Michael Jackson is dead. The media claims to be sad, but they are salivating. They finally have something to cover besides Gov. Sanford and the conflict in Iran. An American icon has died and a celebrity obsessed culture is called to mourn. I’m just as guilty as the mainstream media. I posted a brief statement when the story was confirmed, unsure of how I felt.
This was a precarious position to be in, since it is my job to care about such things. It’s weird, because I’m a very emotional person. When Joey Ramone died, I was sad for a week. I cried for George Harrison, Dimebag Darrell and even Robbin Crosby. Michael Jackson eclipses them all, and I hadn’t figured out my emotional stance.
When the Los Angeles Times confirmed his death, I was shocked. My whole body felt thick, as if it was preparing itself for grief. I played “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough,” “I’ll Be There” and “Ben.” The thickness went away. My mourning period was over. Meanwhile, Facebook was exploding with grief. I understood how people felt, but I couldn’t identify with their grief. People were talking about what a masterpiece Thriller is, and I flippantly thought “It’s not even the best Michael Jackson album.” Maybe my friend Brendan was right. Maybe I do hate everything.
While I was overthinking my position, Touré, an editor for Rolling Stone, was on Dateline. Touré is one of the best music writers in the world, so I was interested to hear what he had to say. He was doing the usual celebrity death interview with Ann Curry, and then he claimed that Michael Jackson was bigger than Elvis Presley. I felt the rage boil up from the bottom of my stomach. Did he really mention Michael Jackson and Elvis in the same sentence? I was livid, preaching to my poor friend Shaun, who suffered through another sermon of pro-Elvis propaganda. When Shaun went to bed, everything came together.
I am passionate about Elvis Presley. I have almost everything he’s ever recorded. I’ve seen every movie and plan to visit Graceland some day. Elvis died before I was born, yet I feel an emotional bond with him. I don’t have that bond with Michael Jackson. He made some great music and was a legitimate cultural force, but the love isn’t there. This has nothing to do with the scandals that tarnished his reputation; I’ve always felt detached from him.
People are comparing Michael’s death to Elvis and John Lennon. In terms of magnitude, that’s about right. However, he reminds me more of Judy Garland. Both were brilliantly talented children, blessed with a beautiful voices and impeccable dancing skills. They were pushed into showbusiness by their parents, and gave up real childhood in the process. Both of them spent a lifetime looking for real love and acceptance, and never really got it. They retreated into reclusive fantasy worlds to compensate, occasionally popping up for a comeback. The weirdness drove the public away and they both died alone. When somebody dies, the world finally realizes what it has lost. I don’t know what that says about the human race, but it certainly isn’t flattering.