I’ve always had a soft spot for Boy George, despite (or perhaps because of) his well-documented dependencies on booze and drugs, and his well-deserved real imprisonment for the false imprisonment of a rent boy in 2008. George is clean now and has been for years. From androgynous painted pop star to hard-boiled drug addict, DJ of considerable note to grubby punter, the rise, fall and rise again of George O’Dowd has been remarkable. He’s a survivor with insight, a rare commodity among the brattish celebrity class. I was never much of a Culture Club devotee but I do like a lot of George’s post-Culture Club solo work, particularly the haunting, lyrically waspish ballads that show off his voice to greatest effect. Recently, I tuned in to watch George sing with the BBC Philharmonic and I was surprised (shocked even) to hear that his voice has hit the floor (along with his balls, George recently said with typical candour). His deeper sound is growing on me. George’s latest challenge is a vocal polyp that may require surgery and it has forced him to cancel a Culture Club reunion tour. Get well soon, George.
That was then…
This is now…