Michael Jackson was never my hero. My friends and I were all children of the late 80's, when MJ was absolutely unstoppable, unconquerable, and the icon has a concreted home in the recollections of our childhood. Many of these friends have blogged today about how Michael was, for them, the youthful fixation of awe; that special figure and experience you don't entirely understand or even comprehend, but are still left when an overall sensation of mightiness. He was their hero.
Afterall, Michael could do the fundamentals of entertainment better than any other living soul: sing and dance. That man could fucking dance, and hell could he sing. But I like how BK Drinkwater has pointed out how this talent shaped the extraordinary circumstances in which he grew up, and the enormous pressure that was placed on his shoulders. There are few childstars I can think of that have survived the spotlight of their early years unscathed by drugs, eating disorders, or - in Michaels case - simply bizarre behaviour. I have to admire how despite his crayola appearance, and his dangling babies out of windows, Michael consistently redeemed himself with sheer talent. There was a reason this man dominated charts for over ten years. But, as I said, he was never my hero.
My main memories of Jackson are actually sort of scary. I remember in the early nineties, back in the days where Sunday nights had both Cheers and American Gladiators on tv, during the adverts would be a seemingly feature-length music video, or advertisement for Michael Jackson where thousands of adoring fans would unveil a statue of him. This clip seemed to be on more often than any tv programn, and it was this more than anything which made me realise what a stranglehold this man must have over the music world.
There are speculations about MJ's death that I won't go into to any great detail; suffice to say there were debts, cancelled dates, lawsuits and, well, he was Michael Jackson. 'Nuff said. I'm afraid I have too much respect for the man to go into Elvisesque conspiracy theories.
What I don't understand by the death of musicians, ever, is the swelling of value placed on their records after death, as though they're going to disappear into the cosmos with them and never be seen again. I don't understand it. Who are these MJ fans, who love him so much to snatch up enough records in the hours after his death to push Thriller to number one on itunes, and occupy fourteen of Amazon.co.uk's top 20, that don't own the records already?!
It seems to happen everytime, the last I remember being Ray Charles and Johnny Cash. But then I suppose I'll be eating my words when Thom Yorke dies - god forbid the day - I'm in tears queuing up outside Real Groovy to buy fucking everything Radiohead.
This undoubtedly is what the death of Michael must be like for everyone else. As I said he wasn't my hero, but he was for millions worldwide. People have lived their lives alongside his music, experienced life changing moments with him, which I suppose is why there has been such public interest - and outcry - at his antics. People genuinely loved him, and rightly so; his music is gorgeous.
So I say, Kia Ora Michael. You were Pop music, and you will be missed.
2 comments:
Thanks! Good point about CD sales. Made more complicated by artists like Tupac, who've released more records since their death than they did before it... no doubt we've a few MJ rarity albums on the way very soon too.
Yes! And I see Jeff Buckley is still reaching to us from beyond the grave as well.
Bleh.
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