Portrait

Michael Jackson has died. It’s pretty surreal. This was the star of my generation. The legend. By the time we came around John Lennon, Bob Marley and Bob Dylan were already gone. We would only grow up hearing stories of the enigma that surrounded each of those people, and the phenomenal effect they had on the world. We would, in turn, learn to love their music, their personas, basking in the glory of that curious thing that happens post-mortem: where something takes on a rosy hue in memory. We lived in a world where they became hugely sensationalised, glamourised, romanticised and possibly overrated, simply because they were dead. I barely remember the passing of Kurt Cobain.

But M.J was ours. He was all ours. And now he’s dead.

I grew up singing ‘bidet, bidet’ for Beat It. I grew up pissing myself in fear watching Thriller. I grew up owning the CDs and a video tape of all the Number One videos. I grew up in a world that liked Michael Jackson, that treated him like a star, a king. I watched it fast turning into a world which wanted to crucify him, for his eccentricities, his alleged sicknesses. But by that time, I had already made up my mind about how I felt about him. I liked him. And that wasn’t about to change, regardless of the increasingly weird behaviour, the exceedingly bizarre face or the return trips to courtrooms. By that time, luckily, I was old enough to separate the career from the personal life.

More than anything, I grew up wanting to dance. And anyone who grew up wanting to dance hasn’t escaped the Michael Jackson fever. At some point in all our lives, as dancers or aspiring dancers, we have all admired him, looked to him, imitated him. Even the great Akram Khan, British-Indian dancer and choreographer, whom I love endlessly, once said something to the effect of, “I grew up seeing white people onstage, in the movies. And then Michael Jackson came out with Thriller, and I saw that there was a possibility that brown people could do great things, too”. Michael Jackson gave a lot of people hope, he was the poster boy for dreams of dancing, hidden away in our minds. For people dancing in the privacy of their bedrooms and showers, little boys and girls who dreamed of enormous stages. An entire generation of black and brown people, to whom he inadvertently reached out, but also the masses of white people, who had found their King of Pop.

He affected a lot of different people. From Akram Khan to Elizabeth Taylor. From me, to the children playing cricket down the street. He reached out to this side of the world, a lot, too. From the West, to the East. He was a man that literally touched the world. His career reached out across borders of age, race and more importantly, artistic tastes. He achieved both mainstream and critical acclaim for his music and performances, and all the things he pioneered as an artist. He had fans who listened to all kinds of music. Those who listened to Pop liked him, those who listened to Rock liked him, even those of us who have a penchant for the more obscure liked him. He was respected, truly respected.

No popular artist working today can even come close to matching that kind of success. Today, all mainstream artists are lost in a sea of mediocrity, to be forgotten after a single or two. He, on the other hand, worked hard to stay put. He revolutionsed pop music in the ’80s, using rock instruments, heavy electronic lead and bass guitars in dance music. He revolutionised the music video, turning it into an epic extravaganza of plots, characters and special effects, much like a film. He revolutionised live performances for pop artist, making them an action and energy packed all-round experience for the audience, with unbelievable dancing, gimmicks, and expensive stage sets.

Another characteristic of his career, unusual for artists from the crazy ’80s and ’90s, is that he is timeless. I can listen to the albums Bad, Dangerous or Thriller today and it seems current, not outdated. It’s interesting. It’s certainly better than a lot of the shit people churn out these days. It seems even more current and intrinsic than music that is actually currently popular in the mainstream.

His performances were skillful, amazing, perfect. That level of expertise and energy, seldom have I seen others bring to a live stage. Today, I see all these popular new artists performing live, and it’s a true test of how good they really are. And mostly, they all fail miserably. They are boring, and mostly, they are lazy.

Michael Jackson, live, was never lazy. Every second of every song, he is working, he is there, a 100% and he is giving it to you. He made up in glamour for what he didn’t have in vocals, he made up in dancing for what he lacked in lyrical profundity. He always came through for the people who came to see him. He always lived up to the reputation that preceded him.

And now he’s dead. We have lost not only a singer, not only a dancer, but a man who worked hard and earned respect and admiration the good old fashioned way. And that’s what the industry will miss the most. An example of how simple, pure hard work can produce magical results. An example of a true professional, who was willing to do what it takes to become what he did. An example of skill and expertise earned through endless commitment to achieving perfection, and an example of how tireless perfectionism pays off. He was a pro, and, in short, that’s all needs to be said about the man.

This is not a generic loss I feel. I actually liked this guy. It’s not me acknowledging this loss for the rest of the world. I was a fan. It’s my loss, too. And in the years to come, I will remember him for myself. I won’t be living with stories of greatness anymore, I will have known myself this man who was larger, and weirder, than life itself.