Invincible?

~ Patrick O'Grady

I suppose I should lay down some snark about Michael Jackson, who like many an entertainer before him danced down that yellow-brick road only to discover that the Emerald City was an MGM sound stage in Culver City, California, a far cry indeed from the Merry Old Land of Oz.

Unlike the rest of the universe, I never cared for Jackson’s music, unless a stripper was dancing to it. If I remember correctly, which is unlikely given the circumstances, when the fabled El Rancho Delux Welcome Back Summer Party in Denver one year relied heavily upon “Thriller” to undermine the morals of the women in attendance, I was appalled; I either ate a bunch of acid and retired to the top of a tractor-trailer parked nearby to meditate on the pure white light of stupidity, or went to sleep under my truck. Those parties tend to blur together in what remains of my mind.

To me, Motown meant Marvin Gaye, the Temptations, The Four Tops, Smokey Robinson, The Supremes, Martha and the Vandellas, Stevie Wonder and Gladys Knight and the Pips. Michael Jackson and his doppelgänger Elizabeth Taylor, on the other hand, defined talent squandered in the pursuit of celebrity.

A casual glance around the Internet indicates that the seriously disturbed artist who segued raggedly from King of Pop to Wacko Jacko donated heavily to various charities when he wasn’t throwing away millions on silly-ass bullshit, feeding an endlessly rotating nest of traveling vampires who are much more deserving of our scorn than was the young black man turned old white woman. But who among us has the wherewithal to tell a clanging cash register to shut the fuck up, even when it rings off key?

And anyway, what the hell? The millions were Jackson’s to piss away in any direction he cared to aim, and that some of his income went to worthy causes instead of his own private Disneyland, facial reconstruction and lawyers is to be honored and remembered.

Jackson famously outbid all comers to land the rights to a ton of Beatles songs, but he apparently failed to learn anything from one of the simplest of them — “Money Can’t Buy Me Love.” He died more than $400 million in debt, according to the Los Angeles Times. Isn’t it a pity?

• Late update: Herself asked if I’d mentioned the passing of Farrah Fawcett in this diatribe. I have now.

8 thoughts on “Invincible?”

  1. As a young child, I liked a couple of The Jackson 5 songs–“ABC” is the one that sticks in my head. Michael’s first solo, “Off The Wall,” was good pop. But that was the same year I discovered The Sex Pistols, The Pretenders, became a student of The Who and The Beatles, worshipped Pete Townsend, picked up the guitar to play The Kinks, and pretty much rejected American FM for British rock/pop/punk. “Thriller” came out while I was in high school. I remember the video was a staple on MTV. I think that’s when I quit watching MTV. I never tried to moonwalk. If I tried today, I’d probably pop a hamstring.

  2. I remember “ABC”, but not much else the King of Pop ever did really resonated with my ear. Was more likely to kick back with something to clear my head and put on a Jefferson Starship or CSN&Y album, tell you the truth. Concur with O’Grady on real Motown. Hmmm…I think its time for our biannual viewing of the Blues Brothers.

    Terribly unfair that Farrah got second billing to MJ in kicking the bucket. A graduate school buddy of mine who I mysteriously reconnected with at the Bomb Factory (after a couple decades separated by half an ocean) had a great poster of her in his office. Wow. Loved that hair.

  3. Shee-it. Michael Jackson AND Farrah Fawcett in one post. I’m starting to feel like I’m reading the MSM, fer christ’s sake.
    As to your “memory” of any party at El Rancho D, I think it’s a pretty safe bet to say that it either ended with you — and everyone else — either tripping or “sleeping.” Whether that activity was on top of a semi, under a pickup or within the confines of the Bars Hotel is an open question.

  4. I can’t say that I liked Michael Jackson or the music he entertained people with, but he did impress me with his charisma. His talent to change the way that we, as an audience, interact with an artist was profound. Sort of the X and Y Generations’ Frank Sinatra.

    Maybe he wasn’t the most average performer, but he did have the guts to go about this mortal coil in his own fashion. And for that I can’t begrudge him one bit.

    Nonetheless he was an extremely narcissitic fellow!

    I feel sorry that he may be worth more now than he was two days ago though. That, to me, is the saddest thing about his – or Farrah’s passing.

    I still wish I had that famous poster of her from the late 70’s…it might not be worth much but it would look good next to the Paola Pezzo poster! And besides she’s a whole heckuva lot cuter than any bike racer.

  8. Sorry to rain on your parade there Joey, but from the photos on the blog she looked like Canada’s version of a cycling Hannah Montana. Besides if she even likes one Canadian hockey team she won’t be on my list (see Celine Dion). UGH!!!

    Outside of a few roadies though, the women on the dirt side of cycling are much more attractive IMHO.

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