fallen icon

Every generation has its musical cornerstones. Call them what you will - most would call them “idols” (in a much truer sense than the manufactured meat grinder that is American Idol or Pop Idol) - but they helped define entire generations.

Michael Jackson was one of them for my generation: the kids of the 1970s, who were born in the days of disco, punk, heavy metal and orchestral rock and were the original target audience for MTV (back when it really was “Music Television” and showed videos at all hours of the day and night). Sure, his rise to stardom started in the 1960s with The Jackson 5, which launched a young, pitch-perfect, dance happy kid into stardom (and effectively dragged his siblings along for the ride). But Michael really hit his stride when I was starting to become a fan of pop and rock music.

Thriller was one of the first albums I ever bought, if not the first, with my own money. I listened to that tape until it had stretched beyond playability. I owned a “Thriller” jacket because he looked quite cool in the video. I learned the moonwalk after seeing his incredible performance on “Motown 25″ (sure, he lip-synched the song, but it was the dance that had everybody talking).

I even briefly switched to Pepsi after the pyrotechnics incident out of solidarity – yes, I was a fan.

But most of all, I loved the magic of his music. Off The Wall and Thriller are wall-to-wall sonic tapestries that are solid from the first beat to the last. The infectious (if repetitive) bassline of “Billie Jean,” or the Van Halen guitar solo in “Beat It,” or the tour de force of “Thriller,” or the dance-’til-you-drop beat of “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” – all are model pop songs.

Sure, his star faded from there, but there were still occasional glimpses of brilliance, even as his personal life became increasingly erratic and eccentric. His third album with Quincy Jones, Bad, had a few nuggets, including the title song, which spawned a parody by “Weird Al” Yankovic that so impressed MJ that he allowed Al and crew to use the same set for the parody video (click the links for the two videos). Black Or White was a catchy song and had a wonderful video with excellent use of the then-emergent video morph technology. And “Scream” (a duet with his sister, Janet) had a video that still stands as the most expensive of all time - and the song isn’t too bad, either.

And sometimes MJ would collaborate with similarly high-wattage stars, like Paul McCartney:

And in 1985, he and Quincy Jones helped bring about “USA for Africa” and the “We Are The World” song and video:

(A brief aside: my 6th grade class performed this song at our graduation, and on the first run-through there were a lot of kids doing their best Cyndi Lauper, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen and Willie Nelson impersonations - things that did not please our music teacher.)

My fandom didn’t last too long, however. The first blow was when he outbid Paul McCartney and Yoko Ono for the ownership of ATV Music (née Northern Songs), which meant that The Beatles’ song catalog was suddenly open to the highest bidder for use in ad campaigns (my Beatles fandom far outweighs that of MJ, and always has). And the rumors and allegations of child molestation were tough to disbelieve, given that MJ always seemed a bit too eager to be around children.

MJ’s childhood was nothing that I’d wish upon anybody, but I also think that his adulthood was equally tragic. His constant battle to become somebody else – the pseudo-castrati voice, the horrendous plastic surgeries, the shift in skin coloration – pointed to a never-fulfilled need to treat deep psychological and emotional wounds. But the insular world of superstardom likely blinded him to this necessity, to his own detriment.

He tried to seek solace in isolation, and was about to stage a massive comeback-cum-farewell concert series in London. And now he is no more.

But we have the music, that glorious music.

Michael: may you finally find peace.

(Note: this post was adapted from my blog, randomduck.)