Andrew Ridgeley has a lot of apologizing to do. To ME.
Okay, so maybe that's not fair. In all honesty, I don't know why George Michael didn't sing "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" on Wednesday night at The Forum, but I'm guessing it has to do with Ridgeley getting it in the divorce (which is also clearly the only explanation for the absence of "Wham Rap," and I'm sure custody of that gem was hotly contested). It makes sense to me, in a way, that he wouldn't want George Michael to own and profit from performing ALL of Wham's old hits and certainly not its most iconic; it's the only reason I can think of for the song's absence from an otherwise pretty awesome set.
Like a lot of kids, I wanted to marry George Michael when I was little. I railed against "Last Christmas" and the idiot heroine who left him for Andrew Ridgeley the very next day after he gave her his heart -- because, seriously, lady, WHO LEAVES GEORGE MICHAEL? Nobody. Not even if he's gay (which at the time was on the down-low, or at least, to a kid my age it was). "Careless Whisper" was the greatest song of all time to me because it was romantic, irrespective of the fact that the lyrics explain that he's the cad. I would daydream myself into the video, the beautiful wronged party who shed a perfectly gorgeous tear at his deception and whom he begged for forgiveness. Never mind that this required him to cheat on me in my own fantasy. I was way too caught up in the romance of having a guy plead with me to love him because he just can't live another day, and won't dance again because his guilty feet have got no rhythm. To my second-grade mind, there was something divine in having the power to screw with his pedi-mojo.
Ergo, given our triumphant trip to see the Spice Girls, Catherine, Carol, and I decided that George Michael's 25-Live Tour was the ideal way to strive for a 2-for-2 record of Awesome Concerts Seen From Great Seats. We were only a few rows up from the floor, right about at eye level with him and with a perfect close view of him when we walked down the runway that extended the stage into the crowd. Our vantage point was ideal -- full marks to Catherine for this -- especially because in the second half of the show, he pulled out a stool and sat right at the end of that runway to croon "Kissing a Fool" and a cover of "Roxanne" by The Police.
The most amusing thing was our celebrity sighting: Aside from Loretta Devine from Eli Stone, which used George and his music in multiple episodes and based its pilot entirely on "Freedom '90," we saw... Dr. Phil. I dearly wanted to see Michael Cera -- a.k.a. Arrested Development's George Michael -- just because of how dorkily fun it would be to say, "Hey, there's George Michael, and George Michael!" But no. Instead, Dr. Phil, standing near the front: a million feet tall, shiny bald pate, bright white button-down shirt. George Michael kind of made fun of him for not appearing to have as awesome a time as his wife was, and the crowd totally booed at Dr. Phil's apparent reticence. "Maybe you should see someone for that," George said. Hee. I feel bad when people get booed, but dude, you're at George Michael. DANCE. Or do you have guilty feet, sir?
He then told a story about how he thought Jonny Lee Miller from Eli Stone was there, and that when he shot his episodes, he would try to chitchat between takes ("That's a GREAT fucking suit!"). But Jonny Lee Miller would have none of it and ignored him completely. And GM said that he was thinking, "This guy is really NOT FRIENDLY," and then realized as he was in the limo headed to the airport that Jonny was probably trying to stay in character. So he apologized to Jonny in the arena. Everyone laughed. George seemed fine with it all, and amused at his apparent misunderstanding, but here is my take: Jonny Lee Miller, you are not playing Thomas Jefferson, or a kangaroo, or a serial killer. You are just playing Eli Stone, and while I am sure that's not a piece of cake all the time, I also think you are totally nutso for not taking three seconds to make conversation with George f'ing Michael. If it were me, I'd be all, "Will you whisper 'Happy Christmas' to me? And then tell me again the story of what happened when you gave that girl your heart? Do you want me to cut her?"
George was in great voice, although he admitted to struggling with a few high notes, which is where it came in handy to have some backup singers and an entire crowd full of people that willingly sang them for him. His second song was "I'm Your Man," and his fourth was "Everything She Wants," so we freaked out but good. I prayed he'd sing some Wham classics but was still thrilled and a little surprised that he did. He also used his backup singers well, especially during a stirring, minimalist, gospel-style rendition of "One More Try." Hearing "Father Figure" live gave me chills. Snippets of the "Too Funky" video played while he performed it; he opened the second half -- there was a 20-minute Intermission -- with "Faith," then turned it into a danceathon to finish. The encores were "Praying For Time" and, just as I was running out of hope, "Careless Whisper." I actually screamed, I was so happy. Then Bo Derek brought out a faux-cake to honor George's 45th birthday, which was that day -- Carol and I agreed that it seems impossible he's only 45, just because it feels like he's been around so much longer, with practically all the iconic heft of Elton John yet in twenty fewer years -- and he shouted up to us, "So, there's one song left. What do you want it to be?"
"Freedom!" we screamed.
"What's that?" he asked.
"FREEDOM!"
"I can't hear you..."
"FREEEEEEDOOOOOOM!"
And so it went: The band struck up the intro, and everyone lost their shit, especially when bits of that awesome video played on the screens. I am such a fangirl; I can't help it.
We had a stellar time, rife with amusing characters in the audience that Catherine will blog about when she had time to recreate the post that Typepad ate. She has photographs. Alarming ones. There was one dude whom we called Flight Suit, who merely did laps around the floor dressed in a khaki cotton jumpsuit with a "Nine Inch Nails" patch on the sleeve, green glittery letters that spelled out "FAITH" on his back, and no shirt underneath (we know this because he had it open down to his sternum). There were women in dresses that I'm pretty sure were meant to be shirts. And as with every concert, there was the 250-lb guy in a button-down shirt who was rocking out hard to every single note like he'd never experienced a more life-affirming moment. I LOVE that guy. Sometimes Carol and I would watch him instead of George Michael.
But not the whole time. For a guy who is essentially a solo artist -- even with the trappings of a backup band -- he really held the crowd, even if he does only know one dance move. (Well, two, but he didn't sing "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go," so we were denied that weird ape-arm-swinging spectacle that he did.) My second-grade self would be proud, and of course thrilled that his guilty feet totally turned out to have a lot more rhythm left in them after all.