Inner Michael

For someone who is a wordsmith, being stunned into having no words is not just unusual but eerie. At first I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t know what stunned me more– the professionals or the fans. And yet I understood both. I saw both sides. I empathized with both.

It was yes… eerie.

I planned to watch Billboard Awards maybe to write something.

I watched what happened just as “Xcape” dropped and right before the Billboard Awards. It seems to be a pattern particularly with some people who have axes looking for a chance to grind Jackson again.

Every time there has been a Michael Jackson event and especially when it has involved some kind of release that might make him the center of attention or money, there are those who come back over and over to haunt and blacken the legacy. (That word’s chosen deliberately.) It seems there is a social stigma that cautions us to “stop beating a dead horse” but when it’s a man who’s dead, there is no social convention honored that limits thrashing the corpse. Over and over and over.

And someday, when it really is all over and they witness their full life review in the company of their Creator, they’re going to have to explain themselves. And, they’re going to have to face Michael. That will be interesting. I wonder how well that’s going to go?

“Well, but I had to have a way to support my family.”

“I needed a new car.” “New house.” “A new camera” “New (fill in the blank.)”

“I didn’t start it; I just followed the crowd and just did what everybody else was doing.”
(That didn’t work out well for Hitler’s henchmen either.)

“My editor demanded a story.”

“My editor wanted a juicy story and it had to be about him. He sells magazines.”

“We needed prime material for our tabloid show. Content is everything.”

“The ratings were sagging, we had to do something.”

“I wanted to make a name for myself.”

“Sorry about that but scandal sells; I had to put food on the table.”

“When I got out of journalism school, there weren’t any legitimate reporter jobs. I took what I could get.”

“Geez, what’s the big deal? Nobody cared. He didn’t even LOOK human.”

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Then came the album release:

Michael Jackson fans rejoiced.

Michael Jackson fans lamented.

Sony haters hated.

Jackson haters came out from underneath there.

First it was the cover.
“What the hell was that thing that looked like a dog collar?”
Some thought it was Avant Garde and reminded them of “Scream.” It could be the futuristic MJ.
Sony haters hated.

Then it was the album. (At least there was no argument about the identity of the singer.)

But was it Jackson’s work? Or really someone else’s?

What’s my opinion you asked?
Actually, when I listened to it, I liked the demos best. While the rest was OK, I thought the demos were “vintage Jackson.” I wish they had been fleshed it out just a little musically instead of using a time machine the way they used auto-tune last time.

And I think they should have called it “Vintage Jackson.”

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The I Heart Radio awards and Usher’s tribute were honorable and “Love Never Felt so Good” premiered.

People remembered.

And then came the anticipation for the Billboard Awards performance.

But just before that, we were in an elevator where a fight was going on– that took the attention off Jackson’s anticipated performance and the album release. What the hell were we doing in an elevator in the middle of a family argument? I didn’t belong there. Did you?

Then there was the hologram. It wasn’t Jackson. It was an impersonator.  The technology doesn’t exist yet to piece together a real Jackson hologram. Or it’s too expensive for an album nobody knows how it’s going to do commercially. That sounds a bit familiar?

Fans were disappointed.

Fans were elated.

Some people were “creeped out.”

Some people cried.

Some people gushed:

Some people blamed the Jackson family for exploiting their brother. (The family had no say in anything- a mistake according to Jermaine.)

The haters hated Sony.

And for Jackson, turns out “This Is It” wasn’t. A new generation found him and another generation found him again.

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I think Jackson was laughing all the way to that big studio in the sky. You know the one– where the flow of music is a hologram and comes in technicolor.