michael jackson

Now, aside from that humorous aside in last night’s post about Michael Jackson, I think we I can be mature and write something of a little more ‘serious’ tone on the topic. So, c’mon, guys. Srs bizness here.

A friend IM’ed me with the news, and as soon as I heard this I went to Last.fm. And holy shit, was that shoutbox out of control. Over 1000 shouts were left in 4 hours, and when I checked this morning the stream of tributes and paedophile jokes was still coming strong. Now, there was the diverse mix of people that resulted from the death of the self-dubbed ‘King of Pop’—there were metalheads and other ‘passerbys’, leaving a simple ‘RIP.’ There were the sycophants—“MICHAEL I LOVED YOUUUUUUU”—and those who left some (admittedly) well-crafted troll jokes that were quickly dubbed ‘too soon’, ‘cruel’ et cetera by the sycophants and the moralists. All in all, the shoutbox was interesting to watch. And, hey, according to Shepherd Smith, MJ’s death slowed down the WHOLE INTERWEBS.

Now, I didn’t feel ‘bad’ or ‘reverent’ when I heard this news. Sorry, but I never feel bad when celebrities die. I never knew them personally. I’m sure they were nice people, but I can’t say, so I’m not going to cry a river over some celubtante/dame/pop-princess/teen idol kicking the bucket. Really, even when Björk dies, I won’t be in tears. She makes music, that I enjoy. Sure, her music helped me through some tough times. However, she didn’t drive me to the hospital to see sick relatives. She didn’t give me a loan for my first house or whatever.

And I think that’s what we have to remember when a celebrity dies, especially someone as huge as Michael Jackson. The majority of us won’t have been affected by that person—in life or death—directly. When it comes to writers, for example, I never take the close reading approach—you can’t analyze Virginia Woolf or DH Lawrence without looking at their lives. Yet when a celebrity dies, you’re in a way forced to separate the artist and their work. Yesterday, no one on the news was saying, “That pedo. Glad he’s dead,” even though that was the horse they’d been beating for years. Instead, everyone was intent on calling to mind Jackson’s accomplishments—his number ones, his videos, his white glove.

Let the mourners mourn and everyone else get on with their lives. We don’t ‘have’ Michael Jackson anymore, but we do have his work. Eventually—I assume soon, actually—someone will want to analyze Jackson through a more critical lens, and they’ll have to scrutinize the man and his work. But for now, all we can do is enjoy Jackson’s music on its own term—terms of ferociousness, daring, and not-so-subtle-sensuality.

So let’s remember the King of Pop for what he was—the King of Pop. A closer, probably unnecessary, look will be taken at his life somewhere down the road. As for right now, all we need to worry about is whether our tape decks have enough battery to play Thriller a few more times.

Now, I would’ve liked to post an MJ mp3, but my collection is pretty slim. So instead I’ll post a mix of Björk’s “Alarm Call”, which was originally titled “Jacko” in honor of The Gloved One.

Download "Alarm Call" (Mark Bell Radio Mix) (via Fileden)