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With warm wishes, and in peace,
Maya Mathias
Hi family, friends and lovelies,
My life had many dark moments, and I wrote my best music from very dark places.
Looking back on my life, and on the year that has passed since I died on Christmas Day 2016, I can’t help but be grateful for the light that guided me to my destiny, to your hearts and back into the eternal glory of a midday sun.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always felt as one with people who are very out-of-the-box different. Those who stand out because they’re odd in a gifted way, because they’re lit up by something that can move the world.
Music is what lit me up. I woke up and went to bed with music. From the time I was 7 years old, I knew my dreams were far bigger than what my parents held for me. And when pop stardom came to me at the age of 18, I rode the wave with Andrew Ridgeley, my Wham! bandmate. Fame is a funny thing – they grab a hold of you and squeeze you. It was hard work, and the cutthroat record labels made us grow our hair out and wear hairbands. It was crazy what we had to do, that we weren’t too into, at a time when I suffered from poor body image and was raised to believe vanity had no place in my life. The industry told us who they thought we should be. Not many people took the time to sit with us, to find out who we truly were as artists.
That said, my days in Wham! were joyful because of the fun adventures we had. I was intent on chasing the red line up the staircase of global success and, for those 4 whirlwind years with Andrew, we broke many barriers. We smashed records, we became the first Western band to perform in China, and Andrew kept me sane through it all. There was a lot to be proud of and my parents, especially my traditional blue-collar-raised Greek-Cypriot father, came around and realized this wasn’t just a teenager’s idle fantasy. By the time I was 20, I was a skilled producer, arranger and songwriter. I knew I was good, but I couldn’t be sure if our fans loved our artistry as much as our image. That uncertainty spilled into my first solo album Faith, which seemed to me to enjoy more success than the quality of its songwriting actually deserved.
For all the spotlight and worldwide fame that came with Faith, I had a sense of foreboding that it was too slick and image-driven by half. Promoting the album had also driven me to the edge of madness, and I craved a sense of normalcy and a chance to find love. The kind of love I was born to give and receive.
I knew I was gay by the time Wham! was in full throttle, and I came out to my close friends and bandmates. In the public domain, I wasn’t told to keep it a secret in order to sell more records, or to keep the screaming female fans interested. A part of me simply knew it was a dangerous time to be a gay man. The world was only just learning about AIDS, and I wanted to protect my family from the fear of knowing I could succumb to its deadly wrath.
And so, I kept my sexuality private. That didn’t stop the tabloids from asking me about it every chance they got, and I was sane and smart enough to turn it into a coy game of “you’ll ask, and I won’t give you a straight answer.” It (and I) came out in a very public and stupid way many years later, and taught me the value of being who we are now instead of waiting for the perfect time to come out. All those years in between, and all those people who kissed me back then, they were kissing a fool. They didn’t even know I was hiding my colors from them. I listened to too many people and not myself in those early days. Times have changed now. The world is getting warmer to the LGBT community, and we’ve gotten stronger for it. I regret not doing more in the LGBT community. It wasn’t as big back then, and was just so looked down upon, but I could’ve done more there with my work and my leverage.
The lesson is not to hide who we are as artists based on the music industry’s standards. I was told by so many who I am and it never felt right. In the late 1980s I came into my own and told Sony, my then record label, that I needed to take a temporary break so I could sustain our contractual relationship for the long haul. I didn’t want to promote my second solo album Listen without Prejudice with either my image or time on the road. They listened but didn’t fully hear. Consequently, when I took Sony to court, many mistook my altruistic desire to help all artists get fairer deals with their labels as a selfish impulse to covet even more millions for myself.
Listen without Prejudice marked my new musical phase. I wanted to speak and sing more about my life, my inner demons, my inner struggles. And once I found more artistic freedom to go there, everything opened up for me. That’s another lesson. If you’re a songwriter, don’t avoid the dark places in your life. They were the source of my writing brilliance. Grief, income inequality, melancholy, disenfranchisement, AIDS, waging wars and soldiers’ sacrifices, working class struggles, suicide, unrequited love…no stone of darkness was left unturned. Fans heard my heart and took me into theirs when I released Older and Patience, and the cover or greatest hits albums in between.
