I looked like Mary Poppins.
Boredom was starting to set in quickly (with a dash of ennui) as I lazily watched my friends sip on their drinks.
The lead singer of the tribute band grabbed the microphone and yelled into it “Any Michael Jackson fans here?!”
I perked up. Maybe they would do a cover. Hopefully, it would be a good one.
“Well, he’s dead!”
I shook my head in disgust and disbelief. Why would he say something so drastic?
But eventually, as I packed to go home the next day, as I wandered around campus and visited my daily sites, it was reinforced that yes, this fact that had been so harshly delivered, was true.
Michael Jackson was dead.
But how could this be? My aunt had just bought tickets to see his show in
The irony weighed heavy on my heart.
To me, it had seemed inconceivable. He had been a shooting star, a legend… immortal.
Like many, I had adored and been brought up on his music.
I remember my teacher using ‘The Earth Song’ as an example for us to remember how ‘th’ sounded when I was 5.
I remember being scared stiff at my first viewing of ‘Thriller’, shrieking and hiding behind my hand when I was 9.
I remember nodding my head along to ‘You Are Not Alone’ when I felt miserable, pretending that he was speaking directly to me, my first emotional connection to any piece of music.
I remember watching the hysteria at one of his concerts, as fans screamed and cried and fainted and thinking to myself “What kind of man makes people feel that way?”
And then later on came the plastic surgery rumours, the child over the balcony, the documentary, , the accusations, and the court case.
The smear that came from having gone through such events didn’t seem like it’d ever come off.
But now the world was being forced to remember his genius when it was no longer available – to look back and realise all that he’d done, all that he’d achieved.
For those that knew, they remembered.
For those that hadn’t, they realised.
He had been a trailblazer, overcoming the horrifying abuse of his father to become an artist in his own right, extending the civil rights influence to the music industry, and raising environmental issues long before they were in vogue.
I think we all know by now that there will never be another one like Micheal Jackson.
And for those that somehow managed to escape this knowledge, I hope you realise how much he literally Rocked Our Worlds.
Forgive me my reminiscing. I know that mine is only one of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of Michael Jackson related posts on the blogosphere.
For a more touching and eloquent tribute, read Afrobella’s tribute here.
For a more hysterically hilarious view on what Micheal Jackson is the G.O.A.T (Greatest Of All Time) I’d advise you to look at Awesomely Luvvie’s page here.