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By George! By Frances Hardy, Daily Mail 31 March 2005 from www.thisislondon.co.uk He lambasted George Michael as a hypocrite, accused Madonna of exploiting her fans and says Elton John's 'desperate to be trendy'. So what IS turning Boy George in to the Queen Of Mean? Boy George, queen of the arch aphorism, arrives bereft of make-up and swathed in a bulky grey overcoat. His scarf is in a toning dismal shade, while his capacious jogging pants (a similarly dreary hue) are off- set by an inadvertent splattering of bleach. Worn plimsolls complete the ensemble. He could be an off-duty janitor. But any misapprehension that George - minus the slap and sequins - will assume a persona as drab as his clothes is dispelled by his first diatribe: a coruscating invective against the curse of reality TV. 'I was offered a lot of money to go on I'm A Celebrity - Get Me Out Of Here!' he says. 'But it wasn't enough to go into the jungle without make-up for 11 days and get covered in bugs. No amount of money would induce me to do that. Ever. 'I'm not a fan of reality TV. It's boring. And it contributes to the dismantling of glamour and excitement. I chose this bohemian, glittering lifestyle precisely because I didn't want that Big Brother kind of reality. 'And Celebrity Fit Club is the ultimate in self-humiliation. What next? We'll be filmed having barium meals stuck up our backsides.' Outrageous, opinionated and crushingly censorious, Boy George, 43, revels in the barbed rebuke, the withering put-down. And yet there is a guileless charm and sweetness about him. He is neither pragmatist nor cynic. He will not sacrifice principles for cash or cachet. Last year, he declined an MBE. His mother, Dinah, was furious and accused him of being spiteful. George's riposte was: 'Too bad you didn't give birth to Cliff Richard.' Why not accept the honour graciously? 'If I had, I might just as well give up and start doing Daz adverts,' he says. 'It's not that I'm anti-royal - although they could give us more pomp and circumstance, dress up more and get the tiaras out: I just didn't go into music to get a medal from the Queen.' It is 23 years since Boy George, then the doll-like, androgynous front man of Culture Club, achieved instant fame with the No. 1 single Do You Really Want To Hurt Me? Five years of international celebrity, spectacular wealth and a succession of 21 UK top 50 singles ensued. Vociferously gay, George confounded the nation by declaring on prime-time TV - to the chat show host Russell Harty - that he would rather have 'a nice cup of tea' than sex. The admission, it emerged, was disingenuous. He was, at the time, enjoying 'rampant' sex with Culture Club's drummer Jon Moss, who is now, incidentally, married with children. So why the arrant falsification? 'It was a way of avoiding the subject of sex with someone (Harty) who was a closet homosexual,' he says. 'It was clear that he didn't want to discuss his own sexuality. So I decided not to discuss the subject of my own.' The merest whiff of hypocrisy sends George into a rant. When the double standards are blatant, he will rain torrents of vituperation on the offender. Take the hapless singer George Michael. Their long-running feud was precipitated by Michael's espousal, during the Eighties, of a macho, heterosexual image. In fact, he was gay: a truth humiliatingly revealed when he was caught in compromising circumstances in a public lavatory. This ignominious 'outing' gave Boy George - who has advertised his own sexuality since he was 15 - the ammunition he coveted. People saw me as the benchmark queer while George was passing himself off as a straight stud. In fact, he was loitering in public loos like some pre-war homosexual. It's one thing to keep quiet. It's another thing to pretend to be someone you're not.' Underpinning his indignation is the suggestion that Michael promoted the straight persona for commercial ends: the legions of girl fans who bought his records might not have been so enamoured of a promiscuous gay. Which brings us to Madonna. 'A living, breathing cash register' is what George calls her. While in the Nineties she was content to outrage, titillate and blur the edges of her own sexuality by kissing women for her book, Sex, she has now espoused a religion - Kabbalah - that denounces the 'sin' of homosexuality. 'I detect a slight edge of hypocrisy here,' says George, luxuriating in the irony of understatement. 