Watch the slideshow. Photos by Marcella D. Volpintesta.
George Michael knows how to put on one hell of a show. And he knows how to remind people that he’s not just anybody. He’s George fucking Michael. “Show starts promptly at 8 p.m.,” the security guards shouted above the crowd. Promptly meaning I had time to purchase several $9 keg cups of beer and vomit in the restroom after I chugged one a little too fast. Following my recover, we found our seats at 8:35 p.m.. The lights dimmed at 8:50 p.m.
Pandemonium. The men behind me took off their shirts. A woman nearly throttled me with her breast implants as she jumped up and down screaming. “I’M SO HAPPY!” she wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks. Then God appeared. Or, at least, the gay, English pop star version of God.
Highlight: Michael appeared onstage in a shiny police uniform, causing men and women surrounding me to nearly go into cardiac arrest. Rainbow lights shot into the sky. I’m not fucking kidding you. But you've gotta appreciate that the guy can really sing. "Careless Whisper" and my personal favorite, "Father Figure" were delivered sitting down and of course, in an impeccable silk shirt. It was gay. It was grandiose. It was totally Michael.
And he got the demographics down, too. “Who’s a fan of the eighties?!” Michael called out to an eruption of cheers. “Who was born in the eighties?!” About a dozen people (the Key Arena seats about 17,000) cheered. “That’s frightening,” he remarked. And sure, his prime was in the ‘80s. But Michael still gets a crowd riled up. After two encores (seriously), Michael ended the night with “Freedom” to which we all wailed like banshees and waved our arms.
“I’m so glad I called in sick!” someone happily sighed to his friend. “That was amazing.” Indeed.