“It don’t matter if you’re black or white”…or does it?
32 Days of Black History is a blogathon celebrating Black History Month hosted by Mamalicious! and Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast.We are joined by WhatTamiSaid;Inkognegro;and Chris repping SCSU in The Dawg House.Check them out.
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I’m going to kick off our 32 Days with a complaint:
Whether it’s Black History Month or any other time of the year, it bugs me when black folks’ contributions in entertainment or sports are emphasized over our achievements in other fields like science, law, education, or public service.
And yet in our inaugural posts, Yvette and I are writing about black music. But that’s because it’s Friday, the day of the week we’ve chosen as our day for music, the soundtrack to our lives, yaddayaddayadda…
Before I get started, I want to point you in Yvette’s direction. She’s put together a cool playlist of “Protest and Social Commentary” songs. Raise your fist, and check it out.
Here, I want to talk about uber-entertainer, showman extraordinaire Michael Jackson.
My fellow AntiRacistParent, Liz Dwyer, blogged about trying (in vain) to hide the above magazine from her young sons, who are fans of Thriler-era Michael Jackson. Liz’s boys had a hard time believing that Michael Jackson had become “a white lady.”
I’m right there with you, kids. I wish I could have frozen Michael in time, from about 1968 to 1986.
If I squint really hard, I can remember Michael before Bubbles and “Blanket”, before the Peter Pan syndrome and the suspect sleepovers, before the sham marriages and money troubles. I choose to remember the icon, if not the flawed man, who sang:
“Let me fill your heart with joy and laughter…”
I remember The Jackson 5 cartoon (vaguely), and doing the robot in my grandparents living room to “Dancing Machine.” I divided my elementary school crush efforts between Michael Jackson and Rodney Allen Rippey.
(Actress Kim Fields immortalized her crush with the song “Dear Michael.” Remember that?)
“Damned indecision…and cursed pride…”
Seeing Michael on the cover of the Off the Wall album brought me back down to Earth. Michael was no longer the little brother-frontman for The Jackson 5. He was a grown man, making music for grown folks. At 8-years-old, I had never known a lover’s rejection, but that didn’t stop me from belting out “She’s Out of My Life” like I knew.
“Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough” is one of about 5 songs that will get me on the dance floor no matter who’s watching, no matter if I’m the only one dancing.
“There’ll be no darkness tonight…”
I don’t have anything to say about the genius of Thriller that hasn’t been said fifty-leven times already, so I’ll share a story:
1983, 7th grade, my best friend Iyana*’s attic bedroom. There are ten of us there, ranging in age from 9 to 15. Five boys, five girls. Two twin beds. You do the math. With the lights out, the nine-year-olds played DJ, spinning “Lady in My Life” between giggles, a few dozen times (this was before CD’s and track repeat).
Today, the parent in me cringes at that memory.
“Don’t turn around…cuz you might see my cry…”
In 8th grade, I owned the 45 of “Farewell My Summer Love.” Years later, as an adult, I could not figure out why a song featuring a pubescent Michael Jackson would have been in heavy rotation on the radio when Michael was nearly 30-years-old. Wikipedia to the rescue: Turns out, the single appeared on an album of the same name which was released in 1984 as a “lost” MJ solo album. The release had originally been slated for a decade earlier.
Neil Armstrong who? Michael Jackson’s first moonwalk on the Motown 25 special had my friend Alicia and me screaming and crying on the phone until we were hoarse.
Things got sketchy for Michael and me after Thriller. I preferred Weird Al’s “I’m Fat” parody to anything on the Bad album. My crush was officially over.
Michael next popped on my music radar with”You are Not Alone.” Nice song. Too bad about that creepy video with Lisa Marie.
As Michael became less and less black-identified physically, I became less and less interested in his music. According to bigger fans than me, Michael’s vitiligo diagnosis is documented, so with all due respect, I’ll leave the issue of his pigmentation aside. That said, the extensive plastic surgery is fair game for criticism. Forget black or white. Michael ceased to look fully human, and his eccentricities eventually overshadowed his enormous talent. The persistent pedophilia charges didn’t help matters either.
I consider Michael’s surgeries a form of mutilation, the epitome of self-hatred. And he hates his dad too. The sketch comedy show In Living Color joked about Joe Jackson’s controlling ways, but according to some reports , Joe’s abuse drove Michael to plastic surgery to erase those facial features that connect him to his father. Maybe it’s not so much that Michael hates being black; maybe he hates being his father’s son.
By sad comparison, the DeBarge family, another talented, tormented clan was also terrorized by a domineering, violent father (allegedly). Remember when El was hyped to be the next Michael Jackson? Instead of plastic surgery, the DeBarges turned instead to substance abuse to ease the pain.
But back to Michael.
MJ reminds us that race is everything and nothing. Changes in his appearance aren’t to blame for how his star has fallen. He has his personal demons to thank for that. But race does matter in that he hasn’t changed his appearance randomly. He hasn’t had surgery to make his nose broader, his lips fuller, for example. By all appearances, literally, Michael Jackson doesn’t want to be look be black anymore. But this begs the questions: What does it mean to be black? And who gets to decide?
Instead of tackling big–and on some level, useless–questions like that, it’s easier to just say thanks for the memories, and for the music.