'She has now joined a spiritual movement that believes homosexuality is a curable disease. How can that be all-embracing?' George savours the shock of both visual and verbal outrage. His barbed one-liners are legendary and he pricks pomposity with the stiletto shards of his wit. Even hugely-inflated egos are not exempt. Thus we have his famously protracted antipathy to notably gay Sir Elton John, who had the temerity to duet at the MTV Awards with the offensively homophobic rapper Eminem. 'It's like me singing with Pol Pot,' rages George, in his newly-published memoir Straight - a book that settles a few old scores. Sir Elton has attempted to defend his action as a 'political move', suggesting Eminem's willingness to sing with him is evidence of a laudable new acceptance of homosexuality. George is not appeased. 'It's just a desperate attempt by Elton to be trendy,' he fulminates. 'He didn't drag Eminem on stage and make him apologise for all the vile things he's said, did he? Besides, Eminem said he didn't even know Elton was gay.' To compound George's indignation, Elton's long-time partner David Furnish approached him at a nightclub and told him the great man was upset by his remarks. 'Who made Elton the headmaster?' demanded George, before retiring to the loo. A red-top tabloid later accused George of 'cowering' from the incensed Furnish in the lavatory. 'Can you imagine me running away from David?' asks George now. 'I'd knock him out with one finger.' The George before me is, indeed, thick-set and physically imposing; as impressive a presence as his late father, Jeremiah O'Dowd, a builder noted for his mercurial temper. Jeremiah and Dinah raised their six children in a council house in the South London suburb of Eltham. Theirs was a tumultuous household; Jerry's plate-throwing rages were infamous. However, when the chips were down, the O'Dowd family always rallied. So, when George acquired a near-lethal heroin and cocaine habit in the mid-1980s, it was his brother David who - to shock his sibling out of his drug-induced torpor - shopped him to The Sun. Junkie George Has Eight Weeks To Live, decreed the headline in 1986. Manifestly erroneously, as it turned out. Because, with the help of his parents - who moved into his home, a Gothic pile in Hampstead, North London, to support him during the painful period of withdrawal - George kicked his drug habit. Therapy and reiki healing aided his recovery. His father went along too, emerging - a surprising twist here - as a qualified healer. At the same time, Jeremiah also acquired a new woman in his life. After 43 years of marriage to Dinah, he began a furtive affair, though admitted only to a friendship, which his unsuspecting wife embraced. When George discovered his father's duplicity, although the marriage had long-since descended into loveless bickering, he was furious at the hurt caused to his long-suffering mother. 'You never save people's feelings by deceit,' he fumes. 'My dad had a responsibility to end his relationship with my mum before he began his affair.' I ask if George - with his uncompromising stance on hypocrisy - applies as rigorous a moral code to his own life as he expected of his father. 'I do not believe in open relationships,' he states. 'If you're in love with someone and it's not working out, although it's not very nice to say "It's over", it's preferable to having an affair.' Jeremiah died in September last year. By then, George had made his peace with his father. 'Regret is pointless,' he says. 'The last time I spoke to Dad, I had a very pleasant conversation. He told me he loved me. I loved him. Do I forgive him? Of course I do. My book is dedicated to him.' There have been bleaker tragedies in the O'Dowd family's volatile history. A decade ago, George's younger brother Gerald, a paranoid schizophrenic, was detained in a secure mental unit after stabbing his wife, Gill, to death. 'I don't think I will ever get over it,' George has said. Much of his past - notably Culture Club days and the excesses of his drug abuse - he chooses not to exhume. Since last August he has lived in New York (his Hampstead house is rented out, suggesting a temporary sojourn), where he is enjoying a flourishing new career as a dance music DJ, fashion designer and photographer. He has not had a record contract for a decade. He likes the fact that New Yorkers do not constantly remind him of the past. 