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Well, he woke up the morning after the Oscars to an assassination’s worth of ridicule, including from an openly gay man who had won an Oscar. And, on the deluxe edition of the album, a cover of Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know?” which was not a sad song until he sang it. Nearly every song was about this: “Stay With Me,” the sad song about wanting a man to stay even when it’s clear he’s not in love “Good Thing,” the sad song about deciding that he’s stayed too long waiting around - that one begins with a vision of him getting mugged outside the man’s door and dying in his arms like Éponine. “IN THE LONELY HOUR” was a little more than a half-hour crying jag about longing for a man - a straight, married one he was in love with whom he never so much as kissed. Banking on pop stardom as your whole and complete admitted self wasn’t something that happened every day. The handful of out gay pop stars before him - including his idol, George Michael - mostly endured lengthy “are they or aren’t they?” periods before they publicly acknowledged that they were gay. He thought this was very enlightened, a gay pop singer just integrated into stardom without the waves and the hand-wringing and the controversy.
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He was not going to leave the question of his sexuality to guesswork or rumor. He came out publicly as gay just as soon as his album was released. Smith tells me this, his eyes dampen again - it’s been just about that long since it seemed like there was anything he could do right. It’s been almost that long since he became a real, live pop star: a four-time Grammy winner with five Top 10 singles, an Oscar winner all with one measly LP, less than an hour’s worth of music, to his name. It’s been that long since his lovely, million-faceted voice called out to the bereft, the forsaken and the rejected and announced itself as this generation’s avatar of romantic despair. It’s been more than three years since his first studio album, “In the Lonely Hour,” flung the planet’s brokenhearted face down upon their beds anew with its wet-pillowed, dark-soul despondence. He’s been in love, he said, but it was unrequited. Smith’s amygdala and his tear ducts is deep and well worn. He encouraged his son to be emotionally expressive. He’s fine with his crying, what choice does he have? His father used to cry at a sunset, or after an argument. Smith began to talk about love - big, delicious tears that coated and magnified his sad, glorious blue eyeballs but never quite leaked out onto his cheeks. Yes, the floodgates really opened once Mr. When he talked about love, he leaned back on the couch with his limbs splayed and looked upward as if he died momentarily just considering a concept so big.
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In the lonely hour album inform movie#
He cried talking about how much he cried when he watched the movie “Inside Out.” And he cried when he talked about love. He cried when he talked about writing “Pray,” a song from his new album, “The Thrill of It All.” He cried when he talked about the children he met in Mosul, Iraq, on a recent humanitarian mission, and then he looked down at the sparrow tattoo he got on his arm when he returned home, with “Be good, be kind” written in Arabic beneath it, and he cried again. This is a mostly complete inventory of the times that sweet, sad Sam Smith cried over the course of two hours on a couch here at the Chateau Marmont hotel on a recent Friday morning: He cried when he talked about the house he grew up in when he reminisced about a crush who turned on him when he talked about his first voice teacher.