He Ain’t Mister Right

Last night I got to tag along with Reb to the George Michael concert in DC. In the process, I met and confirmed the existence of both Tender Buttons and Tender Vittles, which was very exciting for me. They are both indeed tender, although Buttons has a bit of an edge to her that I appreciated. She’s obviously the dominant sister, although they’d both argue that they’re the smarter sister.

After spending some time marooned by poor customer service in the bar at a Greek tapas restaurant, we got to the arena and immediately bought cocktails and merch. I was very unhappy to discover that the only shirt I wanted to buy, a gray one that simply said, “Wham!” across the front, was for kids! Hello! Lame.

Once the show started I realized a few things:

1. George Michael probably isn’t Mr. Right, but knowing that is half the battle.
2. George Michael should probably be classified in the “petite” category of gentlemen.
3. George Michael has three dance moves, all of which feature prominently his pelvis, but they work, so I suppose that’s all he needs.

The performance was great. The show was upbeat and featured All the Songs You Know By Heart, including a generous helping of his Wham! hits and his early solo stuff, which, we all know, is the best. And, granted, the concert did seem to celebrate his twenty-five years in the music industry, and he seemed both touched and excited to be doing the show.

Tender Buttons and Reb were really adamant in including GM on the Divas List, and I had to agree with them. (TB put him right before Patti LaBelle, so you knew she was serious.) Although the tickets claimed the show would begin at “8 pm prompt” with no opening act, Mr. Michael kept us waiting for at least 30 minutes while he finished putting on his face or whathaveyou. He held the microphone toward the audience nearly as often as he held it to his own lips, seemingly to let us bathe him in our fevered shouts and impassioned wails.

My favorite moment: after concluding his final song, “Freedom” (which he only sang after making us shout the title three times—D-I-V-A), GM pulled his now-signature shades from his face and, in a camera close-up that rivaled William Hurt in Broadcast News, appeared overcome by emotion, about to break into tears of joy, but at the last minute held it in and instead lifted up his head with a bright smile and a jaunty over-the-head wave before dashing off stage, leaving his backup sings to “bring us home,” as it were.

Reb and I totally danced our behinds off during the show, and we also had soft serve. George Michael + ice cream. *sigh* That’s the life.

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