2 and Bruce
Springsteen.

I’m still shocked at how close Vladmir Potanin is to Vladimir Putin. lol.

The Winner Takes It All

Finally got this thing online. Remember George once said this was one of his favourite ABBA songs? (“Dancing Queen” was also mentioned – lol!) Anyway, this version has some spectacular vocals – though some alternative words here and there.

More Jan Werner videos can be found over at YouTube. All are taken from a comedy/entertainment show last year. Worth a watch/listen.

How was Russia for George?

Read yourself over at George’s Diary

£25,000 a minute.

British singing star GEORGE MICHAEL has been named the highest paid entertainer in Russian history – making GBP1.5 million ($2.9 million) for a 60 minute musical performance. The FAITH rocker performed at a Russian billionaire’s New Year’s Eve party (31DEC06), and sang for an hour in front of a 300-strong audience to land the multi-million pound reward. Michael was flown out to Moscow for the concert at the unnamed billionaire’s estate along with his band and backing singers prior to the festivities.

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be

Here’s to positive thinking and all that…

But there’s one thing I have to say. I have more than six years of being a published journalist behind me. That’s more than half a decade. I’ve written – I’ve been told – from before I started learning how to. When we were asked to write three sentences about our first holiday from school, I wrote five pages. I didn’t know how to write, we hadn’t even learned how to do it properly yet, it had no punctuation of any kind or many correctly written words… but I’d nonetheless written five pages about my summer holiday when the rest of’em wrote “We went to the beach. I met a nice girl there. It was fun.”

When we were asked to choose three books by an author and do a project connected to this, I chose a crime author that taught Norwegian at our school part time and did an interview with him. That’s when I was 16. It was my second interview. My first was with “Pacific Blue” actor Jim Davidson. (Not the British comedian, no.) We communicated on e-mail for a long time, and in the end I asked to interview him for a school project and he agreed. My teacher had a hard time believing it had actually happened. Another assignment was to pretend to do an interview with someone. I pretended I interviewed George. This was around the same time. My teacher came to me and said, “How do you manage to actually interview all these famous people?” and when I said I’d made it up she didn’t believe that either. She said it was too convincing…

The point about all that is, it’s always been in me. Always. You hear about those people that always know what they want to do, and once they start doing it they don’t have a back-up plan because they know they wouldn’t be good at anything else. I’m one of those people. I have to write. It’s what I do. I don’t do anything else well. I used to be one of those weirdos that actually looked forward to writing short-stories at school. I literally couldn’t wait to get home on the day of the assignment to get started.

I’ve always played by the rules and always treated people I’ve encountered profesionally with the upmost respect in an interview situation. I was for a while called up by actors etc in Norway that had heard from someone else that I’d be the one to contact for a great interview… (thinking about this now makes me really sorry I left Norway for London!) Am I getting any kind of recognition for this now? Take a guess.

This is why it pisses me off that trying to do this journalism thing the right way – ie not sell my soul and work for Satan cause it’s more convenient that way – I’m met with a thick brick wall. I thought I was in luck last year. I was asked by a newspaper in the UK that have just above 3 million readers a day to do an interview with an actor (no, not Kevin. Nowhere near as well-known worldwide, but the Brits are very fond of him). You would have thought, right, that once you give the PR people a figure like that – in addition to a promise of giving said actor a chance to read the finished piece before it goes to print and I’ll get the final say in what goes to print. In other words, I have editorial rights so the paper won’t be tempted into using a sensational angle or headline. I have references from a number of previous big-shot actors vouching for my ability to respect my interviewees. All this in addition to three-something-million readers in one fucking edition should make these PR people go “Wohoo!” What do I get? “Yeah, we’ll get back to you on that.”

We’ll get back to you on that? I’m giving you the perfect fucking deal here and you’ll get back to me on it!? It makes me wonder, even though I don’t have a back-up plan, if it was meant to be. Maybe I should get a back-up plan. The way I’m being overlooked because I’m not a 50-year-old man with 35 years of experience in being a total, utter, reckless arsehole is doing my head in. I actually asked a journalist – a male that’s been in the biz for close to 35 years – what the fuck I’m supposed to do to break into this male-dominated profession without fucking anyone (literally and figuratively speaking). What did he say? “Use your looks and your femininity. You’re breaking into a man’s world, and your only way of succeeding in doing that is to use your physical assets to break through the wall.”

Thanks for confirming my suspicion. So, all I need is a wonderbra, an open shirt, a pretty smile, tight jeans that makes my arse look heavenly and I’m there? Good to know. Really.

Goal for 2007: either make it or break it.