'In London, I think I'm the only person who realises the Eighties are over,' he snaps. Then he's off on another harangue: against the BBC (an old boys' network that does not play his records, thereby denying him sales); against the music industry (so formulaic, so many manufactured bands); and against fame in general (spurious, transitory). He went to the States when Taboo - the musical based on the wildest club night in mid-Eighties London, for which he was songwriter, occasional performer and creative linchpin - transferred from London to Broadway last August. Taboo, which opened in the West End in 2002, was a fragile hit in London. Reviews ranged from adulatory to damning. But when one equated George's song-writing talents with Andrew Lloyd Webber's, George wept tears of gratitude. Later, when the show closed after a calamitously brief Broadway run, Lloyd Webber was heard to decry its creators as 'a bunch of amateurs'. 'I thought it was a bit of a cheek,' bridles George. 'I'm surprised at how many people say "We must save live theatre", then, when you try, they tear you apart.' That said, he is not about to expend too much creative invective on Lloyd Webber. 'I met him at a party once. He was slightly pleasant,' he says, damning with fine-tuned faint praise. Waspish and deliciously indiscreet as he is, his tirades are often legitimate retorts to unjustifiable behaviour. Of course he loves a gossip; a bitch. But his voice, surprisingly gruff in timbre, is rarely more than a cadence away from laughter. He relishes the vitriolic soundbite. 'I won't be voting for Tony Blair again,' he announces. His face - aside from the piercing Celtic blue of his eyes - might go unremarked in a crowd. Without the full peacock panoply of his 'going out' attire, George is almost anonymous. Only an elaborate tattoo, depicting a Star of David and lotus flower, adorning the back of his head and visible through his close- cropped hair, marks his eccentricity. Why did he have it done? 'Because I wanted to,' he says, mock petulant. He has no partner at the moment. His last love affair ended two years ago. 'I fall in love at the drop of a hat,' he says. 'I'm romantic. I am very optimistic that I will settle down with someone, although these days there is so much emphasis on the superficial. 'Lasting relationships are harder and harder to find.' Boy George, for all his capacity to scandalise and shock, all of a sudden sounds quite the middleaged moralist. Straight, by Boy George, is published by Century, price £17.99.
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Fighting the demons 23 March 2005 from www.london24.net It seems that wherever Boy George goes, controversy follows. The former lead singer of 80s gender-bender band Culture Club has always been outspoken and outrageous, but most recently he's been ruffling some celebrity feathers. He has branded Little Britain star Matt Lucas a "prissy, niggly diva", verbally attacked Sir Elton John for duetting with rapper Eminem, who has been criticised for his homophobic lyrics, and accused Madonna of being a hypocrite for using the gay community to boost her career. He also criticised George Michael for not coming out earlier and then getting arrested in an LA lavatory, fuelling the myth that gay men are "rampant". All this might suggest that the 43-year-old, who now lives in New York and has re-invented himself as a club DJ, fashion designer, photographer and author, is turning into a bitter and twisted old queen. But a make-up free George, dressed down in black wool jacket and faded pink trousers, says his comments about fellow celebrities have been taken out of context. Indeed, many of the news-making lines have been gleaned from the second volume of his autobiography, Straight. "If you read the stuff in context, it's not mindlessly bitchy. Anyone that feels they've been slighted should just read it and see that it's quite well rounded," he insists. "I've read reports that I hate Madonna, but I don't hate anyone. I do criticise her, but she is a woman of extremes. I think Madonna's really interesting and I think she'd be really insulted if I hadn't written about her." He met Matt Lucas when the comedian appeared in George's West End musical, Taboo, which centred on 80s club culture. "We just didn't get on. I don't think there's any love lost between me and Matt whatsoever." It's 15 years since George had to deal with the fall-out from serious drug addiction, the failure of his relationship with Culture Club bisexual drummer Jon Moss and the collapse of the band which brought us Karma Chameleon, Do