Michael Jackson: An Observation

The King of Pop is dead. Long live the King.

Celebrity deaths are strange occurences, largely in the way they affect the populace. Usually, the response is fairly uniform: a few people are stricken with grief, a few more are vicious and verbally spit on the grave, while the rest of us say "Wow, that's unfortunate!" and resume our lives without a backward glance. But every once in a while, there are celebrities that are so famous, infamous, or far reaching that they become a special case. When they go, the whole world notices.

Michael JacksonMichael Jackson was a special case. I can't think of any other celebrity who has been simultaneously revered, reviled, and pitied in such incredible (or equal) measure. And for good reason, really. For almost 20 years now, MJ has demonstrated absurd lapses in judgment, a distinct lack of financial sense, and a habit of reshaping his face with Lego bricks and Silly Putty every other week.

The inverse of his dysfunction was the undeniable, prodigy-level talent that he possessed from childhood onward. That he was one of the most musically and choreographically gifted individuals in the history of this country (if not the world) is difficult to refute. And it is a damn shame that the last years of his life were so beleaguered by accusations, bad publicity, and abject silliness that the world all but forgot why they loved him to begin with. Some of it may have been his fault. Some of it might not have been. But there is no denying that his public image was heavily soiled, and if the initial reports are accurate, a death by over-medication certainly isn't going to improve it.

That's why, rather than stewing over the last decade or two of lunacy, I prefer to remember MJ the way that I remember my grandfather: younger, livelier, and still in reasonable control of his mental faculties. My grandfather developed Alzheimer's, gradually losing his mind over a period of several years until he finally succumbed to the disease in 2004. As far as I was concerned, however, the man I knew as my grandfather had died the moment he could no longer recognize his own family.

This is basically how I feel about MJ: he was pretty much a goner when he stopped making amazing music and started making horrendous headlines. I feel it would be an insult to his memory if current and future generations listen to Thriller and think only of scandals and plastic surgery, rather than the boundless talent of the man who almost single-handedly changed the face of a genre.

The King of Pop died in 1993. It has just taken his body a while to realize it. Frankly, I think that is how he would like to be remembered: at the peak of his career, when the fans screamed his name and he truly was the King of Pop.

Rest in peace, Michael... you've found a place where the Press cannot follow, where the Public Eye cannot see, and where it doesn't matter if you're black or white.