Like so much of the rest of the world, I fell in love with Michael Jackson after Thriller came out. I was just starting to get into music and this guy was just–he was magical and extraordinary. His songs rocked and made me want to dance (I love dancing) and it didn’t matter what his skin color was or what “type” of music he made. I hate “types.” Screw types. I hate boxes and types and all that nonsense. Michael Jackson came along and definitely broke any box and type he might have been in.
I grieved with the rest of the world when I heard that Jackson passed away. It’s so sad. His life is one of magic and majesty coupled with scandal and sadness. He was never allowed to grow up because his talent didn’t allow it. Whatever might have happened once he was an official adult, this remains true–God gave this man such talent and such soul that he gave it all to the rest of the world.
The world, like they always do, took as much as they could and then forgot and abandoned Jackson when there was nothing left to take.
Now, his music is selling. And I believe in the words of his famous producer, Quincy Jones, who says that in 50 or 100 years, the only thing that will matter is this: the music. Whether that saddens you or gives you hope, it’s true.
Recently, there are two songs of Jackson’s I’ve rediscovered. Oh, I know Thriller by heart along with the rest of his classics. But it’s two gems on his album HIStory.
One is “They Don’t Really Care About Us.”
The other is “Stranger in Moscow.”
Take a look at these lyrics from the latter:
“How does it feel (how does it feel)
How does it feel
How does it feel
When youre alone
And youre cold inside
How does it feel
How does it feel
When youre alone
And youre cold inside
Here abandoned in my fame
Armageddon of the brain”
A man can have everything–talent, fame, fortune–and lose it all.
No need to put a spiritual spin on that. That’s the truth. And it’s sad and tragic.
It’s sad that a man like Jackson could get to a point in his life when he felt “abandoned in (his) fame.” That he felt “cold inside.”
The music will live on, yes. But that lonely boy is gone.
I feel for that boy. I grieve him. I feel that he never had a chance. Not one bit. That the machinery of art ground him up and spit him out. They put him on a pedestal for a short while, only to knock him down.
He left us so much music. To me, it will always be beautiful and haunting.
I think for Michael Jackson his life was his art, his music. Much like for some writers their words are what sustains them.
Since my deafness I've rediscovered music throught the lyrics. I don't think a lot of people see the poetic, chaotic beauty in the words themselves.
(Hugs)Indigo