You Really Want To Hurt Me? and Victims, among other hits. George says although he still has tantrums, he cares less about what people think than he used to. "I'm definitely a lot less volatile than I was 10 or 15 years ago. One of the aspects of celebrity that I've always been uncomfortable with is people fussing around you." You get the feeling that behind the bitchiness lies a vulnerable soul who has spent a long time searching for true happiness. He's admitted he's attracted to heterosexual men, for instance (although he believes anyone can be swayed). But the very nature of his desire means that it's all likely to end in tears of love unrequited. He's gone on several spiritual journeys to India, been through six years of therapy and is still trying to understand aspects of himself. His father, Jerry O'Dowd, whom he had not spoken to since his parents divorced, died last year and he has been through a wealth of emotion about his feelings about him since then. "When it happened, I felt everything at the same time - numb, angry, nothing. It goes in waves. One day you are feeling really sorry because you wish you'd made that phone call, but you always think you've got more time. "My dad could fill the house with terror in one roar." He never felt the need to forgive his father and acknowledges the fact that he is like him in many ways. "With death there is a tendency to romanticise the past, to recreate history as you want it to be. My main concern was for mum's well-being because I felt she had suffered far more than she deserved." George is now happily drugs-free and hardly drinks. So have his demons been laid to rest? "No, I don't think the demons ever go. Romantics never recover. I definitely have very self-destructive qualities but I try to keep them in check." He is still looking for a stable relationship, he smiles. "I'm an optimist where romance is concerned. As I get older one of the things I've accepted is that you have to take risks and you have to risk being disappointed. But you shouldn't give up." He has long since emptied the walls of his Hampstead home of all the gold discs he acquired during the band's heyday, storing them or giving them away and now lives in relative harmony with a female friend in New York. There were too many obstacles for him to stay in London, and Radio 1 doesn't play his records, he says. "It was getting harder for me to move beyond people's limited perceptions of what I was capable of as a creative person."
Straight, by Boy George with Paul Gorman, is published by Century, price £17.99. Out now.
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Mad about the Boy 25 March 2005 from www.hamhigh.co.uk It's not every day you get to meet a bona fide icon, unless, of course, you are Woody Allen's therapist. But, on 2005's first glorious spring day, I enter the lobby of the unfathomably exclusive Home House in Portland Square and wait, a little anxiously, to be ushered into the presence of Boy George. Based mainly in New York these days - from where he conducts his various creative interests in music, fashion and photography - George still remains a part-time Londoner: not only does his family live in the capital, but he still owns a house in Hampstead. This particular trip marks the publication of his second autobiography, entitled Straight: "It's a triple entendre," he says later, a pun that evokes the book's holy trinity: sobriety, sexuality and honesty. When finally I see him, sitting alone in Home House's garden, I am momentarily disappointed. Usually bedecked in bright colours and vivid make-up, he has plumped instead for a look that says, "I am the bassist in Echo and the Bunnyman": a long overcoat half hides the logo on a black T-shirt which is accompanied by dark jeans and chunky trainers. I realise later my reaction is precisely what George is all about. "People have these assumptions about me," he says. "And I like to disappoint them in that respect. I understand that society wants to put everything into a fluffy pink box, but unfortunately that's not how life is." Contrast, friction and subversion are vital components of George's persona. In typically contrary fashion his favourite phrase is "I'm sorry"; this is, however, almost always followed by a "but". Similarly, I find on closer inspection that the drab clothes only enhance other features: the star shaped tattoo beneath his shaved hair; and his eyes, which are of the lightest blue and shine as he speaks, which he does