Pop Goes the King
Farrah Fawcett, in one blazing moment, has just been reduced to the obscure answer to a trivia question.
She's now the actress whose death was knocked out of the stratosphere by Michael Jackson's.
Michael Jackson is dead. Again. And that's pretty much all you need to know for your entertainment news for the day. Or for the year.
Jackson died once before.
The cherubic child from the Jackson Five who grew into a fine-looking young man--that Jackson expired sometime in the mid-1980s.
That's my impression, anyway. Jackson died twice, for when you see videos and movie clips of Jackson as part of his brothers' group and when he recorded Off the Wall, it's very much, to me, like looking at someone who's perished.
Jackson was 50 when he suffered cardiac arrest today in Los Angeles. Efforts to revive him failed, and he died at UCLA Hospital, though he may have been dead before the stretcher hit the emergency room door.
So there's your three--the way they die in show business: Jackson, Fawcett, and Ed McMahon, who passed away the other day.
Jackson was a bunch of things. Weird. Odd. Creepy. A boy trapped in a man's body. A freak. A molester of children, perhaps.
All those have been used to describe him. I've been guilty of more than one of those adjectives and designations.
But Jackson was also, like it or not, one of the greatest entertainers in history.
Call him whatever you'd like, but names will never hurt his legacy in show biz.
And, like him or not, his death is tragic. All arguments to the contrary will be dismissed, forthwith.
There's sadness because no more will Jackson entertain, and if you think that's a good thing, then shame on you.
Already, reports are surfacing--and as I write this his death is still being freshly unearthed--from family members, no less, that Jackson may have abused drugs, leading to his being stricken.
The first of you to be surprised by this notion, please go stand in the corner.
Lord knows what Jackson ingested during his life, although at times he was uber-concerned about his health--even sleeping in hyperbaric chambers. But his skin pigmentation was curious, and as much as he and his people tried to blame it on some sort of "condition", you had to wonder.
Do 50-year-old men drop dead from cardiac arrest? You bet your sweet bippy they do. But the likelihood that Jackson's death was accelerated by overdoing it with the prescription drugs intake is probably pretty great.
Jackson, the reports say, was in L.A. getting ready to rehearse for some upcoming shows.
They called him Jacko, which he despised. They cheered him, jeered him, danced to him, and were abhorred by him.
But his music was dynamic. His videos were groundbreaking.
Michael Jackson was like the National Anthem. He made people stand up.
But Jackson was also like a gruesome car wreck. He made people look away in horror.
I enjoyed many of Jackson's songs. But then, most of the songs I liked were recorded in his early-20s, when he was still a wholesome looking, handsome young man.
Michael Jackson was, in his early adult life, full-faced, soft-looking. He was very much the grownup version of that adorable kid in the Jackson Five.
Something happened to Jackson as he approached 30 years of age, and a doctor could make a mint if he or she ever could explain, really, what it was.
He went sideways, to use a very un-scientific term.
I don't know if something snapped within him, or if some sort of switch was turned on, or off. But something happened. Maybe we'll never really know.
His physical appearance changed, obviously. He cavorted with children. He built something called Never Land on his compound grounds, again catering to children. He slept with them. He was, it seemed, infatuated with kids. Or obsessed. Or worse.
They brought him up on molestation charges, which did nothing to abate his new reputation -- that of just another show business weirdo who's able to get his jollies doing disgusting things because of who he was.
He married Lisa Marie Presley, and you'd make another mint if you could ever get Lisa Marie, who I adore, to fully explain that one. My feeling is that she doesn't even know how that went down.
He hung around with Liz Taylor, who'll never be mistaken for someone of mental stability, bought the remains of The Elephant Man, and wore surgical masks in public.
But oh, how he could sing. And dance. And choreograph.
Now he's dead. This time for good, at age 50. Another entertainment icon whose legacy will be even greater because of his relatively short life.
He was, no matter what you thought of him personally, the King of Pop. It's a pop culture nickname ranking up there in aptness with The Fab Four and The Queen of Soul.
It didn't matter to Jackson what people thought of him. It only mattered that he be able to entertain them.
Michael Jackson rarely had us not talking about him. You think that'll stop with his death?
She's now the actress whose death was knocked out of the stratosphere by Michael Jackson's.