Then, I reached a point where I didn’t want to play the record label game anymore. I really wanted to go into seclusion, to just enjoy my life with my partner. I had played the game for so many years, starting at 18. In my 40s and 50s, with my body changing, and people saying I was unrecognizable – well that was fun. It’s not easy aging as a pop star, always having to reinvent yourself every time. I still made music, one-off tracks to support causes and people I cared about, but those dark clouds of fame as an older artist were haunting and daunting.
Still, I wish I would’ve known and trusted that we all have our own people. In my private life I’d had Anselmo, the life-changing lover who still brought a tear to my eye 23 years after he’d died. I’d had my Mum who knew me, who really knew me – she was my light and took care of me like a baby always. I’d had the rest of my family and close friends. I’d had Kenny and then Fadi, who held me in the dead of night and took away that fear that I carried. And through it all, I had my lovelies, my fans. I really enjoyed flaunting and performing for them, and they enjoyed me too.
My people knew that sex was my thing, that it filled me up inside and made me feel whole. When you sing about sexuality you just jump the charts. That really was very freeing for me. My music was my vengeance in a way, to tell the world that I don’t care how they sized me up. Thankfully, my people knew sex wasn’t my only thing, that my autobiographical songs also contained funky beats for the feet and healing tunes for the heart. They see all of me, and they love me for it.
I often spoke of destiny. Of how much I believe it, and of where I feel I may have sabotaged it, by being reckless with my prescription pill and drug consumption. That overarching sense of destiny was my guiding light, an unshakable faith that I would be a superstar, that I would meet the love of my life when I made room for him, and that my experiences of grief and recovery would become songs that heal millions of hearts.
Still image from the Jan 2008 pilot episode of Eli Stone.
I often had a sense of fun. I love to dance and flaunt myself. It was very much in me from a very young age. I danced to disco hits from Chic, and had a full circle moment when Chic guitarist Nile Rodgers and I worked on my posthumous single Fantasy 2017. When I was at the top in the ‘90s, the parties got quite out of hand, but we had fun. That’s what it’s all about really. This sense of fun and excess also got me into the drug scene – it was an easy thing to do, especially because of my sexual orientation. And my idea of cruising for sexual fun wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I took the piss out of myself on TV with Ricky Gervais and James Corden. I even made cameo appearances on the charming 2008 American comedy series Eli Stone, a show about a lawyer who sees prophetic heavenly visions. (Oh, the validating stories I could tell my 2008 self about that show now!)
I often shared my wealth. Some of my charitable donations were well-known, like those for the Elton John AIDS Foundation, Help a London Child and the Goss-Michael Foundation that helps young visual artists flourish. Many other donations only surfaced after I passed. I wanted it that way. I wanted to love many of you in secret, so you’d know my love and generosity were true. And this past year, you’ve returned that love to me a million times over. Your tender thoughts, social media shout outs, award show and UK X Factor tributes, and memorials outside my homes move me so. Thank you Andrew, for leading the charge, and thank you lovelies for working so hard to try to get Last Christmas to #1 this year. (We were so close, weren’t we?) Your love helps to eliminate the darkness I felt for so much of my life, and continues to banish the fear that Anselmo, Kenny and Fadi soothed whenever they held me in the dead of night. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your devotion to my memory mirrors the devotion I have for my music. All I ever wanted was to share a piece of my musical soul with you. (With some funky dance moves on the side.) Then, now and always.
Most of all, I often wrote what I saw and felt as I moved through my fast and incredibly fortunate life. I kept breathing, I kept picking myself up, and I kept writing. In faith, for freedom, and for peace. Music was and is my light. It’s my everything, and it remains my gift to you whenever you need it.
Know that you light me up whenever you experience one of my songs, remember our fun times together, or care for the people, animals and places I left behind.
Know that I now walk in the light of a midday sun. And know that I hold you close in that divine white light.
Keep listening, lots of love, The Singing Greek x
Maya’s note: In addition to dozens of publicly available source materials about George Michael’s life and legacy, key elements of this tribute were distilled from:
- George’s final (BBC Radio 2) interview, a frank conversation with Kirsty Young, which was also incorporated into the documentary film “Freedom”, George’s final creative project released in Oct 2017
- The book “George” by UK’s leading celebrity biographer Sean Smith, released in Nov 2017
- An early-2017 reading with Spiritual Medium Stacey Lynn, when George came through and shared some of his innermost thoughts with us
- My meditating on and communicating with George’s spiritual energy, to more fully channel and express his essence
Thank you, George, for trusting me with your truth. I’ll keep listening.
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