Fading star

Michael Jackson tells HIStory to whoever is left to listen to it

Since he was a six-year-old singing songs of romantic yearning--the childman, as it were--Michael has lived in a world of make-believe, and we gladly watched because his movements were otherworldly and his music made the air more invigorating and joyful. In his prime, from 1979 to 1987, he was the greatest entertainer who ever lived, and so we reveled in his flights of fancy and overlooked the probability that he was a sad and lonely man.

A stage is higher than the floor because you're supposed to do something special when you're performing on that stage, and no one has been so consumed by that challenge as Michael Jackson. At the same time, no other superstar has fallen so hard on the realities of life at the ground level.

The line that genius is one percent inspiration and 99 percent perspiration does not work when applied to musicians. If it did, then Meat Loaf would be a critics' darling and the post-Thriller albums would comprise Michael Jackson's best work.

Even though he and producer Quincy Jones worked two years solid on 1987's Bad, and Michael and producer Teddy Riley worked at least that long on 1991's Dangerous, Jackson has failed to regain the near-perfection of Thriller. Creatively, Michael started slipping as soon as Bad was released--undone by the garish mediocrity of his videos and the tepid songs that seemed contrived as sound track fodder for their visual counterparts.

MTV made a huge stink about the premiere of the long-form video, which was directed by Martin Scorsese, and millions watched in giddy anticipation, only to see Jackson constantly grab the crotch of his omnibuckled, New Wave vinyl outfit and spit out lines like, "Your butt is mine." He did not moonwalk or shuffle or engage in any other dance steps, so intent was he on convincing the world he was a tough guy--bad, but, like, good.

An even more appalling video accompanied "The Way You Make Me Feel," which stopped being a great song when it was represented by a courtship that bordered on harassment. See, Michael has the hots for this girl so he pursues her all the way down the street, pumping his pelvis in her direction whenever the mood strikes. After a while, Michael and his ever-present gang of dancing street toughs throw her down and give new meaning to the term "pounding the pavement." It's as if the shy, meek artiste Jackson thought "video" was French for "things I'd never do in real life."

Even though Bad yielded five No. 1 singles and Jackson embarked upon his first solo tour since recording Thriller, the album sold less than half the total of its predecessor. The man with one glove was becoming old hat, and the dripping talent of 1983 was starting to smell like stale formula.

You'd have thought the storied perfectionist would have used the relative disappointment of Bad to launch into his best work yet--the reflex actions of the genius unsatisfied with being only half-successful--but 1991's Dangerous was an even worse disappointment. Trying to stay hip and current, even as he passed the average retirement age for pro halfbacks, Jackson dropped Jones in favor of such new-school knobsmiths as Teddy Riley and Babyface. Still, he forgot to bring some good songs into the studio: the record sounded great, but it was empty and vacant at its core--dead and buried underneath production technique, no more real than Never-Never (Again) Land.

Sadly, the new material on HIStory takes up where Dangerous nodded off.
Some of the best music ever made has followed periods of darkness and despair. Frank Sinatra's most brilliant period came soon after Ava Gardner left him; Sly Stone recorded There's a Riot Goin' On to escape a drug-induced funk; Neil Young's Tonight's the Night was inspired by the drug overdoses of two friends; and Bob Dylan churned out Highway 61 Revisited after being booed off the stage by the folk Nazis at Newport. In times of strife, the great ones rise and bring life to the quote from Nietzsche about what does not kill you serving to make you stronger.

But few artists have had to overcome the personal devastation that has beset Michael Jackson in the past two years. Whether he is guilty of those charges or not, he has paid a huge price for what he did or didn't do. Forget the estimated 10 million bucks he paid to make the child's charges of molestation disappear; the real penance was extracted from deep inside his soul. His character was ripped into bite-sized morsels to feed a public that loves to sit down to a steaming plate of scandal after a hard day's work.

A telling clue about Michael Jackson can be found on the back cover of the single for "Scream"/"Childhood." A sketch, drawn by Michael, depicts him as a young boy cowering in the corner and holding a microphone. To the right of young Michael are the words, "Before you judge me, try hard to love me. Look within your heart, then ask, have you seen my childhood?"

A million-seller by the age of 10, Jackson's version of the American dream was tainted by being part of a family that put the "funk" in dysfunctional. An abusive and bullying father, an overly religious mother, and intense sibling rivalry isolated Michael at an early age--like that child in the drawing, like the man whose new music reflects only his own bitterness and rage at a world he thinks has betrayed him.

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