It's Tuesday night, 8:35, just about show time. There is, as the tickets make clear, no opening act. One of the more dramatic passages of Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" is blaring ominously over the PA. It's embarrassingly empty in San Diego Sports Arena – maybe two-thirds full, if we're being kind.
And it's not gonna get any fuller.
The longtime fans to my left – who got in free thanks to a Fox affiliate, who learned (as I did) that attendance was about 7,000 – tell me that many people who took advantage of the promoter's desperate 2-for-1 ticket offer were being upgraded to lower-level seats.
That's how empty it was.
So this much we know right away: San Diegans do not get George Michael.
Or do they? This gig may have wound up playing like an out-of-town warm-up for presumably better-attended bashes Saturday at the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas and June 25 at the Forum in Inglewood (where the Brit will kill on his 45th birthday; how well he'll fare June 27 at Honda Center is another matter). Yet those 7,000 staunch devotees – predominantly women who used to think they'd marry the guy and gay men who think they still have a shot – well, they were so immensely pumped-up, so scream-crazy, they gave off the energy of at least 17,000.
Precisely the sort of reaction a stateside-faded superstar hopes for when he kicks off his first tour here in 17 years.
Throughout the two-hour show (halved by an exact 20-minute intermission) you could see the reassurance spread across Michael's beaming face, and he wasn't shy about basking in the surprise adulation. In the midst of a terrific run of hits and lesser-known faves from his heyday – just after a note-perfect "Father Figure" but before the percolating funk of "Hard Day," one of two songs ("Kissing a Fool" was the other) he didn't play during the critically and commercially successful European end of this retrospective tour – Michael noted how heartening it was that the audience recognized "Fastlove," his first up-tempo number of the night, from its count-off.
"That means there are people here whose knowledge of me does not end with 'Faith' – and you are the people I'm here for." Later, before closing with a rousing "Freedom '90," he seemed truly overwhelmed: "Thanks for welcoming me back, America. I had no idea what to expect and you've just blown me away."
The feeling is mutual.
Not exactly enthused after GeoMike's lackluster performance of "Praying for Time" during May's "American Idol" finale, I came into this anticipating at best cheesy nostalgia bogged down by eccentric selections – songs none but club-rat Anglophiles would know. To be sure, some of that came to pass: Only a die-hard would remember "Too Funky" or "Outside," the latter of which Michael delivered in dark shades and casual cop uniform to evoke the song's arrest-mocking video. Another curious choice: dusting off his very Sade-ish redo of the Police's "Roxanne" at a point in the second set when the crowd seemed primed for another dose of dance fever.
Yet, despite (or perhaps because of) such reservations, it was almost shocking to instead encounter a sleek, sophisticated, often irresistible survey of the man and his music – a resolute reminder that, though he never scaled the heights of genius that Prince and Madonna so cunningly achieved, George Michael nonetheless belongs in the pantheon of pop greats. Rank him among the very few – Madge, Pet Shop Boys, Janet Jackson in her prime, Michael Jackson for a time – who have elevated dance-pop to a meaningful art form, something more profound than hot beats and catchy hollers.
What sets Michael apart now is what set him apart then: his nakedly honest songwriting. Unlike the work of today's heartthrobs – even a wildly entertaining modern counterpart like Justin Timberlake – the majority of Michael's songs speak directly to the joys and turmoil of his life.
OK, so "Faith" and "I Want Your Sex" weren't about anything but desire. But since his '87 blockbuster masterpiece Michael has grown increasingly introspective and outspoken – from telegraphing his coming-out alongside his dissatisfaction with the star-maker machinery in "Freedom '90" (the new "An Easier Affair" revisits that theme) to grappling with the 1993 AIDS death of lover Anselmo Feleppa in "Jesus to a Child," from sounding off on the Iraq War ("Shoot the Dog") to celebrating the love of his current partner Kenny Goss ("Amazing").
Michael may not pack the spectacle of a Timberlake; his staging is relatively simplistic – just George in GQ attire, his band hidden behind giant, glitter-filled video screens. Yet that's enough. All alone to sing "A Different Corner" (pop poetry worthy of Smokey Robinson), he remains utterly compelling; encircled by his backing vocalists for a gospel version of "One More Try," he's fiercely soulful like Freddie Mercury before him.
That he's been forsaken like Mercury isn't surprising; apart from Elton John, Americans often don't know what to make of British singers when they finally let their freak flags fly. Such a derisive dismissal, however, is in sore need of correction. Whether or not people turn out – and "I'm Your Man" and "Everything She Wants" were so much fun, I can't help but think West Hollywood will crash the Honda Center party next week – Michael's tour is undeniable proof that this, folks, is what an enduring pop star looks like.