eloquently, rapidly and with utter charm. It is impossible to do justice to Boy George's conversation in only slightly more than a thousand words. Here are the edited highlights: "The 70s was exciting because it was so incongruous. You had punk rock, Michael Jackson dancing in front of a lurex curtain. Everything was wrong about the 70s and that's why it was so great;" "It is always the most unattractive men that call you 'faggot'. I'm like, don't worry, you're not my type;" "I saw Germaine Greer on Big Brother. Hasn't anyone got any dignity any more? Joan Collins said, what's next, people on the toilet?;" "There's this na•ve attempt to bridge this gap between famous people and people on the street. Why not just get rid of everything - get rid of dreams, destroy the whole thing and bring it down to smoke and ash?" A recurring theme is misconception of his character. "The press take a sentence out of a well written piece and bastardise it to get a reaction. I say, Matt Lucas is a really brilliant actor and a great comedian, but they don't print that. They print that I don't like him. (Laughs). Well, that's actually not what I said. (Laughs even more). It's just that we didn't get on, that's all." This is not to say George is a shrinking violet when offering his views, especially about sexuality. "I don't want to be assimilated or apologise for what I am. I am not a typical homosexual and it doesn't inform everything that I do in my life. I don't live in a gay ghetto either. I hang out with people I like, regardless of whether they are gay or straight. "There is nothing wrong with what I am. Why is it alright for straight blokes to talk about girls? I like boys, so I am going to talk about it. Get over it. If you don't like it, don't listen." The same attitude informs George's views about famous figures, above all fellow icons who should know better. "The stuff I have said about Elton John and Madonna is absolutely fair enough. Since when is having an opinion a crime? If somebody like Elton John does something as extreme as performing with Eminem, who is openly homophobic, then he can't expect somebody who is unapologetically gay not to say something." I ask why that collaboration angered him. "It is not an artist's job to reinforce stereotypes. It is not OK for Eminem to use the word 'fag'. He doesn't use the word 'nigger', so why can he say 'fag'? The reason Elton's annoyed is because I told the truth. Elton made out it was a political gesture, but he quite clearly did it because Eminem is trendy. It's not like they talked about how Eminem would apologise for all the vile things he has said about gay people. Do you think that if I made a racist record or joined a white supremacist movement people would just go, 'Whatever, George is just being ethereal'?" So who does he upset these days? "Madonna's publicist," he replies instantly. "Has anyone from the Kabbalah come out and said, 'We are gay friendly'? All religions tell you they embrace homosexuality - love the sinner, not the sin. All that means is: you're going to hell. Let's pity them because they're damned to hell. How is that a compliment? I'm sorry, that is really offensive." George relishes keeping lazy celebrities on their toes. "I think it's very important for people who are gay or claim to be gay-friendly to be very conscious about what they do. You can't just say, 'I'm into this religion and it doesn't matter whether it's homophobic'. It does matter - it matters big time. You've got to be pulled up on these things, I'm sorry." When I ask about the future, George turns cheeky once more. "Our next show is in September. Perhaps I should get Madonna to model for me. Get her a T-shirt that says 'I Hate Boy George'. I'll make her one." Before I leave, I mention my nerves about meeting him. Why, he asks. My mind considers magazine headlines like "Queen Bitch: George Goes for the Jugular"; my mouth mumbles feebly about fame. "Oh, it's so overrated, fame," he replies, laughing cheerfully. "A friend was reading in the book that I had sold 50 million records. She said, 50 million! I said, it doesn't mean a thing." With that, he's off. I leave Home House with a smile on my face. I needn't have been nervous. George gave much more time than I was promised and was never less than charming. Though he'd hate me for saying it, perhaps that is the secret buried beneath all those assumptions: Boy George is a gentleman - the perfect gentleman, in fact. Straight is published by Century, £17.99.
