First and foremost, God rest his troubled soul. I'm the same as everybody else really - I've no idea what to believe about the whole child abuse thing. To be honest, I don't want to think about it either. We're not dealing with Gary Glitter here - a blatant pervert who should be hung, drawn and quartered. We're dealing with a man whose life was so out of the ordinary that that very notion - ordinary - was so far from his reality that anything could have been possible. While I talk about Off The Wall I want Michael's music to be the focus, and nothing else. He was a troubled genius; a prophet in the musical sense. A genuine gift to the world. I hope that his legacy concentrates on the forty plus years of incredible entertainment that he gave to us, and not the undesirable stigmas that cost him some admirers in his later years, and, I believe, ultimately cost him his life.
Off The Wall, first released in 1979, was Jackson's fifth studio album, and his first to be produced by the great Quincy Jones. Speaking of production, this record was absolutely revolutionary. Jones took Jackson's songs and added new dimensions entirely. It was Jackon's venture into Funk, Disco and Soul that inspired Jones's magical production, leading to the surround-sound classics Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough (winner of a Grammy Award for Best R&B Vocal Performance), Off The Wall, and Rock With You - none of which need any critical review from the likes of me. They stand alone as timeless classics. She's Out Of My Life is heart-breaking; Jackson at his dramatic best. Other songwriters on the album include Paul McCartney, who duets on Girlfriend, and Stevie Wonder, who co-wrote I Can't Help It. Does it need me to say any more? Yes?! Well here we go - it was inducted into the Grammy Hall Of Fame in 2008. How's that?! It is a stunning album - Jacko's best in my eyes, and a perfect prequel to Thriller - the following collaboration between Jackson and Quincy Jones that would go on to become the biggest selling album in history. Off The Wall is one of those guaranteed feel good records rain or shine, and perfect for getting the party started. This is the Michael Jackson we know, love, and need to remember!
I had a ticket to watch Michael Jackson at his opening come back gig at London's 02 Arena. I vividly remember the excitement I felt when my mate Danny called me to say "I've got them! We're going!" It was, of course, more morbid curiosity that was going to lead me there. Given his recent reputation I wasn't expecting miracles. In fact, I wasn't expecting anything. In a weird way I'd have been perfectly happy for him just to have turned up Just to have seen him in the flesh. Maybe this attitude towards him was the problem all along? Nobody was ever prepared to let Jacko be human. The Elephant Man of our generation. Of course he didn't show up for the gig; he was dead just weeks before our big meeting in the capital. When the news broke I was totally bemused - I awoke to a text message from a good friend saying 'Where were you when Michael Jackson died?' It was like Princess Diana all over again. The shock was too big to be believable. The surrounding media circus hit the news home, and I soon realised that Michael Jackson, rather selfishly, was a piece in the Rock'n'Roll jigsaw that would never be fulfilled.
Eventually, I applied to keep the ticket. It took eight months to arrive, but will remain a strange reminder of what could - sorry, what should have been. I went to see the somewhat distasteful This Is It - another example of how people took advantage of him even in death - but it was pretty unmemorable. Jackson looked in better shape than he had been for a long time, and his voice was back somewhere near its best, but he still appeared frail and worn. He would never have made 50 shows. Never in a million years. A tragedy waiting to happen. Turns out the tragedy struck way, way too early. Should the world learn from this man and the fishbowl treatment that sent him wacky? Absolutely. After all, he was just a man. . . . . . .
I had a ticket to watch Michael Jackson at his opening come back gig at London's 02 Arena. I vividly remember the excitement I felt when my mate Danny called me to say "I've got them! We're going!" It was, of course, more morbid curiosity that was going to lead me there. Given his recent reputation I wasn't expecting miracles. In fact, I wasn't expecting anything. In a weird way I'd have been perfectly happy for him just to have turned up Just to have seen him in the flesh. Maybe this attitude towards him was the problem all along? Nobody was ever prepared to let Jacko be human. The Elephant Man of our generation. Of course he didn't show up for the gig; he was dead just weeks before our big meeting in the capital. When the news broke I was totally bemused - I awoke to a text message from a good friend saying 'Where were you when Michael Jackson died?' It was like Princess Diana all over again. The shock was too big to be believable. The surrounding media circus hit the news home, and I soon realised that Michael Jackson, rather selfishly, was a piece in the Rock'n'Roll jigsaw that would never be fulfilled.
Eventually, I applied to keep the ticket. It took eight months to arrive, but will remain a strange reminder of what could - sorry, what should have been. I went to see the somewhat distasteful This Is It - another example of how people took advantage of him even in death - but it was pretty unmemorable. Jackson looked in better shape than he had been for a long time, and his voice was back somewhere near its best, but he still appeared frail and worn. He would never have made 50 shows. Never in a million years. A tragedy waiting to happen. Turns out the tragedy struck way, way too early. Should the world learn from this man and the fishbowl treatment that sent him wacky? Absolutely. After all, he was just a man. . . . . . .
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