George Michael

Somewhere in the Philippe Starck–designed restroom of a boutique hotel on South Beach, George Michael’s “Faith” is pumping out of the ceiling speakers, as sleazy Eurotrash models do bumps of cocaine off each other’s nipples. Or maybe the theme is “I Want Your Sex.” Or, so dreamily, “Father Figure.”

Listen without prejudice? Sure. Listen without indulging in fond nostalgia for American Psycho–era decadence and bisexual club-kid ennui? No freaking way. The one-time boy-band beefcake turned soulful groove papa of the Versace set is 44, and he’s back. By now, everyone has almost forgotten how he survived two career implosions that derailed him through much of the 1990s.

One was a feud with his record label, Sony, that led Michael to go “on strike,” releasing no new albums for several years. And when he finally was poised for his comeback, he got busted in a Beverly Hills men’s room for “indecent behavior” with an undercover cop.

At least the notorious “is he or isn’t he?” question was resolved: He is. But it might have been too late in the singer’s truncated career for him to profit from the surplus exposure.Then again, Michael was making future democracy safe for Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan.

Gossip aside: Damn, he had some hits. And, Madonna excluded, there’s no better representative of the ’80s zeitgeist. The tabloid ink has overshadowed an artist who wrote, produced, arranged and played the bulk of his pop perfection. The current—and, according to Michael, last—arena tour is all about those classic No. 1s. No doubt, an older and wiser Michael will bring more than nostalgia to the footlights.