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Note to MJ stans: I saw your handiwork over in the comments for Liz’s MJ column. My comments here are moderated. Without apology. Or explanation. So think twice before writing a dissertation on vitiligo or MJ’s undisputed talent, because it may well not see the light of day. I encourage lively discussion and civil disagreement here–and sarcasm, lots of sarcasm–but I have no patience for fanaticism. Or poor syntax and bad grammar.
*Some names changed to protect my ears from hearing people fuss at me about their privacy.
February 1st, 2008 at 9:37 am
Those MJ Stans are something else. I had one tell me with a straight face that Michael was STILL better than Prince. In 2007, after Prince ripped the Super Bowl, in the rain.
I didn’t bother to respond.
February 1st, 2008 at 10:27 am
Usually I have a clear direction / opinion on things like this … but here I find myself struggling with whether or not to praise Mike for the good times or slap the schiznick out of him for robbing me of the pride I should have for his achievements. I can’t share with my kids the fact that one of my best friends in elementary school sported a beaded jacket, single studded glove, a soul glow jeri curl and tube socks with black penny loafers.
I was jealous of this dude – I can remember the schoolgirls at Kramer Jr. High in SE D.C., and probably every other inner city school back in 1983-84, wearing that damn button with MJ in white khakis, white shirt and a bright Marigold sweater, with his hair dripping. I should start with the man in the mirror and slap myself first!
Fast-forward twenty years … I’m glad I chose the member’s only jacket over the padded-black “leather-like” zipped jacket with a red V down the front. This posting has made me wonder why a discussion of Michael Jackson has never come up between my friends and me; perhaps they’re just as confused as I am?
I’ll be sure to ask the fellas about that Sunday when we get together to watch the Super bowl.
February 1st, 2008 at 10:35 am
Love it, Deesha!!! I’m listening to your playlist as I work, moving back and forth between jamming my butt off and trying to sooth my heart that is breaking over this man-child that I, too, once loved so fiercely. But dag–I forget I am a little (ahem) older than you. *My* first Jackson 5 45 was made of cardboard that I cut from the back of a Super Sugar Crisp cereal box during a visit with my grandparents in East Chicago, IN (down the way from Gary, where MJ and brothers were from). I won the honor of being able to claim this great prize by being the oldest of the grandchildren. Ah, memories…
February 1st, 2008 at 10:38 am
@blkirish: How bad is it that we’re having “What will we tell the children?” moments over MJ???
My boyfriend back in 8th grade (remember the one with the crazy wife who I had to put in check?) had the jackets from all the videos. And yes, a drip-drip jheri curl.
Members Only, huh? Hot.
February 1st, 2008 at 10:40 am
@Ink: Delusional, they are. I screamed way louder for Prince, and while my interest in him as a sex symbol has waned (too feminine for my adult taste), I still cried half the night when I saw him live on the “Musicology” tour.
February 1st, 2008 at 12:12 pm
“Rock with you” transported me to the roller rink, low lights flashing, clapping and swaying awkwardly on rental skates… I didn’t even realize I had this deep memory, but your playlist took me there. Thank you!
February 1st, 2008 at 12:14 pm
My sister and I used to have Prince/MJ arguments all the time … I always thought Prince was too “weird” to be listening too.
Who would have thought that he came out to be the “sane” one.
February 1st, 2008 at 3:48 pm
From a sweet, handsome, brown face with a fantastic dancing body and happy singing voiced little boy to a flaming nut! I miss Michael the Magnificent. He was/is blessed with such talent. Now, I am a unwilling witness to such obvious self loathing that it is too painful to watch.
Something happened to him. We really don’t what it was. We can see how it has affected him. That is why seeing him so altered and called Wacko Jacko by wanna be fake news shows makes me both sick and angry.
February 1st, 2008 at 9:29 pm
Hold on… Black people have achieved outside of entertaimnent and sport…!?
:0
February 2nd, 2008 at 7:24 am
@Wendy:
Yep, AND…they let us vote now too!
(Except in Florida.)
February 2nd, 2008 at 8:01 am
@Yvette:
I had forgotten all about those 45s that used to come on the cereal boxes! Man, that’s a blast from the past!
February 2nd, 2008 at 11:55 am
Michael, Michael, Michael, what can I say? He has taken us from his adolescent to I don’t know where. While I was an avid Prince fan, I still enjoyed the sounds of what was Michael Jackson.
While people claim Micheal has a skin condition, I believe it is more of a mental and psychological condition. I don’t believe for one minute Michael has a skin condition he has issues with self love. He has gone over the top trying to recreate himself in someone else’s imagine.
Even the interview where he said it was ok to sleep with little boys. Someone should of seen that as a cry for help. But instead, everyone sat back and watched him self destruct. Brittnry Spears has been forced into therapy someone should of put Michael there long ago.
February 2nd, 2008 at 11:01 pm
I was not going to make my first comment on the 32 Days a pop cultural one, but I have to point out Deesha - any woman with no great dance ability (since we know you include yourself
can put on heels and walk across the room when ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’ comes on and it is transcendant. That woman will not only look beautiful, she will feel like perfection and sensuality floating across the room.
All you have to do is pace your walk with the simple beginning of the song …
This is what kills me about MJ - for each gift, and every possible transgression, I still feel like magic when that song comes on and I can walk across a floor. Even if I’m just in the mall food court.
February 2nd, 2008 at 11:15 pm
Yes, the beginning is quite danceable!
But do you remember the video? He was stalking that woman. She needed to be skipping to the courthouse for a restraining order…
And LaToya was in that one as a bystander. Keeping it in the fam.