1. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up. But the first (and one of the few) albums that I had was the picture disc of Michael Jackson’s Thriller. Before that, I would nervously call the DJ at my FM radio station and ask him to play Michael Jackson. The disc was played over and over, and I began to deconstruct how the sounds came together. The synth egg shake on “Wanna Be Startin’ Soemthin’” and “Billie Jean.” The way in which the guitars were mixed together in “Beat It.” The fusion of vocals. Michael Jackson helped me find my ears.
2. I really liked Eddie Van Halen but was to shy to say anything about it. Until Eddie Van Halen showed up on “Beat It.” Then it was cool to dig Van Halen. Same went with Vincent Price. And then he showed up on “Thriller.” Michael Jackson helped me find confidence in enjoying the seemingly strange. (On the other hand, in hindsight, I now wonder if I was the victim of marketing. But I suppose strange tastes have to start somewhere.)
3. I had a Michael Jackson “Human Nature” folder in the fourth grade. I carried it close to my chest when I walked and was ruthlessly mocked by my schoolmates for not only having a passe interest in Michael Jackson (the folder was purchased from the discount bin), but for holding it “like a girl.” I then started carrying the folder in the “manly” way, holding it from the side, placing it perpendicular to my arm with my fingers curling over the edge. I was never hassled again for it, until the same schoolmates tore it from my hand and ripped it into shreds just after they beat the shit out of me. Michael Jackson, in his own oblique way, gave me a very good reason not to be a conformist.
4. Weird Al Yankovic parodied “Beat It” and several friends and I discussed the close similarities between Michael Jackson’s video and Yankovic’s video. Michael Jackson, by giving the okay to Weird Al, helped me appreciate satire.
5. Michael Jackson always appeared in gritty videos, often with a fantastical element attached. No matter how impoverished one was, street tiles could light up if you were simply who you were. Michael Jackson gave me optimism during a dark childhood.
6. Michael Jackson died yesterday. As a kid, I had turned my back on Michael Jackson sometime after Bad and rather ungratefully pretended that he hadn’t done anything for me. This wasn’t the case at all. Michael Jackson, in dying, has reminded me of my core values: to value what I have, to remember what others have been kind enough to give me, and to always pay it forward. For the good that you put out there, whether directly or indirectly, means more to people than you know.
The Call by Yannick Murphy: The always interesting author of Here They Come and Signed, Mata Hari returns with a novel that whips up a worldview from a rather quirky set of limitations: namely, the call logs that a veterinarian maintains as his son is unexpectedly put into a coma and an unforgiving economy denies him work. What emerges is a surprisingly optimistic, often funny, and very moving account on how one family uses acceptance and forgiveness as a way to atone for hard knocks. (
Birds of Paradise by Diana Abu-Jaber: Forget Franzen and Eugenides. If you're looking for a social novel that counts, Diana Abu-Jaber is the author you're looking for. Building from the free-form exploration of consciousness and identity in Crescent and the gripping procedural structure of Origin, Abu-Jaber's latest novel is her finest, equally fluent with gutterpunk culture and smarmy real estate men. It has been suggested by The Washington Post's Ron Charles that you will likely gain some pounds while reading this novel. This is certainly true. Abu-Jaber's description of food is so precise that it often made me want to do more cooking. But I very much admired the way in which Abu-Jaber presents all her characters as unwitting victims of rough capitalism, which permits them some dignity even as they perform terrible acts.
The Last of the Live Nude Girls by Sheila McClear: This memoir isn't so much about the decline of the Times Square peepshow, as it is about one young woman's efforts to pull herself up by by her bootstraps when presented with few economic options. Filled with self-introspective candor and a quiet dignity, McClear's story is one that might befall any of us in these volatile times. While McClear does get back on her feet, her book leads one contemplating the terrible fates of other young women now moving to New York and falling into deadlier vocations. (
Wonderful Tribute! Rest In Peace Michael we still love you!
What a bunch of jerks to rip your folder!! I think we can all understand of going through similar scenarios.
I’m with you, but….Jackson made it okay to like Van Halen? Wasn’t it the other way around?
jow: Repressed upbringing.