Boy George remains mercurial, like some sort of animal capable of changing its appearance to adapt to its surroundings. What are those things called again?
Boy George remains mercurial, like a lovely, swift animal capable of changing its appearance to adapt to its surroundings. What are those things called again?

It doesn't happen every day in this line of work, but occasionally, a very famous person acknowledges the story you wrote about them. This weekend, it happened on Twitter, when Boy George—who'll be in Seattle Thursday when Culture Club plays Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery—got wind of Kurt B. Reighley's fantastic and frank essay about growing up in the shadow of BG's complicated queer iconography, and tweeted out this renunciation:

It seemed plausible that George had not really read the piece, which, though critical, is undeniably loving and celebratory. Instead, he seemed a bit hung up on the word "nostalgia," which is understandable, based on factors. But the word only appears once in the story, and is not wielded as a shame truncheon, the way it sometimes is in writings about veteran musicians. Reighley is at pains to acknowledge and praise George's later-stage work, including those 25 years in the dance scene. To wit:

Best of all, he's still making music. Mark ("Uptown Funk") Ronson featured George on his 2010 Record Collection. In 2013, the singer startled fans with This Is What I Do, his first studio album of original material in 18 years. His register has dropped lower, the rasp in his throat transformed from finest sandpaper to jagged gravel. Like Billie Holiday's circa Lady in Satin and Marianne Faithfull's from Broken English forward, George's voice has been imbued with hard-edged wisdom by decades of ups and downs.

Not to mention the solo tunes her mentions that sent me roaring into the archives:


Perhaps upon (re-)reading the piece, Boy George softened a bit, and offered this somewhat melancholy follow-up tweet:

By this time, Kurt had responded most sympathetically:

This was not your typical internet feud. No shade was thrown. No nastiness. Just a small misunderstanding, and, perhaps, a failure to discern genuine love and respect—the kind that wouldn't mean much if it didn't also contain some criticism.

At this point, I, perhaps a tiny bit starstruck, jumped in with a suggestion that would settle the mini-beef (scarcely a beef at all—the carpaccio), once and for all, and make many fans of Kurt's work as DJ El Toro on KEXP, myself included, very happy indeed:

No word yet, but a lot could happen between now and Thursday. Stay tuned!