(no subject)
George Michael and Me
ETA Lets try this again shall we? last time none of the piccies appeared
Last week I went to see George Michael in concert. Now you could ask what the hell an old bint like me was doing there - rock/pop concerts are for the kiddies, but I’ve always been a fan of George’s and realized last night that, in a strange way, he ‘book-ends’ a period of my life that is about to end. And this has made me sort of maudlin and introspective and sentimental - hankering after my misspent youth.
Back in the mid 80s, myself and two friends, Grainne and Niall, rented a house together. We were all in our early twenties and this was our first venture away from home (in Ireland, especially in Dublin, kids don’t usually go away to college as most universities are within daily traveling distance). I had just gotten my first ‘real’ job - one that gave me enough money to pay rent, feed myself and still leave enough for a social life. I was only on a year’s contract but reckoned I might be made permanent. But even if I didn’t, and ended up unemployed and back home again, at least I’d have had a year out.
We were the first of our extended group to have a place of our own and at weekends our house was party-central. After the pub closed at 11.30, everyone would pile back to our place and drink, dance and do drugs till the wee small hours. We had an ENORMOUS sound system with speakers big enough to lift the roof off. Looking back, I’m amazed that we still have livers, eardrums and braincells left. And in fact, some of us don’t.
But back to George Michael and how he fits into all this. Music was very important to us all back then (and still is to me). We spent a sizeable part of our disposable income on albums (vinyl - CDs hadn’t been invented yet) and the stereo was always on in the house - much more than the TV. And when it came to dancing (which we also did a lot of in those days) George Michael was high on our list of favourites. We’d been too cool to have anything to do with him during his Wham era (Wake me Up Before you Go Go - eh no, I don’t think so)
but once he cut his hair, made the 5 o’clock shadow fashionable and released his single I Want Your Sex (thus forever shedding that clean boy-band image), we began to take him a bit more seriously. Eventually someone (I think it was Niall) bit the bullet and bought Faith - George’s first solo album - and the rest is history - George was ‘in’.
So the 80s progressed, and people moved on - got jobs, most got married, had families. Some got divorced. Some of them became millionaires - others didn’t even survive their twenties (drugs, car accidents, cancer, etc). Myself and Niall, no longer satisfied with our suburban social scene, moved out of the ‘burbs and into The Big Smoke and while most of our contemporaries were busy ‘settling down’, we continued to drink, dance, do drugs and generally have a great time. Ireland in the '80s was going through an economic recession but culturally, it was booming - there was just so much to do - music, theatre, cinema - it was incredible.
But I have an abiding memory of that time that returned with force at the George Michael gig. As I sat in my €130 seat on the balcony (too old to stand at gigs now) and looked down at the milling crowd on the floor below, I remembered an earlier gig. Back in ‘88, a gang of us had been down there, rocking our socks off to David Byrne (of Talking Heads)
Talking Heads were one of the coolest bands in the 80s. When the movie Stop Making Sense came out, one of our favourite things to do was head into town to a cinema that ran the movie at mid-night every Saturday night. This was before smoking was banned in cinemas and the crowd would just smoke dope and dance for the evening. I also remember that always, at some point in the evening, the film would have to be temporarily switched off because somebody would inevitably try to get up on stage with the band - despite the fact that it was a movie and not a live gig. They would be forceably removed by a couple of bouncers to much heckling from the crowd, then the film would restart and it was back to the business at hand.
David Byrne wearing that suit from Stop Making Sense
So by '88, David Byrne had left Talking Heads and was touring with this BIG latin ensemble, promoting the Rei Momo album.
Myself and Niall lived within walking distance of the venue back then so we’d thrown a quickie marguerite party before the gig (fresh margs anyone?). It involved shoveling down as many marguerites as we could in the space of 1 hour and needless to say, everyone was suitably buckled before the gig had even started. Ah those were the days.
Ten weeks later, I headed off to Asia, carrying little in my rucksack, other than a sleeping bag, a few T-shirts, lots of camera equipment, 6 months supply of malaria tablets, and an airline ticket that took me to Bangkok on Jan 12th and took me home from Delhi on June 27th. I’d like to say that I was really brave in those days, but in truth, I was throwing up in Amsterdam airport while waiting for my connecting flight to Thailand. Some of this was probably due to the amount of alcohol I’d consumed at my ‘going away’ party the previous evening, but a lot of it was a nervous reaction to the stark realization that I was really on my own for the next 6 months and might not actually ever see any of my family or friends again!
