...George Alan O'Dowd at Barnehurst Hospital in Bexley, Kent on 14 June 1961, to Gerald and Dinah O'Dowd, who were originally from Thurles, County Tipperary in Ireland. He is one of six children. His siblings are Richard, Kevin, David, Gerald, and Siobhan. He was a follower of the New Romantic movement which was popular in Britain in the early 1980s. George and his friend Marilyn were regulars at The Blitz, a trendy London nightclub run by Steve Strange of the group Visage. George and Marilyn also worked at the nightclub as cloakroom attendants. Boy George's androgynous style of dressing caught the attention of music executive Malcolm McLaren, who arranged for George to perform with the group Bow Wow Wow, featuring Annabella Lwin. Boy George's tenure with Bow Wow Wow proved quite popular, much to the dismay of Lwin, the group's actual lead singer. His association ended soon afterwards and he started his own group with bassist Mikey Craig. Next came Jon Moss (who had drumming stints with The Damned and Adam and the Ants), and then Roy Hay. The group called themselves In Praise of Lemmings, but the name was later abandoned, and they settled on the name Culture Club The band recorded demos that were paid for by EMI Records but the label declined to sign them. Virgin Records expressed interest in signing the group in the UK, while Epic Records would handle the US distribution. They recorded their debut album Kissing to Be Clever and it was released in 1982. The single...
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...This is Pow Wow He stood among the dancers in the grass arena, still and poised, ready to outperform his competition. Finally, the loudspeakers rang out with the beat of the drum, setting the dancers into motion for the last time that year. Slowly, they began to come alive quickening their pace as the singers cried out their song. His steps were perfect, each one placed with meaning, precisely timed with the beat. His feathers bobbed up and down, echoing his movements. Beads of sweat streamed down his painted face and caught at the end of his nose before being thrown onto the moccasin-beaten grass. His bells and headdress shook with each step, the red and yellow colors of his regalia blurring as he spun. His heart raced as the song reached its peak, his hands wet with nervous sweat. He timed his steps, concentrated on the beat, and took a deep breath, preparing for the move that would bring him victory: a complete and perfect handspring. As his feet came down over his body, thousands of Indians around the arena caught their breath. He pretended not to notice, continuing to pound his moccasins into the ground in rhythm with the drum. As the last beat rang, he froze his body in the stance of a warrior, posing as still as he had before the song began. His chest heaved and sweat poured down his broad, smiling face. I joined my family and the crowd in cheering for him, proud to be his niece. Dancers like him and moments like these are what keep our culture alive. This is why I love...
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