Michael Jackson is dead. Again. And that's pretty much all you need to know for your entertainment news for the day. Or for the year.
Jackson died once before.
The cherubic child from the Jackson Five who grew into a fine-looking young man--that Jackson expired sometime in the mid-1980s.
That's my impression, anyway. Jackson died twice, for when you see videos and movie clips of Jackson as part of his brothers' group and when he recorded Off the Wall, it's very much, to me, like looking at someone who's perished.
Jackson was 50 when he suffered cardiac arrest today in Los Angeles. Efforts to revive him failed, and he died at UCLA Hospital, though he may have been dead before the stretcher hit the emergency room door.
So there's your three--the way they die in show business: Jackson, Fawcett, and Ed McMahon, who passed away the other day.
Jackson was a bunch of things. Weird. Odd. Creepy. A boy trapped in a man's body. A freak. A molester of children, perhaps.
All those have been used to describe him. I've been guilty of more than one of those adjectives and designations.
But Jackson was also, like it or not, one of the greatest entertainers in history.
Call him whatever you'd like, but names will never hurt his legacy in show biz.
And, like him or not, his death is tragic. All arguments to the contrary will be dismissed, forthwith.
There's sadness because no more will Jackson entertain, and if you think that's a good thing, then shame on you.
Already, reports are surfacing--and as I write this his death is still being freshly unearthed--from family members, no less, that Jackson may have abused drugs, leading to his being stricken.
The first of you to be surprised by this notion, please go stand in the corner.
Lord knows what Jackson ingested during his life, although at times he was uber-concerned about his health--even sleeping in hyperbaric chambers. But his skin pigmentation was curious, and as much as he and his people tried to blame it on some sort of "condition", you had to wonder.
Do 50-year-old men drop dead from cardiac arrest? You bet your sweet bippy they do. But the likelihood that Jackson's death was accelerated by overdoing it with the prescription drugs intake is probably pretty great.
Jackson, the reports say, was in L.A. getting ready to rehearse for some upcoming shows.
They called him Jacko, which he despised. They cheered him, jeered him, danced to him, and were abhorred by him.
But his music was dynamic. His videos were groundbreaking.
Michael Jackson was like the National Anthem. He made people stand up.
But Jackson was also like a gruesome car wreck. He made people look away in horror.
I enjoyed many of Jackson's songs. But then, most of the songs I liked were recorded in his early-20s, when he was still a wholesome looking, handsome young man.
Michael Jackson was, in his early adult life, full-faced, soft-looking. He was very much the grownup version of that adorable kid in the Jackson Five.
Something happened to Jackson as he approached 30 years of age, and a doctor could make a mint if he or she ever could explain, really, what it was.
He went sideways, to use a very un-scientific term.
I don't know if something snapped within him, or if some sort of switch was turned on, or off. But something happened. Maybe we'll never really know.
His physical appearance changed, obviously. He cavorted with children. He built something called Never Land on his compound grounds, again catering to children. He slept with them. He was, it seemed, infatuated with kids. Or obsessed. Or worse.
They brought him up on molestation charges, which did nothing to abate his new reputation -- that of just another show business weirdo who's able to get his jollies doing disgusting things because of who he was.
He married Lisa Marie Presley, and you'd make another mint if you could ever get Lisa Marie, who I adore, to fully explain that one. My feeling is that she doesn't even know how that went down.
He hung around with Liz Taylor, who'll never be mistaken for someone of mental stability, bought the remains of The Elephant Man, and wore surgical masks in public.
But oh, how he could sing. And dance. And choreograph.
Now he's dead. This time for good, at age 50. Another entertainment icon whose legacy will be even greater because of his relatively short life.
He was, no matter what you thought of him personally, the King of Pop. It's a pop culture nickname ranking up there in aptness with The Fab Four and The Queen of Soul.
It didn't matter to Jackson what people thought of him. It only mattered that he be able to entertain them.
Michael Jackson rarely had us not talking about him. You think that'll stop with his death?
Greg; why don't you post a photo of him during his Off The Wall phase, as a tribute to that phase of his life, and his younger, more natural look...
ReplyDeleteThat's a good point. I don't have a good answer. I just might do that!
ReplyDelete