In memoriam: Michael Jackson

Thursday evening. I get home, tired after a long working day which I finished with a good swim. One of those when you just enter home and land on the bed. Nonetheless I do not want to sleep without a bit of music. Today I feel for a classic: the last four songs of “Dark Side of the Moon”, by Pink Floyd, a masterpiece of contemporary music. One of those to listen to only from time to time, yet always enjoyable.

I listen lying on my bed, through the iphone headphones. It is the last tunes and the incidental sounds of the very end. A voice says “there is no dark side of the moon, really…” with a heart beating in the background, presumably the same one you can hear at the beginning of the record. Right at this moment, the end of the record, a text message comes in. A good friend says: “Michael Jackson is dead. :(”. Is that so? Oh… Tomorrow will be another day.

Next morning news is all over. Which is logical, given his worldwide popularity. His death came as an unexpected surprise, yet I do not feel particularly sad. I was never his fan, and I always found excessive to devote so much attention to someone who lived in his own amusement park, where he was slowly whitening while facing very serious accusations of child molestation. I found it excessive even if I could understand the reasons behind it.

However, I must acknowledge that Michael Jacksons' decease is the death of a symbol of the last quarter of the XXth century, an artist with a unique impact in the world of music, where he introduced his original fusion of styles, from rock to disco through pop and soul; also for his revolutionary innovations in dance, notably his moon walk. And most of all for being the first Afro-American artist who broke the glass wall and became a world icon for all races alike.

Michael Jackson brings me back to my childhood. I was barely nine years old when the mythical “Thriller” was released. When video clips had just appeared and were slowly making their way in terms of music promotion, Jacko released fifteen minutes of a real movie that kept us all glued to our seats in amazement, in a move that changed the genre forever. This is the Michael Jackson I will remember, the one I feel a part of my cultural background; the member of the Jackson five, the fresh creative man of the first half of the eighties. Before success, popularity and a very complicated history turned him into a pathetic character. Someone who could afford anything he liked but could never be really happy, to the point of turning his life into a circus that will probably continue after his death.

May he rest, finally, in peace.