During fifty years as a music manager, I’ve often wondered whether it’s been a worthwhile way to spend my life. It’s a strange job; you subjugate your own creative ambitions to be an appendage to someone else’s. Sometimes it seems worthwhile, sometimes it doesn’t. A couple of times, just when I’ve been in maximum doubt, something has come along to validate it, which is what happened in 1983 when I first started working with George Michael. He was the type of artist who made being a manager feel like a worthwhile job.
It wasn’t just his songwriting and performance abilities, it was his awareness of image and confidence in himself. He was the most creatively complete person I ever managed, the only solo artist who
