Faith, freedom, and George Michael
The two words that seem to most define George Michael — at least through his discography — are freedom and faith.
“Freedom ’90” was a top-10 single from his second solo album, the highly underrated “Listen Without Prejudice Vol. 1.” It also spawned a famous music video of supermodels cavorting in darkness while lip-synching the song.
It’s titled “Freedom ’90” because the original “Freedom,” also written by Michael, was on Wham!’s “Make It Big” album in 1984. That track wasn’t anything like the 1990 song — while “Freedom ’90,” piano-driven with splashy drums, is about Michael’s disillusion with pop conventions and celebrity life, the Wham song “Freedom,” a Motown-inspired romp, is actually about not being free at all, but instead, being safe in a committed, long-term relationship.
In fact, much of Wham!’s output — despite its images of bright colors, “CHOOSE LIFE” and plastic facial contortions — was more about repression and domesticity than freedom and independence. Its biggest hit, the kitschy “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” ends with the singer choosing to stay indoors with his partner and not light up the town with dancing. And Michael, in the other mega-hit “Careless Whisper,” explicitly states he won’t dance anymore because he lost his lover.
But this was all purposeful; understanding the pop culture climate of the 1980s was the reason for the mixed messages. Michael, along with Wham! bandmate Andrew Ridgeley, were savvy businessmen as much as great pop performers. They made music together with the singular aim of pop stardom, deciding to produce catchy pop songs with a 1960s influence and fun visuals because adults who grew up in the 1960s would find Wham! fun, and kids of the 1980s would love dancing along with smiling George and Andy in those white shirts and tennis shorts. Along with that Michael was a superb songwriter; he knew that to be the best, you had to sacrifice a few personal beliefs to keep mainstream audiences happy.
“I totally threw away my personal credibility for a year and a half in order to make sure my music got into so many people’s homes,” said Michael in this 1986 Rolling Stone profile. “It was a calculated risk, and I knew I would have to fight my way back from it. I did it out of choice.”
So the Wham! songs don’t say everything Michael wanted to say. But there’s subtext — he always seemed to be winking in every one of those catchy hits.
As for “Faith,” it’s the lead single from the 1987 album of the same name, the album that launched Michael into the stratosphere as a global music megastar. He was like Prince, Michael Jackson and Madonna, each benefactors of the album and music video eras, each taking their own special ways to stardom. Prince was a hellbent kid who did it himself; Jackson was groomed for stardom by a maniacal father; Madonna made a point to become a celebrity by any means, doing so New York’s underground; and Michael crafted an image to ensure he’d make it big.
But there’s a common thread, even including Jackson — these megastars of the 1980s demanded popularity, sacrificing everything to ensure it would happen. And they also had their own singular visions for how they’d get it done. With Michael, it was bopping around as a teen idol, bedding girls and singing kitsch. Then came “Faith,” the artistic statement that was aimed to draw Michael on his own terms.
“Faith” begins with a cold church organ. On early listens it always sounded like a slap to religion, appropriate as the song “Faith” is about faith in sex and not at all about faith in spirituality. But add context and it’s more about Michael and Wham!, because, of course, the organ plays the chorus of Wham!’s “Freedom.” On one level it signals Michael’s departure from Ridgeley and teeny-bopping pop. But on another level it signals that Michael’s done with mixed messages. It’s time to say what he really feels.
“I guess it would be nice if I could touch your body.”
The first lines of “Faith” are instantly iconic. It’s Michael playing that Wham! schoolboy, winking at us while delivering another campy line, but this time it’s not about dancing, going to a go-go or cozying up in bed, but about touching a body. It’s about physicality. It’s about sex.
“Faith” is, ridiculously, a rockabilly song produced like another stunner of a hit from 1986, Prince’s “Kiss” (Prince is all over “Faith,” which makes complete sense, as Michael knew exactly who to pattern his style after). But there’s a twangy guitar solo in the break, in a song in 1987 about getting past the games and getting into bed. At a time when new romantics were beginning to wear off, giving way to big rock and shimmery dance pop, Michael had the gall to break into America with a Bo Diddley beat. And it worked. “Faith” was a №1 smash across the board.
In the context of the album “Faith,” the title track both plays as a transition to the new George Michael and as a come-on that sets up the rest of side A. Do the poll now — side A of “Faith” is one of the finest side As in pop history.
It continues with “Father Figure,” a simmering mid-tempo ballad with synth, hi-hat, measured finger snaps and gospel backing vocals, about, again, sex. But it also introduces Michael’s running commentary about traditional relationship roles, especially regarding authority, and it does so vaguely.
“That’s all you wanted, someone special, someone sacred in your life.”