Me, freshly arrived in Bangkok, sporting a GI flat-top haircut - my mother nearly had a seizure when she saw it - my argument was it had to last me 6 months!
Obviously I survived my trip and it was more exciting and exhausting and challenging and enlightening than I could possibly have imagined. At times it was very difficult (China especially) and on more than one occasion, I wished I was back home in Ireland (getting arrested in Jaipur was one of those occasions) but in hindsight, I don’t regret any of it (even getting arrested in Jaipur). I met the most fantastic people; people that I would never have come across if I’d stayed safely at home. My friend Ian, who I went trekking with in Nepal last January, was one of those wonderful people. I still vividly remember meeting him that first evening in Kathmandu, sharing cigarettes and Nepalese rum on the steps of the Marsyangdi Mandala Guest house while he waited for a phone-call from his then girl-friend back home in Sheffield.
I’m not going to go into details of that trip - it’s a novel in itself, but I came home in one piece, went back to work and tried to readjust to life back in the Western World. Niall up-staked and moved to New York and I ended up buying a house, doing a Degree in English Lit part time and got promoted to head of my department at work.
So what the fuck has all this got to do with George Michael??? Well he was there at the beginning of my career in the Royal College of Surgeons and his gig was right at the end (almost). Yes - on August 31st, nearly 24 years after I took that 1 year contract, I’m leaving my safe, well-paid, pensionable job to take another leap into the unknown, to try and make it as a writer. I've one novel finished, have started my second, and have a meeting with a literary agent on Friday. I might be crazy and end up having to take some crappy job somewhere in 6 months time at a quarter the salary I’m on now but to be honest - I don’t give a flying fuck. If I never did things I was scared of, my life up to now would have been excessively dull.
Some people can’t believe I’m doing this; can’t understand how someone would want to swap the safe for the unknown, especially at my age (I’ll be 46 in a months time) but as I looked at George Michael - the same age as me, cheekily dressed as an LA cop (remember THAT incident), prancing around the stage singing Freedom to the ecstatic crowd - I thought ‘well if he doesn’t mind making a fucking show of himself at his age, why should I?'
ETA Lets try this again shall we? last time none of the piccies appeared
Last week I went to see George Michael in concert. Now you could ask what the hell an old bint like me was doing there - rock/pop concerts are for the kiddies, but I’ve always been a fan of George’s and realized last night that, in a strange way, he ‘book-ends’ a period of my life that is about to end. And this has made me sort of maudlin and introspective and sentimental - hankering after my misspent youth.
Back in the mid 80s, myself and two friends, Grainne and Niall, rented a house together. We were all in our early twenties and this was our first venture away from home (in Ireland, especially in Dublin, kids don’t usually go away to college as most universities are within daily traveling distance). I had just gotten my first ‘real’ job - one that gave me enough money to pay rent, feed myself and still leave enough for a social life. I was only on a year’s contract but reckoned I might be made permanent. But even if I didn’t, and ended up unemployed and back home again, at least I’d have had a year out.
We were the first of our extended group to have a place of our own and at weekends our house was party-central. After the pub closed at 11.30, everyone would pile back to our place and drink, dance and do drugs till the wee small hours. We had an ENORMOUS sound system with speakers big enough to lift the roof off. Looking back, I’m amazed that we still have livers, eardrums and braincells left. And in fact, some of us don’t.
But back to George Michael and how he fits into all this. Music was very important to us all back then (and still is to me). We spent a sizeable part of our disposable income on albums (vinyl - CDs hadn’t been invented yet) and the stereo was always on in the house - much more than the TV. And when it came to dancing (which we also did a lot of in those days) George Michael was high on our list of favourites. We’d been too cool to have anything to do with him during his Wham era (Wake me Up Before you Go Go - eh no, I don’t think so)
but once he cut his hair, made the 5 o’clock shadow fashionable and released his single I Want Your Sex (thus forever shedding that clean boy-band image), we began to take him a bit more seriously. Eventually someone (I think it was Niall) bit the bullet and bought Faith - George’s first solo album - and the rest is history - George was ‘in’.
