Ever since Michael Jackson died
in late June I have struggled to find the words to express exactly how I felt
about him. In general, my dominate
emotion is just sadness with a good bit of pity. It is weird to consider pitying one of the richest and most
famous people in the world and yet in spite of all those things he still seemed
very sad and lonely. And I wonder
how often he wished he could just be “normal”. In interviews he said many times that he wished he could
just be a normal kid playing when he was forced to be a performer.
What kind of inner turmoil leads
someone to do that to his face?
What did he lack that made him so incapable of accepting himself? Was his sexuality confused or non-existent? Did he deserve the constant accusations
and stories? Did he make himself a
weird monster, did his father, or did we?
Fortunately, this past week,
Madonna of all people said a lot of the things I had been trying to find the
words for. Her tribute speech at
the VMAs was self-serving, but only a bit. She related the experience of her life and her relationship
with fame to his and concluded losing her mother at a young age was still
better than the “childhood” Michael had.
Her full tribute speech is included below. The part where she takes blame for abandoning Michael is
particularly poignant and I wonder, as a once and newly renewed fan, if I am
guilty of the same.
Madonna: Michael Jackson. [Cheers] I have a little bit more to say
than that. OK, here we go again. Michael Jackson was born in August 1958. So
was I. Michael Jackson grew up in the suburbs of the Midwest. So did I. Michael
Jackson had eight brothers and sisters. So do I. When Michael Jackson was six,
he became a superstar, and was perhaps the world’s most beloved child. When I
was six, my mother died. I think he got the shorter end of the stick. I never
had a mother, but he never had a childhood. And when you never get to have
something, you become obsessed by it.
I spent my childhood searching for my mother figures. Sometimes I was
successful, but how do you recreate your childhood when you are under the
magnifying glass of the world?
There is no question that Michael Jackson is one of the greatest talents the
world has ever known. That when he sang a song at the ripe old age of eight he
could make you feel like an experienced adult was squeezing your heart with his
words. That when he moved he had the elegance of Fred Astaire and packed the
punch of Muhammad Ali. That his music had an extra layer of inexplicable magic
that didn’t just make you want to dance but actually made you believe you could
fly, dare to dream, be anything that you wanted to be. Because that is what
heroes do and Michael Jackson was a hero.
He performed in soccer stadiums around the world, and sold hundreds of
millions of records and dined with prime ministers and presidents. Girls fell
in love with him, boys fell in love with him, everyone wanted to dance like
him. He seemed otherworldly — but he was a human being.
Like most performers he was shy and plagued with insecurities. I can’t say
we were great friends, but in 1991 I decided I wanted to try to get to know him
better. I asked him out to dinner, I said “My treat, I’ll drive — just you and
me.”
He agreed and showed up to my house without any bodyguards. We drove to the
restaurant in my car. It was dark out, but he was still wearing sunglasses.
I said, “Michael, I feel like I’m talking to a limousine. Do you think you
can take off your glasses so I can see your eyes?”
Then he tossed the glasses out the window, looked at me with a wink and a
smile and said, “Can you see me now? Is that better?”
in that moment, I could see both his vulnerability and his charm. The rest
of the dinner, I was hellbent on getting him to eat French fries, drink wine,
have dessert and say bad words. Things he never seemed to allow himself to do.
Later we went back to my house to watch a movie and sat on the couch like two
kids, and somewhere in the middle of the movie, his hand snuck over and held
mine.
It felt like he was looking for more of a friend than a romance, and I was
happy to oblige. In that moment, he didn’t feel like a superstar. He felt like
a human being.
We went out a few more times together, and then for one reason or another we
fell out of touch. Then the witch hunt began, and it seemed like one negative
story after another was coming out about Michael. I felt his pain, I know what
it’s like to walk down the street and feel like the whole world is turned
against you. I know what it’s like to feel helpless and unable to defend
yourself because the roar of the lynch mob is so loud you feel like your voice
can never be heard.
But I had a childhood, and I was allowed to make mistakes and find my own
way in the world without the glare of the spotlight.
When I first heard that Michael had died, I was in London, days away from
the start of my tour. Michael was going to perform in the same venue as me a week
later. All I could think about in this moment was, “I had abandoned him.” That
we had abandoned him. That we had allowed this magnificent creature who had
once set the world on fire to somehow slip through the cracks. While he was
trying to build a family and rebuild his career, we were all passing judgement.
Most of us had turned our backs on him. In a desperate attempt to hold onto his
memory, I went on the internet to watch old clips of him dancing and singing on
TV and on stage and I thought, “my God, he was so unique, so original, so rare,
and there will never be anyone like him again. He was a king.”
But he was also a human being, and alas we are all human beings and
sometimes we have to lose things before we can appreciate them. I want to end
this on a positive note and say that my sons, age nine and four, are obsessed
with Michael Jackson. There’s a whole lot of crotch grabbing and moon walking
going on in my house. And, it seems like a whole new generation of kids have
discovered his genius and are bringing him to life again. I hope that wherever
Michael is right now he is smiling about this.
Yes, Michael Jackson was a human being but he was a king. Long live the
king.
