Hit Single
VOGUE June 1988
By James Wolcott
VOGUE June 1988
By James Wolcott
If Prince is His Royal Badness (as his fans proclaim), George Michael should be known as His
Supreme Swarthiness. Born Georgios Panayiotou of Greek Cypriot descent, Michael sports a gigolo
tan and a set of proud, hurt lips. Since leaving Wham! to pursue a solo career, he has become the
United States' bronzed blow-dried lover-boy cover boy. In an interview in Rolling Stone, Michael said
that he aspired to the superstar status of Madonna and Bruce Spingsteen and, yes. Prince. In terms
of sales in the US, His Supreme Swarthiness has scaled the top branch. For weeks Michael's Faith was
number one on the album charts and Faith's "Father Figure" was the nation's number one single and video.
Sales, however, are transient; it's the Image that persists. Imagistically, Michael is trying to stamp
an iconic place for himself in the pop cosmos alongside Madonna in her porn-star scanties, Springsteen
in his faded denim, Prince in his Edwardian psychedelia. His look is leather-bar rough trade (ripped
jeans, hoody sunglasses worn indoors, Stanley Kowalski T-shirt), lightened by a small but showy
crucifix dangling from the earlobe, a la Madonna. His videos are shot like black-and-white glossies,
fashion layouts fluttering to earth from a diamond skyline. On these glossies he tries to tattoo his sullen
presence. In the video for "I Want Your Sex," he writes "explore monogamy" on the thigh of his reputed
girlfriend Kathy Jeung. In the video for "Father Figure," he takes great munching kisses out of a model in
dominatrix attire who seems to have wafted out of the pages of Dennis Potter's Blackeyes.
All this manufactured jungle heat has succeeded in the US. After broadcasting "Father Figure", one
female veejay in the US described Michael as "a mondo-stud muffin". Or perhaps she meant
"mondo stud-muffin". But she was definitely sold. Others have scoffed. "The consensus was that the
bed he kept his distance from had a little boy in it," went a line in Kingsley Amis's Stanley and the
Women. The sex police in the media have been unfurling George Michael's bed linen, hoping to
find the ghostly outlines of a little boy or two. Rolling Stone ran a snapshot of Michael and his former
Wham! sidekick Andrew Ridgeley in female drag. On Australian TV, a chat-show host asked him
point-blank, "Are you gay?" (His reply: "No, but there'd be nothing wrong with being That Way if I were."
Supreme Swarthiness. Born Georgios Panayiotou of Greek Cypriot descent, Michael sports a gigolo
tan and a set of proud, hurt lips. Since leaving Wham! to pursue a solo career, he has become the
United States' bronzed blow-dried lover-boy cover boy. In an interview in Rolling Stone, Michael said
that he aspired to the superstar status of Madonna and Bruce Spingsteen and, yes. Prince. In terms
of sales in the US, His Supreme Swarthiness has scaled the top branch. For weeks Michael's Faith was
number one on the album charts and Faith's "Father Figure" was the nation's number one single and video.
Sales, however, are transient; it's the Image that persists. Imagistically, Michael is trying to stamp
an iconic place for himself in the pop cosmos alongside Madonna in her porn-star scanties, Springsteen
in his faded denim, Prince in his Edwardian psychedelia. His look is leather-bar rough trade (ripped
jeans, hoody sunglasses worn indoors, Stanley Kowalski T-shirt), lightened by a small but showy
crucifix dangling from the earlobe, a la Madonna. His videos are shot like black-and-white glossies,
fashion layouts fluttering to earth from a diamond skyline. On these glossies he tries to tattoo his sullen
presence. In the video for "I Want Your Sex," he writes "explore monogamy" on the thigh of his reputed
girlfriend Kathy Jeung. In the video for "Father Figure," he takes great munching kisses out of a model in
dominatrix attire who seems to have wafted out of the pages of Dennis Potter's Blackeyes.
All this manufactured jungle heat has succeeded in the US. After broadcasting "Father Figure", one
female veejay in the US described Michael as "a mondo-stud muffin". Or perhaps she meant
"mondo stud-muffin". But she was definitely sold. Others have scoffed. "The consensus was that the
bed he kept his distance from had a little boy in it," went a line in Kingsley Amis's Stanley and the
Women. The sex police in the media have been unfurling George Michael's bed linen, hoping to
find the ghostly outlines of a little boy or two. Rolling Stone ran a snapshot of Michael and his former
Wham! sidekick Andrew Ridgeley in female drag. On Australian TV, a chat-show host asked him
point-blank, "Are you gay?" (His reply: "No, but there'd be nothing wrong with being That Way if I were."
