With all the hoopla and spectacle, the criminal investigation and crazy rumours surrounding the premature death of Michael Jackson, it’s hard not to be wearied by it all. The thing with MJ is his star is so huge that there are few people that can claim not to be touched in some way by his bizarre kind of magic. Here are some of my memories of that strange, tragic man.
1.) Primary School Morning Exercise. 1992. 11 years old.
The figures were out. The expanding waistlines of Australian kids had forced the government to take action. And before you could scream “fatty!” young kids across the country were being forced to start each day with 20 minutes of aerobics to get the blood pumping. It was a nerd’s nightmare.
Our Phys Ed teacher, Mr. Patterson, must be commended for his exceptional taste- his mix tape included Queen, ELO, David Bowie and Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean. I used to feel self conscious- as a kid I was painfully shy. The song with its infectious bass line and synth strings also contained my name, at least in part. Amidst the flailing arms and legs, kids would affectionately sing the lyrics to me, emphasizing the “Jean”. At 11, this was the height of embarrassment for me and one day I lamented to Mr P. He smiled and said “You should feel flattered. It’s one of the greatest songs I’ve ever heard” He was right. And I felt better. Luckily the
2.) Watching Rage. 1999. 18 years old.
Most of my teen years were spent staying up way too late watching the music video program, Rage. One night after a spliff my friend and I were watching a Michael Jackson special and he delighted me with stories from his MJ obsessed childhood- in particular a competition where you had to guess how many buckles where on Michael’s Bad jacket. I was fascinated. As a kid I felt disconnected from pop culture, I tended to live in my own head. I hadn’t really become conscious of music till I was a teenager. Although I liked Michael Jackson as a child, so did everybody. It was amazing to me that my friend had been so crazy in love with the man with the glitter glove. Our intoxicated state encouraged hours of passionate conversation about MJ’s tragic life, his changing appearance and his kick ass dance moves. The next day I ran out and bought Thriller and Off the Wall and marvelled at the sparkling pop perfection.
3.) High School Form Room. 1996. 16 years old.
Brooke from my form room class had attended the History tour the night before and was excitedly showing off the show’s program. I’d always found Michael Jackson fans a little creepy and obsessive but I had to admit her joy was genuine. As I flipped through the glossy guide, I felt beneath my veneer of fake cool, a twinge of jealousy. Beyond my post-grunge malaise, I wished I could step away from the image I was so desperately trying to cultivate. Years later I regretted not going to that concert repeating a phrase that often haunts me: “I got into (INSERT BAND NAME HERE) just after they toured.” I’m such a jerk.
4.)
In 1985 a miracle happened. In the sleepy hollow known as
I remember watching with my parents glued to the television knowing something pretty special was going on but not sure what it was exactly. The memory was solidified in my mind as it was re-run for years after. All I know is that as he beamed a smile to the audience, people ran to the phone and gave and gave and gave. The sheer presence of this shy, glittery man bought that hospital life saving equipment and shone some light into the lives of some pretty sick children.
We surely construct our memories, piece them together from photos and stories that we’ve been told. We can be selective and conveniently forget the ones that aren’t so good. Yes, there were chimpanzees and oxygen tents, black skin to white, inexplicable visits to the plastic surgeon and allegations of sexual abuse. But if I have to choose, I think I’ll hold onto my Telethon MJ memory, thank you very much.
