I know some of you are like: “enough with the MJ!” But I’m in Brooklyn.
There was a big birthday party in Prospect Park today that I did not attend as my asthma and allergies have been out of control this week; hanging out around piles of fallen leaves is not what I need. I’m sorry I missed it. My sources thus far have described a fun, emotional, positive Brooklyn scene wherein people across various demographics came together in celebration and appreciation of one of our greatest popular artists. As Monica wrote today on TransGriot:
<i>it still seems surreal to talk about him in the past tense…it speaks to the fact I was spoiled. I didn’t realize the quality type of music I had growing up and the sheer volume of music legends that graced my teen and early adult years. I’m becoming aware of it as these peeps leave us and what we have currently pales in comparison to them.</i>
Agreed.
I wrote a kinda lengthy post about my relationship to Michael Jackson’s art shortly after his death, how I felt he had served as a cultural scapegoat, the racism of his demonization, etc. Since writing that I have had a summer to process the MJ fandom of my youth and the genius of his artistry. Here in Brooklyn I think I heard more Michael emanating from car and apartment windows than any other artist this summer. That was awesome, my incidental summer soundtrack music was all the richer for it. I listened to more Michael on my own than I had in years, I especially enjoyed J. Period’s “Man or the Music” mixtape tribute. At the risk of sounding corny, I realized that when I was a kid, and Michael Jackson began his descent from hero to joke, it was a kind of loss of innocence. Way before the somewhat ill-fated album bearing the name, he seemed invincible. This strange, brilliant man was the biggest star on the planet. Then <i>Bad</i>–despite selling enormous amounts of records–was deemed a “disappointment” for not topping <i>Thriller</i>, and tabloid bullshit started usurping the music in the public consciousness. Kids on the playground started injecting Michael into the misogynist, racist, homophobic and transphobic dogma they’d absorbed and for anyone who’d <i>related</i> to his “weirdness”, it was like a slap in the face. Or at least it felt that way to me, and it was painful. And instructive as to how we as a culture deal with freaks.
I have said on various occasions since his passing that I wished Michael could see this or that tribute or gathering. Depending on your beliefs on such matters, maybe you think he can. That would be nice. The resurrection of Michael Jackson as a shared and treasured artist is some solace after his untimely passing.