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Still a naughty boy 22 March 2005 from icnewcastle.icnetwork.co.uk By Hannah Stephenson, The Journal Controversy seems to dog Boy George's footsteps like an unwelcome stage door stalker. The former lead singer of 80s band Culture Club has always been outspoken and it seems he hasn't mellowed. Allegedly he has branded Little Britain star Matt Lucas a "prissy, niggly diva", verbally attacked Sir Elton John for duetting with rapper Eminem, who has been criticised for his homophobic lyrics, and accused Madonna of being a hypocrite for using the gay community to boost her career. He also criticised George Michael for not coming out earlier and then getting arrested in a Los Angeles lavatory. But as we meet in London, a make-up free George, dressed down in black wool jacket and faded pink trousers, says his comments have been taken out of context. Indeed, many of the news-making lines have been gleaned from the second volume of his autobiography, Straight. "If you read the stuff in context, it's not mindlessly bitchy," he insists. "Anyone that feels they've been slighted should just read it and see that it's quite well rounded. "I've read reports that I hate Madonna, but I don't hate anyone. I do criticise her, but she is a woman of extremes. I think Madonna's really interesting." He met Matt Lucas when the comedian appeared in George's West End musical, Taboo, which centred on 80s club culture. "We just didn't get on. I don't think there's any love lost between me and Matt whatsoever." It's 15 years since George had to deal with the fall-out from drug addiction, the failure of his relationship with Culture Club drummer Jon Moss and the collapse of the band. Today, he is charming, despite having been out clubbing until 5am. "I was in a club last night and some guy walked up and said, `I wish I was gay, because I love you'," he laughs. "That would never happen in New York." Sporting a close-cropped haircut and a large Star of David tattoo on his head, there's none of the trademark bad behaviour, although he says he still has tantrums. "I'm definitely a lot less volatile than I was 10 or 15 years ago. One of the aspects of celebrity that I've always been uncomfortable with is people fussing around you." You get the feeling that behind the bitchiness lies a vulnerable soul. He's been on several spiritual journeys to India, been through six years of therapy and is still trying to understand aspects of himself. His father, Jerry O'Dowd, to whom he had not spoken since his parents divorced, died last year and he has been agonising over his feelings for him since then. "When it happened, I felt everything at the same time - numb, angry, nothing. It goes in waves. One day you are feeling really sorry because you wish you'd made that phone call, but you always think you've got more time. "Other times, you'd be sitting there laughing about some of the dreadful things my dad did. My dad could fill the house with terror in one roar." He never felt the need to forgive his father and acknowledges that he is like him in many ways. "With death there is a tendency to romanticise the past, to recreate history as you want it to be. My main concern was for mum's well-being because I felt she had suffered far more than she deserved." George is now happily drugs-free and hardly drinks. So have his demons been laid to rest? "No, I don't think the demons ever go. Romantics never recover. I definitely have very self-destructive qualities but I try to keep them in check." He is still looking for a stable relationship, he says. "I'm an optimist where romance is concerned. As I get older one of the things I've accepted is that you have to take risks and you have to risk being disappointed. But you shouldn't give up." He realises many people think he's retired or is some desperate figure trying to claw his way back to fame, but says it doesn't bother him now. He has long since emptied the walls of his Hampstead home of all the gold discs acquired in the band's heyday, storing them or giving them away and now lives in relative harmony with a female friend in New York. There were too many obstacles for him to stay in London, and Radio 1 doesn't play his records, he says. "It was getting harder for me to move beyond people's limited perceptions of what I was capable of as a creative person. I was bored of it." He has continued to record on his own label but doesn't yearn for the dizzy heights of Culture Club. "I never thought I'd become the artist that I did become. It wasn't my plan. I never for a second imagined that little girls would have pictures of me on their wall. "That kind of mania was from a different generation and I'm not interested in it. I want to make enough money to do what I want and be comfortable." Straight by Boy George with Paul Gorman (Century, £17.99)
