A King Dies and A Follower Mourns

The King of Pop was much more than a king to me. My mother likes to tell the story of me being less than a year old as she strolled me through the mall and how i would kick my feet to the beat of whatever song was coming from the closest retailer, so I think I’ve always been in love with music, but my first hero was one Michael Jackson. I can remember Halloween of 1984, when I was just two years old, I was at my grandmother’s house and the television was on and someone had put on MTV, I suppose it must’ve been, because I sat glued to the television, mesmerized at the Thriller video. I was two years old and I can remember the scene as though it were yesterday. Many of my very earliest memories in life include some reference to MJ. He was to me what Superman or Batman or Spiderman or any other number of heroes represent to young boys and girls. I would watch him, barely recognizing the fact that he must be human. I knew nothing of dancing, of athletics, of human feats, and I knew nothing of illusions or magic, but I somehow divined that what this man could do on a dancefloor was something that other humans couldn’t. I would watch him, swearing to myself that, one day, I would be just like him. I, a very, very young 3/4 caucasian, 1/4 asian boy with no knowledge of music or dancing or business or much of anything, knew that no matter what happened in life, I would be just like this god of a man that I would gawk at with every opportunity. I spent what must have amounted to days reviewing every dance move, learning as much as I could. When the Bad album came out, my mother (who owned it) must not have had the liner notes for more than a few days. I may not have understood more than 20% of the content, but I’m sure I memorized the entire booklet, down to the copyright information. I still remember most of the photos that were in it very well, as I would try and mimic his expressions and positions as best I could, quite often. I could moonwalk by the time I was three or four. My family would often congregate in the kitchen and play Earth, Wind, and Fire albums and the like, and I would always do my best impression of Michael Jackson. I’m sure it was awful, but every time, I would, without thinking, end up grabbing my crotch and my father would immediately yell at me to never do it again, but I just couldn’t help myself. It didn’t matter how much trouble I got in, if Michael Jackson was doing it, so was I. I’m a little surprised, looking back, that I never managed to construct or ask for a sequined white glove or a red leather jacket and that I never wore my black dress shoes with my white socks.

Over time, I grew to learn that other people were not quite so obssessed with Michael Jackson as I was. I remember in elementary school having to defend his honor as many of the other white kids would say that he was gay and other such things. I didn’t care how far he went in going from looking like a black man to a white woman, as far as I was concerned, Michael Jackson was the coolest human being to have ever walked the planet. When Dangerous came out, I was similarly obssessed. I quickly memorized every song and would sing them all, constantly. When there were accusations of child molestation, I defended. I still defend. I still don’t believe he did it. The more I’ve learned about his difficult childhood, the more I’ve sympathized with MJ. And as I’ve grown, I see that, regardless of status, wealth, fame, power, and the like, people are people, and we’re all basically the same and face many of the same struggles. I think he has been greatly misunderstood and badly exploited by various people and groups of people.

I am now a musician, myself, and while I may not owe a lot to Jackson, stylistically, he very much kept me interested in music, and without that, I might not be the musician I am today. I wouldn’t describe his music or career as one that changed the landscape of music, but it certainly was influential on plenty of people. When my childhood wasn’t what I needed it to be and my parents and others failed to be the type of guardians and guides I needed, there were times when music and the career of this man were very helpful to me. I grew to love the music of Stevie Wonder in high school and college. Then, it was Mos Def and Herbie Hancock and various others. Now, I listen for anything that sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard before, but I can still sing you every word of “Rock With You” or “The Way You Make Me Feel”. The Backstreet Boys or even Usher or Ginuwine were never musicians that I was very much interested in and any interest in any song of theirs would’ve come with some amount of shame, but even though Michael Jackson was merely the king of pop, I’m going to be looking for any posthumous work, and just like every album before that no one expected to be worthy of any note, I’ll surely memorize the entire thing and defend it for as long as I can. Michael Jackson was my first hero and most influential on me and, for the poor judgement he may have often shown, for the lack of mind-altering music he may have made, for having shown a nack for acting in a manner that caused so many to think him quite a freak, he will be sorely missed and I’m sad that we won’t be getting more of his otherwordly talent on display. R.I.P. King of Pop.