April 20 2014 Latest news:
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Its been denied, but here’s hoping the Young Guns of yesteryear fancy a big night out again
OK. I admit it. I’d like a Wham! (their choice of exclamation mark, not mine) reunion.
I know it’s not cool. I know it’s not trendy, but in my imaginary, but frequently referred to, book of ‘Performers I’d like to see before either they or I die’ Wham! (see above) are on the list.
Yes, it’s been denied, but since when has a denial in the crazy world of pop ever amounted to anything akin to solid old fact?
I can’t admit to being a particularly die-hard George Michael fan, and my interest in Andrew Ridgeley once extended to me Googling him to see what he did now during an all too frequent retro-fuelled bit of web browsing.
But they did provide the soundtrack to an early part of my youth. A part when liking bubble-gum pop was what you did, and, say what you like, they did have a very fine line in catchy, well-crafted tunes.
Granted, Bad Boys was never going to win songwriting awards by the bucketload, but I know I can still recite all the words to Young Guns, Freedom and the 12-inch version of I’m Your Man. Not things I’d readily admit, but all those who know me appreciate my taste in music is not awash with high-brow.
But their Fantastic album was one of the first I bought, and certainly the first I bought because all my chums in primary had snapped up a copy.
It had a front cover only a boy band in the early Eighties could get away with, but it was easily accessible and I played it until my parents could take no more.
What’s more, they got better with age. Make it Big was a cracking slice of pop and their farewell EP remains something they can be rightly proud of.
But I never saw them live. And when I moved on from (openly) liking throwaway pop, I thought going to a George Michael show wasn’t quite fitting with my street cred (which was, even at its peak, pretty rubbish).
Then, however, you hit an age where none of that matters. Where you realise that trying to keep up with the charts is a pointless exercise and you may as well give up any attempt at having your finger on the pulse and just wallow in a mud pool of nostalgia.
The only problem now is that my interest is peaking once more at the same time as everyone else’s of that era, and trying to get George Michael tickets today involves being quicker on the old internet ‘book now’ button than my ageing fingers, and Ticketmaster’s system, can handle.
So for now I will simply keep those said same fingers crossed and hoped that this time next summer there’s some sort of enormous Wembley Stadium shaped Wham! reunion ready to roll out.
You may wake me before you go go and sell out. (Couldn’t resist).