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Straight to the point 19 March 2005 from www.guardian.co.uk Boy George has left music behind, but his famously sharp tongue has not deserted him. Chris Sullivan catches up with a chameleon who's still no calmer Now into his 44th year, Boy George has released part two of his best-selling autobiography, entitled Straight, which deals with, among other things, drugs, spiritual rebirth, Broadway, gay men, straight men, pop stars and the death of his estranged father. Having fully explored the superstar DJ arena, George has moved to New York City, launched his own clothes label, B-Rude, and become a fashion photographer. I first met him almost 30 years ago as we both saw the other shoplifting Aertex T-shirts in a north London army surplus store and I truly believe there has never been a dull George moment. How do you cope with fame? I always thought that fame would be great if it came with an off button. There is always someone more famous than you anyway. The "it" applies to most things in life: beauty, wealth, charm, wit and eyeliner. You turned down I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, even though they offered you £300,000. I turned them all down, The Farm, Celebrity Big Brother. I'm a hideous snob. You wouldn't have seen Ziggy Stardust on The Farm. Old Bowie stomping around the thoroughfare with his platforms - I don't think so, and if it's not good enough for Ziggy then they can fuck off. I'm not good in the morning. I don't do casual. The idea of a jungle is hideous enough but especially stuck there with a load of twats I have absolutely no respect for. It was a bad move for Lydon, a good move for Jordan and Janet Street-Porter belongs there. You also turned down the MBE. Of course I did! I think it's just the end. It's like giving up. Every now and again the government says: "Let's get a queer on board! And this year let's get a really flamboyant one just to show them how liberal we really all are!" But you missed the chance to meet the Queen. What a great photo opportunity. Who wants to be photographed with a Queen who looks like she's dressed in 1980s Marks & Spencer? She should be stuck into a corset, plucked and dressed, given some heels and pushed out there doing it. She is appalling. Are you a fan of Tony Blair? (Screams) I always preferred Linda Blair. She is much more believable. And what about George Bush? The epitome of a good old boy - a good-for-nothing old boy. In your new book you also take a pop at George Michael. I watched him on TV the other day when he was talking about Wham! and he was saying, "I am a huge star and suddenly I've realised I am gay." I almost put my foot thought the bleeding TV. I've been called a poof since I was six - don't tell me he wasn't. You don't wake up one day and suddenly realise you're gay. What do you think about these programmes like Queer Eye? Queer Eye and Queer As Folk serve up this sanitised version of gay culture which is non-sexual and inoffensive, which takes us back to John Inman and "shut that door", which takes us back to square one. It's good that there is gay TV but it is so one-sided. Gay culture is much too shiny for me. Today I want to return to shame, to the days of surreptitious gay action in dark alleys. Like the club Taboo? That was just depraved. These people existed on the outside of the outside of the outside of society. There was no apology for what they were and for your average common or garden homosexual those people were an aberration because they spoiled their bid for assimilation into society. It was total debauchery. I was always having sex in the toilets - maybe I thought my surname was Michael. What happened with the play? The English version was fine but the American one was taken out of our hands by that tank of a woman Rosie O'Donnell. She took it to New York, promised she wouldn't change anything and then she kept on saying that it was a family show like Annie and I was like, "Where in Annie do you see a guy dressed in latex rubber with a club foot?" If you had your time again would you avoid doing drugs? I'd take less drugs. But didn't it almost ruin your career? I don't have a career. How can you ruin a career that doesn't exist? I never wanted a career. It sounds like the army. What do you make of today's pop culture? It's boil-in-bag fame - there are kids who would've been on Opportunity Knocks, New Faces or the cruise ships being regarded as musical geniuses. Top Of The Pops is like watching the Royal Variety Show when I was a kid with my mum. Westlife - I call them No Life. Ronan Keating - so very, very dreary. After the 1980s you turned DJ on us. What do you think of the club scene now? It is not hip, not underground. It is music for the masses. Now it's gone the way pop music has gone - formulaic rubbish. Two chapters of your book deal with India. What attracted you? I'd always wanted to go there, as it was a real place of extremes so I went on a kind of spiritual quest. It was madness - sort of Oliver Twist with curry. What religions did you encounter? Oh, I did the lot. I went with a Hare