All this bother over Michael's sexuality appears weirdly overdone. Dolling up in drag as been a campy tradition in rock from the Rolling Stones to David Bowie and Alice Cooper ( and camp
inevitably becomes quaint). Even Prince in his frilly frocks and looped earrings hasn't drawn nearly as much flak for his dressing-up. So why has Michael drawn such scrutiny? Perhaps
because he's worked so hard to establish his heterosexuality. In his videos he so overdoes the ultry-sultry, moody-broody sulking that he becomes a snippy caricature of masculinity. But that doesn't
excuse hounding him about his private life. Such hound-dogging reflects a mean streak of jealousy in the media over Michael's effect on women and girls. After all, no straight male feels threatened by
the slender sighings of the Pet Shop Boys, who aren't even pretty, George Michael is both pretty and brash.
Despite the hassle Michael has faced over his sex life, Faith, which he wrote and produced, has been hailed as the silver groove of a song stylist and funkmaster. Socially relevant, too-its
"I Want Your Sex" saluted as a hedonistic gesture in the age of AIDS. But where I part company with the music press is in the belief that Michael's musical swarthiness somehow equals soul.
In the peak moments of soul, sex is an overpowerirg need. James Brown cries out in "Prisoner of Love", "Be there when I get the notion!" - to which Aretha Franklin answers for all womankind,
"Reach out your arms, you're gonna get it!" This thunderclap of passion is a far cry from the tacky stratagems Michael employs in Faith. In "I Want Your Sex," he waits for his date to get so
limp with drink that she'll let him lug her into bed. A true soul singer has so much smoking pleasure to give that he doesn't need to wait for his woman's eyelids to get heavy.
George Michael's attitude has some maturing to do. He's toe stand-offish to express true soul. It may seem as if I'm blaming him 101 not being born black and percolating with deep-brewed
soul. I'm not. The danger is that Michael, who gives off intimations of being a true popular artist, might become an international poseur. He's at a crucial juncture in his career. If superstar
fame doesn't reduce him to a display window, shielded from casual contact, he may discover if he truly possesses musical soul instead of the Motown rubber he's been cleverly retreading.
He can only get by so long with a semblance of soul. Eventually the harsh exertions of performing erodes such semblance of feeling until sham and shameless ego arc exposed. To be the
star that he can be, George Michael needs to smash the mirror he holds so dear and take a fresh cracked look. Study the skewed angles of narcissism and see if he can rearrange the
pieces. George Michael has constructed an Image and now it's time to deconstruct.
inevitably becomes quaint). Even Prince in his frilly frocks and looped earrings hasn't drawn nearly as much flak for his dressing-up. So why has Michael drawn such scrutiny? Perhaps
because he's worked so hard to establish his heterosexuality. In his videos he so overdoes the ultry-sultry, moody-broody sulking that he becomes a snippy caricature of masculinity. But that doesn't
excuse hounding him about his private life. Such hound-dogging reflects a mean streak of jealousy in the media over Michael's effect on women and girls. After all, no straight male feels threatened by
the slender sighings of the Pet Shop Boys, who aren't even pretty, George Michael is both pretty and brash.
Despite the hassle Michael has faced over his sex life, Faith, which he wrote and produced, has been hailed as the silver groove of a song stylist and funkmaster. Socially relevant, too-its
"I Want Your Sex" saluted as a hedonistic gesture in the age of AIDS. But where I part company with the music press is in the belief that Michael's musical swarthiness somehow equals soul.
In the peak moments of soul, sex is an overpowerirg need. James Brown cries out in "Prisoner of Love", "Be there when I get the notion!" - to which Aretha Franklin answers for all womankind,
"Reach out your arms, you're gonna get it!" This thunderclap of passion is a far cry from the tacky stratagems Michael employs in Faith. In "I Want Your Sex," he waits for his date to get so
limp with drink that she'll let him lug her into bed. A true soul singer has so much smoking pleasure to give that he doesn't need to wait for his woman's eyelids to get heavy.
George Michael's attitude has some maturing to do. He's toe stand-offish to express true soul. It may seem as if I'm blaming him 101 not being born black and percolating with deep-brewed
soul. I'm not. The danger is that Michael, who gives off intimations of being a true popular artist, might become an international poseur. He's at a crucial juncture in his career. If superstar
fame doesn't reduce him to a display window, shielded from casual contact, he may discover if he truly possesses musical soul instead of the Motown rubber he's been cleverly retreading.
He can only get by so long with a semblance of soul. Eventually the harsh exertions of performing erodes such semblance of feeling until sham and shameless ego arc exposed. To be the
star that he can be, George Michael needs to smash the mirror he holds so dear and take a fresh cracked look. Study the skewed angles of narcissism and see if he can rearrange the
pieces. George Michael has constructed an Image and now it's time to deconstruct.