One Smooth Criminal...

Connor,

Last week, on June 25th 2009, a man named Michael Jackson passed away, he was 50 years old. Since that day, the public reaction and media coverage of this event have been staggering. I think I need to explain to you who this guy was because he may have been the most interesting man alive... that is until he died. And how can we talk about popular culture and not mention the King of Pop?

When I heard the news I wasn't shocked, I wasn't upset, I wasn't sad or angry. It was like I just finished a long an interesting non-fiction novel with a tragic ending. But there was no other way for it to end.

So you may be asking yourself, "Who is Michael Jackson?" It's a tough question, one that right now doesn't have a clear answer. At least not to anyone that didn't know Michael personally, and I'm guessing it's tough even for those that did. All I can do is tell you what he was to me, which I've only given real thought toward in recent days and I promise not to romanticize his memory, something extremely popular at this time.

Before we get into that I want to preface it with a theory (surprise) that I've done no scientific research for, but the jury is still out on science so I'll go ahead with it anyway.

I believe the music that is popular (pop music) during a person's prenatal period to their first conscious memory of life (5ish?) is embedded into their DNA somehow, becoming a part of them whether they like it or not.

When we are young, like as young as you are now, we are unknowingly exposed to whatever music is topping the charts at that time. It's everywhere you go; the car radio, MTV, VH1, or whatever channel they actually play music videos on... and well, that's about it, you're a baby, you don't go many places. And knowing your mother like I do, you've probably already been exposed to Christmas music--I think she starts busting that out in late June.

The point is it's in you and there's nothing you can do about it.

I had the privilege of having music of the 1980's burned into my psyche. No matter how hard I resist I can't turn the station when A-Ha's "Take On Me" comes on the radio nor can I sit idly by when Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" takes over a party.

For the ladies of my generation it's a bit rougher; anytime Madonna's "Like A Prayer" is played they're forced to release a blood curdling scream followed by an instinctively formed tight circle on the dance floor, where they proceed to jump up and down and belt out the lyrics. There's nothing they can do; it's nature's law.

It's a commonly known fact that I love a good dance party. A slightly lesser known fact is that the best dance party is an 80's dance party. And you can't have an 80's dance party without a heavy dose of Michael.

The 80's were a special time where hair-spray and leg warmers replaced analytical or obscure thoughts. The deepest question asked during the entire decade was, "Where's the beef?" A time when guys wore short shorts and ladies wore shoulder pads; where the answer was no longer blowin' in the wind because people were too busy being rocked like a hurricane to even ask the question.

(It sounds like a non-stop party and I'm sure it was, but for every action there is a reaction. So after 10 years of no questions asked partying came the 90's, grunge, Kurt Cobain, and women wearing flanel--nothing's worse than depressed people in their 20's. I do not envy this era.)

No artist was more essential, more iconic during the 80's than Michael Jackson. Because he started making hits at age 11, by the 80's Michael's fan base spread over two generations and touched people from all over the world. In a time where pop-music was king, he was most definitely the King of Pop.

Michael's 1982 album Thriller is, to this day, the highest selling album of all-time. And with the way the music industry is run today, it won't be topped anytime soon... unless of course Hannah Montana really hits the studio--but other than her, no one can touch Mike.

My earliest memory of Michael was his 1988 movie "Moonwalker" which had me believe he had special powers and could dance his way out of almost any situation (which is kind of true)--and if that didn't work he could just wish on a shooting star and turn into a giant robot that saves the day. Also, Joe Pesci killed people with tarantulas--you know I really couldn't tell you what that movie was about, but it scared the hell out of me. I most likely saw it on VHS around 1990.

In 91' Michael sealed my allegiance by showing up on my favorite TV show, The Simpsons. They should teach you The Simpsons in school; at least the first ten seasons--there's no better way to learn satirical writing, there just isn't. (This will prolly be a whole 'nother post)

Mike's episode, entitled "Stark Raving Dad", involved Homer being committed to a mental institution for wearing a pink shirt to work. While inside, Homer meets a large, bald, white man, whom sounds a lot like and calls himself Michael Jackson. I won't go into great detail on why this is a genius premise, but just know that it is and that this would be the last time Michael seemed at all human to me--and of course this came while he was a cartoon.

In 1993 it started to fall apart--16 years ago, I was 9-years-old. I feel it is important to note how long ago this started and how young I was to understand my reaction and indifference to his death. That was the year he was first accused of doing something terrible--something he would be repeatedly accused of with overwhelming evidence toward his guilt over the next 11 years--the last of which was covered in great detail in the media only five years ago, but has somehow been completely forgotten in recent days. (When you're old enough, click on this. You won't even believe this guy was real.)

For the first couple years there was still some deniability to all of the terrible and bizarre accusations thrown at Michael. As we talked about in the Fanhood post, anything we are fans of gets the benefit of the doubt to the point where we will deny all logical thoughts to defend it's credibility. And no one has tested this resolve more than Michael Jackson.

I couldn't even begin to describe how crazy Michael Jackson went without this post being of novel length. Just know that he was craziest celebrity of all-time. We may have seen our share of Lohans and Britneys and Whinehouses, but no one could ever go near Micheal's level of crazy. He was the strangest person in American history. Before him maybe Howard Hughes or J. Edgar Hoover held the title, but Mike, like with his music, took crazy to whole new level.

Now the thing with crazy is--if you're as rich and famous you don't get called crazy, you get called "eccentric." And this is only true when you are for real crazy and are super, super rich. This is where the tale becomes tragic. Because of Micheal's success, he was able to keep himself in a bubble that allowed him to act outside the rules of regular society. He never atoned for the terrible things he did and he never got help with all the issues he had. No scientist or doctor has every been able to definitively diagnose Michael because he could afford to be crazy--or eccentric. He could also afford to die $400 million in debt--most countries don't have that kind of credit.

I find less tragedy in his death than the fact that it didn't happen while he was in a hospital being treated and studied by a team of doctors. It seems that he died before ever confronting or dealing with what he had become... Frankenstein. With encore lighters serving as modern day torches and autograph pens the pitchforks, Michael Jackson was our first real American Frankenstein monster. We may not have built him or given him Abbey Normal's brain, but we sure didn't help things by letting him hang out in trees and literally live above the law. Because he's in a tree, so he's above the law, cause, um, the law is at eye leve--alright so maybe not literally... anyway, you understand.

It's hard to say what the lesson is in all this. Maybe it's about the price of fame. The most popular responses from young children to the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" are "rich" or "famous." They don't care how or why, just that they become one of those two things. But with great ambition comes... um, you know what, I can't warn you of the fate of Michael Jackson because there will never be another person like him. He was just the weirdest guy ever. So I thought I'd tell ya how I remember him cause who knows how it'll be written in the history books.

Despite his craziness, he was an all-time great artist and I'll continue to dance my heart out to his music because he was once a positive influence on this world--before he lost his marbles that is. Plus, it's embedded in my DNA.


To quote the great Forest Gump, "That's all I got to say about that."

Your Favorite Uncle,

Kevin