Krishna, travelled across the country, so I tried that Hinduism, transcendental meditation, tree-hugging, Buddhism and loads more you won't have heard of. I think it really important to try as many religions as you can. I find the eastern ones very interesting because they have a sense of theatre and great costumes. But I can never believe in anything without really questioning it. I even drank my own piss for six months. It tastes like Bovril. The first time you do it is absolutely repulsive and then it becomes a bit of a party trick. I was doing it while I was out with my friends and it really freaks them out. Talking of freaks what about Madonna and the Kabbalah? I think it is typical of her to be part of an organisation that buys God, as she doesn't like queuing like the rest of us. The Kabbalah says that homosexuality is a disease that has to be cured. I'd like to see Madonna sending that message out to her millions of gay fans. I call it the Kan't Kope-a Kabbalah. What about Eminem? Elton John called him one of the most important artists of our time. That's like comparing the Sugababes to Aretha Franklin. What about his duet with Elton? Like I say in my book: "It's like me singing with Pol Pot." And Elton - all that money and he's still got hair like a dinner lady. Sad. What about Michael Jackson? I think the parents of these kids need to be dragged over the coals as well. When I was a kid my mother would never have let me go off and stay the night in some rich man's house. The furthest I went was Auntie Heather's next door. Even after the first molestation allegations the parents still let their kids stay over at his house. Who for you was the most important artist of our time? David Bowie. He was just everything for me. He was and still is so important. He is a genius. How is New York life? New York is a great place to work. You get a lot of support and people are not that bothered by what you did in the past. In England it's always, "You can't do that" but over here it's like, "Go on, give it a go." And what are your thoughts on heterosexual men? All men are gay until proven innocent. Straight is published by Century, £17.99.
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The Digested Read 19 March 2005 from books.guardian.co.uk
Straight, by Boy George with Paul Gorman Taking a cab home the other day, the driver said, "Didn't you used to be Boy George?" "You bitch," I muttered. "I may be a little chubbier than I was, but I'm still famous." People think I'm motivated by money. But I leave that kind of thing to Madonna, or McDonna, as I like to call her. It's narcissism that drives me. I was recently offered $20,000 for a day's work shooting a commercial. "Why would I take that kind of money to look an idiot," I snapped, "when I do it everyday for nothing?" Not a day goes by without someone telling me that my first book, Take It Like a Man, was the most significant event of their lives. So I thought I owed them another. I've changed a lot recently. I used to think the world revolved around me; now I know it does. Having been to India, I am a deeply spiritual person and I can usually tell exactly what someone is thinking about me before they know themselves. I couldn't have reached this state of serenity without so many people, like my good friends Mike and Dragana, reminding me of how important I am to them. Nine Ki has also been profoundly influential on my life. Every person has three numbers based on their birth date and this dictates how well you can communicate with others. My numbers are 317 which means I am open and kind. Madonna is a 683. Enough said. I have always been happy with my sexuality, but don't think I've always managed to bed every man I've fancied. My therapist tells me some men find it difficult to cope with how wonderful I am. Sometimes I think the whole world should go into therapy so I could be less misunderstood. What really upsets me is when men try to forget they have been my lover. Over the years I've had public battles with Jon Moss and Kirk Brandon over this. They both want to move on with their lives. But if you don't want to appear in the gossip columns, don't sleep with a media tart. They are both commitment phobic or, as my therapist says, in that Egyptian river. Denial. You might think I've done nothing for the past 10 years. In fact, I've played records in clubs, gone on 1980s revival tours, and written and performed in the musical Taboo. So many people have told me my portrayal of Leigh Bowery is breathtaking. My therapist believes the reason it closed so quickly in London and New York was that critics couldn't process their envy of my talent. At times like that, you just have to have a good cry and start again. Already friends are telling me I'm a brilliant photographer and fashion designer. But it's my poetry I always come back to.
Are you happy? The digested read ... digested Boy George regresses still further, to King Baby
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