So the 80s progressed, and people moved on - got jobs, most got married, had families. Some got divorced. Some of them became millionaires - others didn’t even survive their twenties (drugs, car accidents, cancer, etc). Myself and Niall, no longer satisfied with our suburban social scene, moved out of the ‘burbs and into The Big Smoke and while most of our contemporaries were busy ‘settling down’, we continued to drink, dance, do drugs and generally have a great time. Ireland in the '80s was going through an economic recession but culturally, it was booming - there was just so much to do - music, theatre, cinema - it was incredible.
But I have an abiding memory of that time that returned with force at the George Michael gig. As I sat in my €130 seat on the balcony (too old to stand at gigs now) and looked down at the milling crowd on the floor below, I remembered an earlier gig. Back in ‘88, a gang of us had been down there, rocking our socks off to David Byrne (of Talking Heads)
Talking Heads were one of the coolest bands in the 80s. When the movie Stop Making Sense came out, one of our favourite things to do was head into town to a cinema that ran the movie at mid-night every Saturday night. This was before smoking was banned in cinemas and the crowd would just smoke dope and dance for the evening. I also remember that always, at some point in the evening, the film would have to be temporarily switched off because somebody would inevitably try to get up on stage with the band - despite the fact that it was a movie and not a live gig. They would be forceably removed by a couple of bouncers to much heckling from the crowd, then the film would restart and it was back to the business at hand.
David Byrne wearing that suit from Stop Making Sense
So by '88, David Byrne had left Talking Heads and was touring with this BIG latin ensemble, promoting the Rei Momo album.
Myself and Niall lived within walking distance of the venue back then so we’d thrown a quickie marguerite party before the gig (fresh margs anyone?). It involved shoveling down as many marguerites as we could in the space of 1 hour and needless to say, everyone was suitably buckled before the gig had even started. Ah those were the days.
Ten weeks later, I headed off to Asia, carrying little in my rucksack, other than a sleeping bag, a few T-shirts, lots of camera equipment, 6 months supply of malaria tablets, and an airline ticket that took me to Bangkok on Jan 12th and took me home from Delhi on June 27th. I’d like to say that I was really brave in those days, but in truth, I was throwing up in Amsterdam airport while waiting for my connecting flight to Thailand. Some of this was probably due to the amount of alcohol I’d consumed at my ‘going away’ party the previous evening, but a lot of it was a nervous reaction to the stark realization that I was really on my own for the next 6 months and might not actually ever see any of my family or friends again!
Me, freshly arrived in Bangkok, sporting a GI flat-top haircut - my mother nearly had a seizure when she saw it - my argument was it had to last me 6 months!
Obviously I survived my trip and it was more exciting and exhausting and challenging and enlightening than I could possibly have imagined. At times it was very difficult (China especially) and on more than one occasion, I wished I was back home in Ireland (getting arrested in Jaipur was one of those occasions) but in hindsight, I don’t regret any of it (even getting arrested in Jaipur). I met the most fantastic people; people that I would never have come across if I’d stayed safely at home. My friend Ian, who I went trekking with in Nepal last January, was one of those wonderful people. I still vividly remember meeting him that first evening in Kathmandu, sharing cigarettes and Nepalese rum on the steps of the Marsyangdi Mandala Guest house while he waited for a phone-call from his then girl-friend back home in Sheffield.
I’m not going to go into details of that trip - it’s a novel in itself, but I came home in one piece, went back to work and tried to readjust to life back in the Western World. Niall up-staked and moved to New York and I ended up buying a house, doing a Degree in English Lit part time and got promoted to head of my department at work.
So what the fuck has all this got to do with George Michael??? Well he was there at the beginning of my career in the Royal College of Surgeons and his gig was right at the end (almost). Yes - on August 31st, nearly 24 years after I took that 1 year contract, I’m leaving my safe, well-paid, pensionable job to take another leap into the unknown, to try and make it as a writer. I've one novel finished, have started my second, and have a meeting with a literary agent on Friday. I might be crazy and end up having to take some crappy job somewhere in 6 months time at a quarter the salary I’m on now but to be honest - I don’t give a flying fuck. If I never did things I was scared of, my life up to now would have been excessively dull.
Some people can’t believe I’m doing this; can’t understand how someone would want to swap the safe for the unknown, especially at my age (I’ll be 46 in a months time) but as I looked at George Michael - the same age as me, cheekily dressed as an LA cop (remember THAT incident), prancing around the stage singing Freedom to the ecstatic crowd - I thought ‘well if he doesn’t mind making a fucking show of himself at his age, why should I?'