I didn't realize how disorienting Michael Jackson's death was to me until Friday night. The shock had first registered only as a major news event, like Hurricane Katrina or 9/11, and I promptly went into CNN-watching mode like the rest of the country, breathlessly awaiting more details about MJ's demise that would make it bigger and more celebrity-worthy. Was it suicide by painkillers? Physician-assisted self-destruction? Foul play? A cleverly staged but bizarre opening act to Michael's summer comeback tour? A back-from-the-dead "Thriller" episode in real time?
Over the hours, the wild possibilities receded into a plain fact: Michael was gone. Alone with that fact by Friday, I felt a sudden, enormous loss. The Jackson 5 were a huge part of my musical orientation that started in childhood with the second-wave r & b sounds that picked up where the doo-woppers of the '50s had left off. Groups like the J5, Temptations and O'Jays were smooth, even sweet, but assertive in a way their predecessors weren't allowed to be. The new day of the '60s found its way into hits like "I Want You Back," with its crashing piano chords and thrumming bass line, and Michael's voice, prefacing it all with "Let me tell ya now, uh huh" that grabbed the attention of lots of girls older than eleven.
But the energy wasn't just sexual; it was personal. As Michael the child adult morphed into Michael the adult child, I stuck with him. I stood by his right to live as a recluse who still wore his heart on his sleeve. He was maybe the first black performer to be so publicly vulnerable; to questions about his face and other controversial matters he had no cryptic lines or canned answers. He lacked the hard emotional shell common, even necessary, to generations of black American artists who assumed that although the world loved their music, it was not interested in their inner lives. In being himself, Michael reversed that equation and broke the color barrier of pop stars whose personal stories, foibles and all, resonated well beyond their music. Elvis might have been the king, but it was his troubled career and stalwart naiveté and that made him legend. The same can now be said of Michael.
It was these thoughts that pushed me out of the house on Friday night, away from the television and into the streets, seeking camaraderie in my sadness just as so many folks were doing all over the world. I went down to Leimert Park, and found a kind of homespun tribute underway: next to a boom box set atop a wooden wagon, people were doing their best Michael Jackson moves to tunes like "PYT" and "Billie Jean." It was joyous and spontaneous, not to mention surreal--the most energetic tribute was given by a man the crowd called Grandpa Flagg, a wiry guy with snow-white hair who dipped, spun, and grabbed his crotch to prolonged whistles and cheers. Next to him was a younger man in a big polo shirt, solemnly performing one of the signature head-swerving moves from the "Thriller" video.
It was all mad, but touching. We wanted to get Michael right. He would have appreciated that.
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Erin, what can I say?
We all mourned Michael Jackson last week. At least I thought...until I watched Joe Jackson on the red carpet (what and why was he there?) at the BET Awards.
Ironically, at the same time I was watching "Unsung" on TVOne about the tragedy that was Florence Ballard.
Joe Jackson forgot to mourn a lost son. He was mourning a lost career and future endowment. His youngest son, troubled and dead too young...and he was lawyered and public relationed up..and not a tear or broken voice to be seen or heard.
And poor Florence Ballard, possibly the best voice of the original Supremes, unceremoniously kicked out and her life slid downhill to an early death.
We all forget that these celebrities want careers, but forget what a devil is in the details of success. Money and fame and for too many unhappiness and tragedy.
Oh, that the next generation make sure they appreciate what a delicate balance life is and strive for that balance.
I can't help but wonder if the frequency with which today's celebrities have psychotic breaks will ever decrease. Any hope of this is wishful thinking, I suppose, until the public's interest in the details of celebrity's lives--and deaths--stagnates somewhat. I wonder, will our fascination with the details of celebrity tragedy will ever wane? Or are we doomed to an eternity of tabloid culture?
It seems the surreality of celebrity will be with us for the foreseeable future.
Until those who claim to be celebrities start losing the PR people and handlers and enablers and allow the world to see that they are all pretty much like the rest of us, warts and all, except maybe for their celebritory talent, the desire to create an otherworldy and unreal public persona which always seems to differ from reality, fuels the tabloids and therefore the paranoia.
Unfortunately, those from oppressed families or minorities are more than happy to begin believing in the myth of their celebrity, which appears, at least to them, to finally lift them out of their reality.
However reality is what it is. Down deep, unhappiness is never cured by celebrity.
I almost forgot about "She's Out of My Life"! That song meant so much to me.
Nice tribute, Erin. I was blindsided by my grief as well.
Thanks for all the comments. My opinion is that I don't think people are psychologically equipped to handle super-celebrity, just like soldiers aren't really equipped to handle killing people en masse. It always takes a toll. In MJ's case, he was less equipped than most. And coming from poverty, the fall into the glitzy trappings of fame was even deeper. Didn't help that his father was a tyrant, even tho he's the one who made All the fame possible. Complicated.
JudLew, glad u remembered that song. I don't think MJ gets credit for being the great balladeer that he was.
Insightful, as always. As a white woman in my 40's, I remember Michael Jackson growing up in suburban Kansas City (MO). He had the sweetest voice on my little radio next to the bed. I realized the impact of his death on me as soon as I heard about it last Friday. It stopped me in my tracks - and I was never a big fan but I sure seemed to like a lot of his music. I'm happy to say that it wasn't the anomalies that I was mourning in those first thoughts. I wouldn't have even called it mourning until today, when I read your thoughts here, but that's what I've come to see it as.
To me, it was was something else. If it translates well, I'd probably call it the purity of his intentions. I honestly believe that he was just a gentle soul that remained unadulterated to the best of his abilities - in spite of it all. It sounds like he won, too. From all accounts, he was coming back ... and big.
Over time, I think people will remember Michael with whatever face most pleases them ... and a theme song. I liked a lot of them, but right now my favorite is that one from the whale movie, "Will You Be There." Never saw the movie, love the song though.
Thank you for the nice forum, Erin.
Erin, I did like your term.."fall" into the glitzy trappings. It is so true that financial success is too often just called "success" even when the person often fails personally. Oh that the driving force would be personal happiness. We could see that attempt in MJ's physical transformation and attempt at creating a family of his choosing.