What a sad week for those of us who grew up with Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, and Michael Jackson. I’m feeling really old, right now.
The passing of McMahon and Fawcett were a given; both had been ill for a long time. And although familiar with and fond (in a cultural way) of both, it’s the passing of Michael Jackson that’s really thrown me.
We were born in the same year, you see. I remember at age nine or so, dancing in the living room of Shelly Marchitello to the music of the Jackson 5. We swooned over little Michael, who was just our age, and perfected our Stupid White Girl Moves to “ABC” and “I Want You Back”.
It wasn’t an easy time in my life, and I waited breathlessly to watch their act on The Smother’s Brothers Show or American Bandstand.
When Michael busted out with “Thriller”, I remember that video totally transforming the face of music videos for all time. There is not one bad cut on that album. Not one.
It was with great sadness that I watched this superstar of the planet deteriorate among allegations of … well, you know. Everyone knows. He was never convicted, but I think he still paid a heavy price.
I did a lot of reading about Jackson over the years, and how he was physically abused and psychologically raped by his own father from the age of five. As successful as he was, he was broken from the beginning, and I guess his early death is really no surprise.
Did he make his own decisions? Yes. Is he responsible for his own actions? Of course. But it’s not my place to judge Michael Jackson for his personal life — I’ll leave that to a higher power. I’ll just hope that this tortured soul has found the peace and love that so obviously eluded him in this life, in spite of the many accolades and the millions of records sold.
With that, I’ll send my everlasting gratitude to a musical prodigy who gave me years and years of enjoyment and pleasure.
I will always, always picture Michael Jackson as that cute, chubby-faced boy of nine, singing with the voice of an angel and dancing with a precision that’s never been seen since. I’ll always wonder at what price he paid for that precision, and wonder if it was worth it.
Rest in peace, Michael. And thank you for teaching two little girls how to get in touch with their inner funk.
Will You Be There
Everyone’s taking control of me
Seems that the world’s
Got a role for me
I’m so confused
Will you show to me
You’ll be there for me
And care enough to bear me
Scream
Oh father, please have mercy ’cause I just can’t take it
Stop pressurin’ me
Just stop pressurin’ me
Stop pressurin’ me
Make me wanna scream
Stop pressurin’ me
Just stop pressurin’ me
Stop fuckin’ with me
Make me wanna scream
Childhood
Have you seen my Childhood?
I’m searching for the world that I
Come from
‘Cause I’ve been looking around
In the lost and found of my heart…
No one understands me
They view it as such strange eccentricities…
‘Cause I keep kidding around
Like a child, but pardon me…
People say I’m not okay
‘Cause I love such elementary things…
It’s been my fate to compensate, for the
Childhood
I’ve never known…
2 Comments to “The Passing of an Era”
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The phrase ‘tortured soul’ seems completely relevant here, doesn’t it. Poor guy. We probably don’t know the half of it. Good on him for still managing to let all that talent come through, eh? Some would have gone right under and made nothing of themselves.
Fran´s last blog ..More evidence that I either write depressing or comic, but nothing in between
I guess there’s a price to pay for being so talented. I’m not sure I want to know the other half, you know? You’re right, though. He had to be some kind of tough on some level.