The news of Michael Jackson’s death last week was shocking because while he always looked sickly and pale, I figured that was part of his “look,” with his bleached skin and altered features.
The news of Michael Jackson’s death last week was shocking because while he always looked sickly and pale, I figured that was part of his “look,” with his bleached skin and altered features.
That he may have been addicted to pain medicine is sad but not surprising because it seems to be the indulgence of choice for celebrities these days.
But rather than focus on his death, his indulgences or his strangeness (Lord, if you look in the dictionary under strange, wasn’t his photo there?), I am prompted to reflect on his impact, on music, society and me.
Ok, I have to admit it. I didn’t start out as a fan of Michael Jackson.
He is younger than I am, and his squeaky voice didn’t really resonate with us older guys (age 15) back then. We were listening to the Temptations and the Four Tops and Marvin Gaye. Even Stevie Wonder was still “Little Stevie Wonder.”
Complicating matters was that groups like the Jackson 5, the Five Stairsteps and even the Osmonds raised unreasonable expectations on families that had a lot of children. We were all potential singing groups, even though there wasn’t a whole lot of talent there. I remember being paraded out to sing Maurice Williams’ "Stay" for company. We sang along to the 45-rpm, and we weren’t bad, but Joe Jackson had his kids from Gary, Ind., spinning and dipping and playing instruments.
But as I grew older, and as Michael started to express himself through “his” music, rather than just sing "Rockin’ Robin" and "Daddy’s Home" and "Ben," I began to appreciate his art. He found a rhythm that was all his own, and then he started to dance.
I have never even attempted a moonwalk. My feet are too big, and I’m not that coordinated. I feared falling during the attempt, which would have been hard to live down.
But I marveled at how well Michael moved, how he seemed to simply defy physics by his movements. By the time he did the album, "Off The Wall," I was a big fan. I bought the album (and later bought the CD), and "Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough" was a favorite.
I mostly overlooked his idiosyncrasies because he was producing great music, and by the time he did "Thriller," my son was a huge fan. I didn’t get him any of the zippered jackets, but MTV had started (and I could afford cable) and my son could see Michael Jackson on television almost all day. Michael Jackson was bigger than "Sesame Street" and on par with Voltron and He-Man (and almost as real).
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