Till now I haven't felt much like adding to the volume of eulogizing/analysis saturating the Interwebs in the wake of MJ's passing. Four, five days on and it's already almost ancient history for the rest of the blogosphere. But I'm still having a hard time processing it. Like millions of others I idolized Michael during my childhood and adolescence - from the first record I ever owned, J5's Goin' Back to Indiana OST, through all the J5 hits, Off the Wall, Triumph, Thriller, the moonwalk on Motown 25 (which a friend at school the next day actually described as "electric" - and he didn't even grow up to become a music critic)... Michael was simply the coolest kid on the planet who happened to grow up and become the coolest dude on the planet - a figure who made us believe that anything was possible (even getting his collab with Eddie Van Halen in simultaneous heavy rotation on both the local AOR and urban radio stations in Boston, of all places).
When MJ started losing some luster around Victory, at least his timing was convenient - what with hip-hop about to redefine everything we once considered musically vital. When his personal drama started eclipsing his music (undeniable singles notwithstanding) a lot of us necessarily compartmentalized the Michael we worshipped as a separate entity from the perpetual punch-line of the tabloids. But even having already emotionally detached myself from MJ years earlier I don't think there was anything that could have prepared me or anyone else for the shock of last Thursday's news. It was still too abrupt. And it will never not feel that way.
Like so many others, I've spent the past few days going through his back catalog, being reminded of the specific details in various recordings that I've always loved: the way the bass drops - so heavily
and nimbly - on
"Hum Along and Dance"; those spot-on doubled harmonies punctuating the last few choruses of
"Got to Be There"; the sound of Michael's laughter - contagious and carefree - emerging out of the breakdown of
"Get On the Floor"; the way his impeccable falsetto anchors
"Your Ways'" dissonant synths; that final "A Day in Life"-like piano note that concludes
"Heartbreak Hotel" (the unofficial prequel to "Billie Jean"); that part in "Human Nature" where he gets all Sinatra and goes, "
If this town is just an apple/Let me take a bite."
Last Saturday's gig wasn't planned as anything more than some regular hot fun in the summertime. But like every other party going on this past weekend it inevitably represented something more profound. When I emailed Just the day before to ask how he wanted to pay homage to MJ, he only vaguely replied that he was "gonna put something together." Little did I know that he was in the midst of spending some 30+ continuous sleep deprived hours in the lab concocting his tribute - a series of supremely club friendly edits of Michael's classics (e.g. "Remember the Time" over "Seven Minutes of Funk"/"Heartbeat"; "Billie Jean" over "Hot Music"; "I'll Be There" gone "God Make Me Funky"; an "Impeach the President"/"So Wat Cha Sayin"-infused "Human Nature" that picked up part of "It Ain't Hard to Tell" along the way) that had all of us losing our minds when he premiered them during his set.
Not that the regular versions from Michael's repertoire needed any help; the obvious hits naturally inspired hysteria. But even "Show You the Way to Go" sounded so nice it got played twice. And "Butterflies" felt that much greater with its composer, Floetry's Marsha Ambrosius, in the building. And so on and so forth. Just joked on the mic that we were smashing every other MJ party that night. But we were really just another room full of folks celebrating just like everyone else all around the world, the same songs. I found something comforting in that thought itself.
Ironically for me it wasn't even a MJ tune but that ever reliable warhorse "Love Is the Message" that set the tone for things early on. Just didn't stick to the song's second half like most of us would have, but let the whole track in all its syrupy Star Wars-ish splendor build up and ride out till its end. As many times as I've heard that record over the years it honestly never sounded quite so beautiful and mournful to me as it did at that moment - with Just exuberantly, repeatedly dropping "Can you feel it?" from the Jacksons Live over it. And the answer, of course, never in doubt.
