Boy George steps out of the shadows

What a grand time the ’80s were for blue-eyed soul singers from the British Isles.

Considering how frequently many of them were derided for norm-smashing style more than appreciated for enduring recordings, it often didn’t seem like such a glorious age as it was happening. Looking back through rose-colored lenses, however, especially to the decade’s fertile earlier years, there remains a deep pool of distinctive pop voices worth rediscovering: the holler of Paul Young, the passion of George Michael, the sleekness of Spandau Ballet’s Tony Hadley, the exuberance of Duran Duran’s Simon Le Bon.

Icons from the ’70s like David Bowie and Bryan Ferry were easing into GQ phases, plus there was Paul Weller shifting from the Jam to the Style Council, the melodrama of Morrissey and all manner of great ghouls, from Ian McCulloch to Siouxsie Sioux. And two women in particular, Annie Lennox and Alison Moyet, could trump ’em all with one walloping cry.

Then there was Boy George, who has finally reemerged in a strong way this year with his first proper album in nearly two decades and a raved-about tour that ended this week with two sold-out dates in Los Angeles.

It never was a stretch of the imagination to picture his career running into trouble, as it has more than once in the 30-plus years since the tall, androgynous fellow born George O’Dowd first asked “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me” in a sublime masterpiece of English reggae that took radio and nascent MTV by storm. Outside of Ms. Lennox’s bold moves in Eurythmics, George, with his long hair, gender-bending fashions and model-perfect makeup, was the most fearlessly out-there star of the new wave, even though he was decades away from coming out, instead remaining cheekily coy about his sexuality – Kissing to Be Clever, as Culture Club’s debut suggested.

That popular but underrated band, a sly world-beat hybrid thrust onto a global stage, rightly took home the best new artist Grammy in 1984 on the back of Boy George’s cultural subterfuge and unmistakable voice, a rich one that, like his look and lyrics, playfully blurred the lines between sassy femininity and swaggering masculinity.

Yet, even by the time Culture Club was at its too-soon peak with romantically spiritual ploys like “Karma Chameleon” and “Church of the Poison Mind” – both rousingly revived Wednesday night at his terrific, dub-drenched set at the Mayan – the future cracks in George’s voice were evident. It was always a fragile instrument to begin with, smoky and husky but prone to slipping off key, with an upper range he didn’t always have the lung power to pull off.

No surprise, then, that years of emotional and physical scarring have weakened – yet also re-strengthened – his singing. You can hear that more clearly on his otherwise fine album This Is What I Do than could be detected from the stage, where his belting was powerful. But though his soulfulness remains intact – he has the aura of a gay guru now, like Sinéad O’Connor without so many mental-health issues – his voice is something of a shell of itself, a throatier, raspier sound that recalls what happened to Rod Stewart and Tom Jones when they reached their 50s as well.

That meant George let his adoring audience handle high parts on those Culture Club hits; his phrasing, too, has slowed, so that the meter of “Poison Mind” often got away from him. And still his presence, in tone and style, remains singular, and the joy of his laugh after quips between songs – “It’s OK,” he told one drunken fan, “I used to be a woman just like you” – was an infectious throwback to that glossy era when he was still a trendsetter.

These days, of course, it’s success enough that he’s even in the country. Despite developing a reputation as an in-demand DJ, he hasn’t performed live here since a Culture Club reunion tour at the turn of the millennium. In the interim, he has made only the wrong kind of headlines, including a 2005 arrest for cocaine possession (later dropped) and falsely reporting a burglary (that charge earned him a paparazzi-hounded community service stint) and then a 2008 conviction of assault and false imprisonment, which got him a 15-month prison sentence.

Appearing sober and slender again this week, it would seem Boy George’s career is once again on an upswing – though the murky lighting and wide-brimmed red hat that often hid his face suggested he’s only starting to feel comfortable stepping out of the shadows. He ought to take heart from this outing’s reception, however; his Mayan performance was justifiably greeted by extended cheering.

Backed by a band of aces bolstered by a horn section as sharp as UB40’s, George turned in a strong showing that proved he has wells of creativity left to tap. It also underscored what a sharp interpreter he’s become by paying homage to many influences via covers: the late Lou Reed in a mournful version of “Satellite of Love”; the glitz of Marc Bolan in a gliding “Get It On (Bang a Gong),” segued into after a more Kingston take on “Karma Chameleon”; the faded beauty of Yoko Ono’s “Death of Samantha”; his minor-hit remake of Bread’s “Everything I Own”; a full-bodied rendition of “You’ll Lose a Good Thing,” by “the wonderful soul singer” Barbara Lynn; a mantra-like reading of George Harrison’s “Any Road.”

Then there were his originals, still centered on longstanding subject matter – like questioning religion (“My God”) while preaching that love can vanquish hate (“Bigger Than War”) – yet with a repentant tenor buffeted by vibes of renewal. “Tempted myself time and time again, like self-destruction was so cool,” he sang in the most telling piece, the Elton John-ish “King of Everything.” “What’s the word on the street?” he wonders in its chorus. “Have I lost my crown, or will I be king again?”

Probably not – his throne was taken away back before Rick Astley was “Rickrolling” your inbox. But it’s nice to know he’s welcome again at the castle of greats.

Photo: Philip Cosores, Contributing Photographer

Contact the writer: bwener@ocregister.com