Michael blurs the roles of father, preacher, teacher and daddy. He sings about putting a tiny hand in his, then about Heaven being “a kiss and a smile.” He sings that love can be interpreted as a crime. Is this love between an adult and a child? Love out of wedlock? Love within the cloth? In Michael’s soulful, seductive delivery it doesn’t seem to matter — it’s a gorgeous blue-eyed soul song that recalls quiet storm, a song that eases partners into bed, increases tension and energy. And it transitions right into the workout.
“I Want Your Sex” — broken into two parts but really one long, nine-minute funk symphony — can and should be the soundtrack to good old-fashioned freaking. But again Michael goes into the well — “I don’t need no Bible, just look in my eyes.” Later he professes “sex is best when it’s one on one.”
He’s still hedging his bets. Yes “Faith” gave Michael an opportunity to let loose his beliefs, to free himself from the shackles of cute pop and enter the bold, late 1980s, but he still calculates. He can’t get too far in one direction or else he’ll completely lose an audience. To wit, “Faith” opened a Pandora’s box for Michael, as critics and commentators began questioning his sexuality, something pretty controversial and potentially damning for a pop star at the height of Reagan-era values politics. If the kids only knew what “Father Figure” was about …
So Michael made some concessions with “Faith,” crafting a masterful pop album while getting a few of his beliefs out there, however coded.
Hell, even the most obvious one, “One More Try,” manages to cloud the imagery just enough. Sure the singer casts himself as “an uptown boy” who can’t decide whether to go back to his “teacher” for more sex, but the “things” Michael sings about in the airy, powerhouse ballad are just that: things. The obfuscation worked, and “One More Try” was the third consecutive №1 smash from “Faith.”
His 1990 album, “Listen Without Prejudice Vol. 1” managed a few hits but failed to live up to “Faith.” It also was Michael’s last solo studio album for six years. The pressures of pop stardom were too great for him, and the struggles of being closeted while being a mammoth pop star troubled him. So “Listen Without Prejudice Vol. 1” began Michael’s fade into pop obscurity. During that time, responding to a story where Michael explained his disillusion with pop stardom, came a famous response from Frank Sinatra. It tossed off Michael’s pop-star wariness while trying to treat him, sort of, like a hat-wearin’, croonering equal:
“Come on, George. Loosen up. Swing, man.”
Then, later:
“… those who have talent must hug it, embrace it, nurture it and share it lest it be taken away from you as fast as it was loaned to you. Trust me. I’ve been there.”
I don’t think Sinatra has been where George Michael has been. Ol’ Blue Eyes never needed to camouflage his beliefs and his sexuality so that he could even have the platform necessary to be himself. He never had to commodify himself as a suntanned face and ivory smile wearing a “CHOOSE LIFE” t-shirt so that teen girls across the world could poster him on their bedroom walls.
Maybe at the time Sinatra’s letter had good intentions, but today it’s a reminder of the fight Michael had to endure to simply break through the plastic facade built by pop culture — mostly by Americans — to ensure values were being met and followed. Sure there were others like Michael who fought, often valiantly, to break the American mainstream — notably Boy George — but they didn’t have the laser focus and, in Boy George’s case, decided Americans weren’t worth it. The megastars Michael Jackson, Prince and Madonna all embraced their beliefs — and we’re lauded for their work — but were given the opportunity to be separated from those beliefs by those who felt those beliefs were problematic. “I love his music, but his personal stuff …” or “Madonna is weird, but ‘Vogue’ is catchy!”
Michael didn’t quite have that luxury. His early Wham! tunes — like “Freedom” — were so notably kitschy that, like Boy George and his Culture Club, they were both celebrated by the mainstream and discarded by the music elite, thus never allowing any opportunity for nuance. There wasn’t substance to draw from that output, it seemed, even though Michael was trying desperately to wink to every listener he could find.
His solo stuff found both critical and cultural acclaim, but he still couldn’t say everything he wanted. The song “Faith” is about love. The songs about spirituality say nothing at all. And the songs about forbidden love meander lyrically, even though Michael clearly had the gift to write more direct stuff. Either way, something kept him from going full bore. And despite his mammoth success, the sold-out shows, the screaming fans and the paparazzi, he couldn’t make the next artistic leap. Freedom wasn’t everything it was supposed to be.
The album “Faith” is incredible. Side A is a love letter to sex, and it’s liberating and fun and beautiful. But it stops short. And Michael’s life stopped short. There was more he could’ve said, more he could’ve been. But Sinatra didn’t get it right at all — it was Michael’s choice to fade from stardom at the height of his popularity. Nobody could know what he was going through — only himself.
And now, nearly 30 years after the songs of “Faith” burned up the Billboard charts and captured America’s attention — only for the music — it’s really worth examining just how much of a struggle it is to get a platform at all.
