The King of Pop

Yesterday in hip hop class I rocked out to Michael Jackson and it felt good, really good.  For so long, his music has been out there playing in the shadows as in “Oh yeah, Michael Jackson – love him.”  But from our daily playlists, he has been passed over and absent.  Every once in awhile I’d hear the Jackson 5 on the oldies station or at a wedding reception, but rarely would the beats of Michael find their way into the usual mix.  For one hour yesterday, I rocked out to every song and I remembered how great of an artist he was.

Yes, Michael was a weirdo, most of us could tell that something was very wrong just by looking at his face.  But psychological problems aside, he was a ground-breaking artist.  Unfortunately, in the quest to make money and build fame, the people who should have been looking out for him, abused and rode him too hard.  Maybe it could have been different, but then when he was accused of diddling with those young boys, the bright star that was Michael Jackson, dimmed forever.  We all knew that he was still an artistic maverick, but his oddities had gone too far.  So we shunned him and in so many words, told him that he wasn’t welcome on our stereos anymore until he shaped up.  We still loved his music, how could we not, it was genius, but we weren’t putting up with the new Michael’s behavior.

Yesterday I got slapped in the face by his music.  My body moved and my grin in the mirror reflected how great it was to get down to such an incredible sound, beat, rhythm, tempo.  I dance often and it’s been awhile since I’ve enjoyed myself so much.  Exhausted and sweaty, I could have danced for hours.  Why did I turn my back on how great his sound was/is/will always be?  Why did I ignore him for so long?  On YouTube I watched some of his old videos and marveled at all of the dance moves he made so famous.  And then I found this…it’s a 9 part series and it’ll probably touch you as much as it touched me.  I’ve attached part one.


1 Comment

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One response to “The King of Pop

  1. Macrae

    Poor little Michael.

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