Hey gang, I heard the news about MJ when I was at home, totally preoccupied. For reasons I won't get into now, I wasn't going to come in. But come on, I had to say something, right? If only because Kid Lulu looooves Michael now. Here's my MJ appreciation for Friday's St. Pete Times. I'll talk to you soon.
His legacy will be as messy, as cluttered with oddities and accusations, as his life: a dark, spinning carnival ride we peeked at through our fingers. But whether you adored Michael Jackson throughout his 50 years — or left him after the Elephant Man’s bones or the tabloid horrors or the nose that became an electrical socket — this much is true:
History, as history tends to do with iconoclasts who provide great spinning flashes of joy, will remember the King of Pop well.
Like Elvis.
Like Sinatra.
In fact, it’s already happening.
You might recoil at this notion, and that’s fine, totally understandable. But you can’t deny that the kid — and he was always a kid, for better or worse — was incandescent, otherworldly, a black Fred Astaire who shattered sales records and racial barriers, especially those at MTV, the greatest pop cultural force of the 20th century. Birthed during cable television’s infancy, the music-video channel was primarily a vehicle for white artists. Then came 1983, and Billie Jean and Beat It and Thriller — the last being an album, a video, a zipperiffic fashion movement.
One white glove for all.
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