Over at the Prattle, Feòrag is busy tracking the inevitable Michael Jackson conspiracies, most of which think he faked his own death. More dead celebs have been accused of this, but there was a special kind of inevitability about this one. Jackson’s life story, his public persona and the constant media focus on how much a freak he supposedly is makes that he faked his own death halfway believable. Surely I’m not the only one who tought of that when they heard the news of his death?
It’s fitting that he died in the same way the poor guy had to live his life over the past four decades, in a media freakout. A child star in the early seventies, getting weird at the end of the decade, sleeping in his scarecrow costume from The Whiz, reinventing himself as the biggest selling pop artist ever, Off the Wall, Thriller, giving way to fresh excentricities: Bubbles, Neverland, hyperbaric oxygen chambers and all the other nonsense real or made up by the tabloids, but still canny enough to once again see where pop music was going and be there before it did, followed by more and nastier rumours about his private life, the unsuccesful marriage to the spawn of Presley, the accusations of kiddie fiddling, the lawsuits, the depts, the intended comeback and death. And now the endless speculating about how he died, who’s to blame, what will happen to his heritage, his kids, the feeding frenzy of tv news and tabloids finally faced with a story that they understand, none of that complex financial stuff, that dreary endless slog of more bad tidings about the economy, the environment, Iran… Then later there will be the anniversary specials, the tie-in books, biographies, tell all stories and so on undsoweiter ad infinitum.
Michael Jackson has been a background presence in my life for all my life, mostly an annoying one as I largely couldn’t stand his music and certainly didn’t need to have the Jackson freakshow shoved in my face all these years (and neither did he, I suspect). But only a complete ignoramus would deny his influence on pop music (step forward, Nick Cohen). He broke the colour ban on MTV and made it into the juggernaut it was in the eighties in those fabulous days when it still played music videos. If what he did with “Thriller” or “Bad” or “Beat it” (but never “Billie Jean”) looks corny now it’s because almost everything that came after it has build on his work. Zap through any pop-orientated music channel and half of what you see has been influenced by Jackson’s choreography or music. His influence is so pervasive that you don’t notice it consciouly unless you start looking for it. If Presley was the pop icon of the fifties and sixties, then Jackson was it in the eighties and nineties. To say that he “never was an important musician” is just foolish, but then the evidence that Nick Cohen is a fool is not exactly rare.
So Michael Jackson is dead but the show will go on. That a parasite like Cohen feels the need to attack the media coverage of his dead in service of yet another tawdry blogpost about the elitist ivory tower BBC/media is the best evidence for this…