Okay. Back it up, people.
Every comic and person with a sense of humour I know has been Twittering and Facebooking clever, ironic, sick or perceptive gags pretty much since the news broke this morning. The ones lucky enough to be employed to do this professionally for television or radio have been sharing their joy at how many quality jokes theyâre producing (and ought to be warned, everyone else producing quality comments and sharing them will be watching to see if their work is uttered and broadcast for free or in exchange for the increase in somebody elseâs bank balance). But others still are busy being offended and deleting and unfollowing former âfriendsâ for making such remarks. All of these pursuits are ways of reacting to and dealing with stuff. None of them will have an effect on Michael Jackson now.
So hereâs the thing: before today I canât remember having heard a good word said about Michael Jackson in a decade and a half. I canât. Not at all. Not a single one. I donât know anyone who has bought a CD that wasn't a reissue or compilation in that time. I donât know if he released an album in that time that wasn't a reissue or compilation. I don't know anyone whoâd know.
If youâre getting all sanctimonious now, my question is, why didnât we hear from you when everyone was putting the boot in? Donât pretend you donât remember Martin Bashirâs doco, Living with Michael Jackson. Shouldnât that have been the time to get defensive and demand people lay off? Why didnât you? Were you too ashamed and embarrassed to admit you actually still liked him? Were you quietly fuming? Or did you feel let down that the same guy responsible for Off the Wall and Thriller had become an A-1, certified, irrefutable nutjob? I remember Ross Noble doing material, as made available on one of his Official Bootleg CDs (neither of which is available any longer). It went something like this:
âLook here, Iâll have that, please, Iâll have two of them, all of thatâ¦ have we got themâ¦?â
âYes. Yes you have. Yes. Youâve bought all of them. (Shit, he didnât but weâll say he did; heâs clearly mental.)â
You know my favourite bit of that documentary? The best bit of that â and this is where I thought, âMichael Jackson: proper mental!â â is that bit when Martin Bashir went into his hotel room and he had all of these models, weird waxworks. There was one â and this is where I just thought, âthis is beyond madnessâ¦â; Iâm not making this up â that he had that was the Jolly Green Giant. A model of the Jolly Green Giant.
And you could see Martin Bashir go, âI donât want to be alone in a room with this guyâ¦â, you know what I mean? He sort of looked and went, âOh, my sweet Jesusâ¦â. It was like heâd been invited to a pool party at Barrymoreâs house. He was like, âOh, Iâm not into this at allâ. And Jackson turned around and out-mentalled him. It was great.
He turned to the camera and went, âWhatâ¦erâ¦ What is that?!â
Jackson did a brilliant thing. He just went, âItâs the Jolly Green Giant.â Proper mental!
And Bashir, trying to be Mr Journalist, was like, âOh yes, good.â
But he didnât leave it there â he rubbed it in. He went, âYou know â âYo, ho, ho!ââ â like Bashir was the most retarded man on the face of the planet. You know what I mean? Like heâs gone, âItâs the Jolly Green Giant. This guyâs clearly mental. He just doesnât understand. Iâm gonna have to help â âYo, ho, ho!â Câmon Martin, itâs okay. One day youâll be smart like me. And my good friend, the Giant.ââ Freaky.
It was fantastic.
I do like that itâs massively kicking off in the Gulf. Itâs like, âOh, weâre gonna have a war.â And the big thing in all the papers was, âMichael Jacksonâs got a fairgroundâ. Hold on a second â weâve got our priorities wrong here.
(c) Ross Noble
Note that even Ross has the good sense to make a bit of fun of Bashir and point out the foolish priorities of modern media while also making fun of Michael Jackson. But if this media event â the Bashir doco and subsequent vilification by the public-at-large â didnât move you to speak out, if you didnât have a good word to say about Michael Jackson in life, if you wouldât defend him to the death, then why on earth bung it on now, after heâs died?
Every death is sad.
The tragedy in the Michael Jackson story â the poor kid robbed of a childhood, growing up to be a reclusive genius perpetually trying to recapture that childhood â was the plastic surgery-having, nighttime oxygen chamber-inhabiting, baby-dangling, Lisa Marie Presley-marrying, âBlanketâ child-naming, untold fortunes-squandering, Elephant Man skeleton-buying, deserted theme park-owning, up a tree in the Bashir documentary like some sort of animal-shinning, allegations of little boy-touching, albums with altered cover art-reissuing life he was living up to this point. Not the death that followed.
As you can tell, I wasnât a massive fan. Even though it doesnât rock like âBlack or Whiteâ or any of the cool tracks, my favourite song was the least known duet he did with Paul McCartney, the Pipes of Peace album track âThe Manâ (a proposed single release was cancelled).
Of course, the lyrics now have a delicious irony:
Who plays the game of life so well â
Oo, thereâs such a man.
His thoughts you can never tell.
Oo, and itâs just the way he thought it would be
âCause the day has come for him to be free.
Then he laughs, he kicks, then rolls up his sleeves:
âIâm alive and Iâm here forever!"
This is the man.
As nice as it would be for Jackson to be remembered just for the musical genius, the phenomenal dancing and the super-stardom, truth is, there were other aspects to him. I canât think of him without thinking of Frank Zappaâs little tribute, re-writing his song âTell Me You Love Meâ as âWhy Donât You Like Me?â (featured on the album Broadway the Hard Way):
So CNN broadcasts Michael Jackson tributes back-to-back; Sony issues its own tribute without admitting how lucky the company is if, unable to call in loans made to the star, it just secures a greater share or total ownership of the Beatles songs Jackson bought ages ago and borrowed against; and true fans who already bought tickets to upcoming âcomebackâ shows are truly saddened. Still, donât forget: Charlieâs hottest angel Farrah Fawcett also passed away today.
Iâm adding to this section as something grabs my attention that I would have quoted had it come up before I posted this blog. So far:
- I tell a great, big, fat lie: my friend Juhyun has always admired Michael Jacksonâs work, and rightfully championed the good stuff as it came, if it came. So heâd know what new material has been issued. Heâd most likely own it. And, on occasions where I wasnât being too pig-headed and ignorant, would have played it to me.
- Andrew Sullivan has provided one of the best online tribute I have read so far.
- Quite fond of what I like to refer to as Germaine: Jackson, too.
- Vultures swoop down to feed off the bones. Even in other countries. (Thanks to Mat Kenneally for bringing this ad to my attention.)
- Jackoâs friend Rabbi Shmuley Boteach speaks to CNN frankly about Michaelâs shortcomings.
- My buddy Julie Lawlessâs tribute, published on www.rhum.org.au.
- My buddy Soda xâs tribute, published on Music People.
- Upon reading this blog entry, my friend Rachel wondered how different things might have bee if Jacksonâs personal eccentricities hadnât outshone his music. I don't think anyone is that brilliant without personal eccentricities.
To be really good at something you have to sacrifice something else in
order to spend that time getting good. For Jackson, it was the childhood
that he lost. Others forego human interraction and so perhaps don't know how to make small
talk, and are perceived as 'arrogant'. Or become arrogant after
being shunned for not knowing how to socialise. If Michael Jackson could have
maintained the musical output at least there would have been other
things to talk about, either instead of, or as well as, the kooky
stuff. But to have been more ânormalâ would have required a âmore normalâ up-bringing, which would have meant more time being a kid, and less, being a hit musical star. So I donât think he could be so talented without being so strange.