Matthew Lawrence

Writings

George Michael, Father Figure

In 1980, pop radio was terrible. The charts were ruled by stuffy old farts like Kenny Rogers and Air Supply and Styx and effing Dan Fogelberg. Disco was on its way out, mainstream America wasn’t interested in punk, and that just left a lot of adult-oriented soft-rock trash.

Luckily, by about 1984 most of the old fogeys had been swept away to make room for a new breed of pop stars, ones who could sing and dance and who often came in different sizes and shapes and even colors. Some had elements of new wave, some the new post-disco dance music, and some were rooted in R&B. America was suddenly ruled by Bruce Sprinsteen and Madonna and Michael Jackson and Prince, icons who exuded creativity, independence, and sex despite the fact that they all had their flaws–Madonna’s teeth, Jackson’s then-unacknowledged lack of independence, Springsteen’s dark side, and Prince’s general toadiness, say. But they were all sexy, anyway, in a way that American pop audiences hadn’t experienced in some time.

In the UK, however, things were a little bit different. Gayer, really, would be the word. While there was no questioning the heterosexuality of Springsteen, the UK provided American audiences with George Michael, Boy George, a still-standing Elton John, and even groups like Soft Cell and Dead or Alive, none of whom could ever make the top 40 today. They existed in a flamboyant world of hairspray and bright colors. That style appealed to us Americans, too, but in an exotic sort of way. Sort of like how we really like unusual fruits, but only when they’re blended into juices or mixed into yogurt for us. Fear of becoming too familiar with the queer English might explain why most of those British artists of the era weren’t really successful for more than one album.

There were exceptions–super-straight Def Leppard had a long run, and the Human League made the top 40 for longer than most people probably remember; there was also Phil Collins, who I’d rather not think about and who was more or less asexual, anyway, despite the fact that he sold millions and millions of records.

But the real British star on the pop charts in the 80s was George Michael. He had youth and virility; he had a brain, and a cute ass, too.

His career–at least on this side of the Atlantic–started with Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go and Careless Whisper, back when he was still in Wham!. Then there was the Aretha Franklin duet I Knew You Were Waiting For Me, followed by four number ones from Faith, the best-selling album of 1988 and Grammy winner for Album of the Year in 1988.

Faith sold ten-million copies in the US. The video for the first single, I Want Your Sex, featured Michael writing in lipstick on models’ backs while a hairy torso (not his, it turned out) got hosed down with water. Then came Faith, with the tight jeans and the jukebox. But the third single, the gothic Father Figure, is the one I think is the best on the album and, if you haven’t guessed yet, my vote for best pop hit of the decade.

It’s five-and-a-half minutes long and starts with a cathedral organ. When the chorus finally hits two minutes in it’s not Michael’s voice we hear, but some female back-up singers. There’s gently strummed guitars and whispered verses; he doesn’t really get emotional until the last thirty seconds of the song. He doesn’t even use the word father himself until after the five-minute mark.

The song’s greatness comes from the interplay between the romantic-sounding music and ambiguously kinky lyrics, which I’ll go review in case you’ve forgotten it (or don’t sing it at karaoke as often as I do.) George finds a lover, and things are going okay but he feels misunderstood. He wants to play daddy, but can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

But what does he mean, exactly? Does he want just be the dom? Or is it something more deeply psychological than that? Does he want someone crying on his shoulder? And how are we meant to take that line about how love can be mistaken for a crime? Is that a hint that his loafers might be a little on the light side, or does he mean that he’s after someone who might be a little too young? By the end of the song, when he finally wails the word father (once) and then sort of dirtily yells out that he’ll be your daddy, I have complete sympathy for him. There’s real longing there, and I don’t think it’s pedophilia or anything creepy. And it seems really sincere when he says he’s going to love you till the end of time, when just moments ago he knew you didn’t even understand him. Hell, by the end of the song I’m ready to write him a letter and tell him that he can be my daddy if he wants to. (Which is funny, by the way, since he was only twenty-four when the song was released.)

The video for Father Figure is a good one; there’s a model, a runway show, Michael in a wifebeater, some slapping, and it all ends sort of badly. Alternating between black and white and shadowy blues, it captures the mood of the song without interpreting it too literally. And like all the Faith videos, it features Michael with aviators, some scruff on his face, and that godforsaken cross earring, all of which now seem like secret gay code. He might not have come out until a decade later, but the emphasis on his body and fascination with high-fashion models is just at least as queer as the daddy metaphor.

(As a post-script, I just want to note that after Michael and Prince and Madonna lost a little bit of popular steam in the early-nineties, they were replaced on the pop charts by children. Another Bad Creation, Immature, and Shanice were just a couple of young singers who found success in the early nineties; it was almost as if pop reached its apex with songs like this, and people needed to recover. That could also explain why the best-selling pop artists of the nineties, among them Ace of Base and Hootie and the Blowfish and Celine Dion, lacked any kind of drama; they were safe choices in a decade of over-seriousness.)