music

Yesterday, at about 5:30 pm on my walk home from the subway, the news spread on the streets. “Beat It” and “Never Can Say Goodbye” streamed through open windows and people tearfully called their friends obliviously shouting, “Did you hear? Michael Jackson died.” A man rode in the elevator with me, shook his head, posture stooped, and rubbed his eyes. “I never imagined losing him,” he whispered, noticeably stricken. For a moment, the world stopped as people processed the news, still in disbelief. Michael Jackson, gone?

But, despite mixed reports, the tragedy was real and as the details slipped out of 24-news coverage, the speculation, the commentary and the reflections began. Soon, itunes jammed up as people rushed to download their favorite Michael Jackson songs to replace dusty albums that were long gone, sold off to record collecting fiends. We all had our Michael Jackson moment, a memory of some way this man’s music had touched our lives, which superseded his personal struggles and the lurid gossip that trailed him until the very end.

Michael Jackson was the consummate artist. Michael Jackson was music at it’s best. Michael Jackson was the epitome of what an entertainer should be — excellent, creative, and fearless. He had it, that indescribable gift of artistry. Joe Jackson coaxed it, Barry Gordy captured it, Quincy Jones cultivated it — the makings of a born star. We lost someone yesterday afternoon, on June 25, 2009 integral to 20th century American history. With the passing of Michael at age 50 we said goodbye to the end of an era.

I cannot imagine growing up without Michael Jackson. All I wanted for my eighth birthday was to see Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video. The VCR was new to the scene, and for my first sleepover party, my parents rented the machine and the iconic Jackson video on a clunky VHS tape. I was through the roof! Back then I was a shy girl and I remember this birthday to be a social turning point as the girls and I bonded over our adoration of the king of pop. The 14-minute video sent chills up and down my spine as we watched it again and again, cringing at Vincent Price’s ominous voice over, but when it got to the part where Michael moved I was mesmerized. I wanted to dance like that, too. I wanted to sing every word. We practiced our moves for the rest of the night imitating the funky ghouls and ghosts.

“Thriller” was the first story on the screen that was set to music that wasn’t a musical in the traditional sense –it was song on film, and still the best musical video made. We all felt it coming in the coolness of “Billie Jean,” the first hit single from that album, catapulting him into his own Milky Way. The Michael Jackson fever spread, and as a young girl I had it bad — with my very own red zipper jacket and sorry attempts to moonwalk. I played dress up with one glove. “Billie Jean,” “PYT,” and “The Girl is Mine” were on constant rotation on our record player.

Two years, later when Michael wrote “We are the World,” I saved my allowance up to donate to the USA for Africa cause. I proudly sang the melody he penned at the top of lungs during the school talent show. Michael Jackson was my musical hero. As I grew older, tough guys and edgy girls wouldn’t confess to loving Michael, but I still did, particularly when he tugged my heart with truisms like “Man in the Mirror” and “Black and White.” Michael Jackson sang about the kind of world that I wanted to live in – where everyone blended in. It didn’t matter what he looked like, Michael made me want to dance. I knew about the Jackson 5, from “ABC” to “The Love You Save” and understood that this was a Motown act. To Detroiters like us, this was hometown music. Our Jackson 5. I flirted with Jermaine’s music, and loved, Janet, the most, memorizing the choreography to “Rhythm Nation,” but it was Michael who took me there, who brought me to Janet who made Jermaine interesting. It is Michael who I still play on a regular basis counting “Rock With You” and “Starting Something” as my all time favorite songs.

When we drove to Chicago and we passed through the stretch of Gary, Indiana that borders I-94 and smelled the foul stench of industry, I was impressed by the fact that this was the real birthplace of the Jackson family, a Midwestern dream of stardom realized out of the factory ashes. While the good people of Gary probably wouldn’t like my drive by view of their town, it is all I know of it — steam pipes and “Going Back to Indiana.”

Perhaps Michael the performer eclipsed Michael the man who had to live with himself, the child star who never was spared a quiet minute without the watchful eye of the spotlight. A kid who never knew what it was to wander amok became the eccentric out-of-touch shadow of a man whose actions were inexplicable and elusive and uncomfortable. Despite, his bizarre behavior and his problem’s functioning off the stage, what seemed saddest to me about Michael, is that some point his spotlight became far removed from the microphone. At some point there were no new Michael Jackson classics. At some point he stopped singing for our generation. At some point, Michael stopped for singing for us.

What Michael mastered in youth was the perfect popular music song — he made classic records — and our memories of his best years are already preserved. It is here that we will return in coming days to eulogize Michael. Like Elvis Presley, his later life trouble will fade as his music plays clearly and his actions are imitated by performers who just don’t quite have it like he did. I’m waiting for the Michael Jackson Sirius radio station and the blockbuster film.

A few months ago, I passed by an outdoor screening of Michael Jackson videos in Brooklyn. As the music flowed, and the videos streamed a crowd gathered and people marveled at how much music he had left us with. People were clapping and singing and dancing to a sweat — soaking in the essence of Michael. What started out as five became ten and soon twenty. It is this Michael Jackson who we cannot deny.

Michael first brought us together and moved us with the power of the song in the 1970s. In passing, he leaves us with his final gift, that only a star can shine on his fans, some who aren’t even born yet. He will bring us together again. Michael Jackson, we will rock with you all night, dance you into day.

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• Michael Jackson: the life and times (telegraph.co.uk)
• Michael Jackson Dead at 50: A Life of Talent and Tragedy (time.com)

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