Michael Jackson spent approximately 45 percent of his life as a cherubic, preternaturally gifted, exquisitely Afro-ed kid from Gary, Indiana, and the remaining 55 percent of it as the most famous man on the planet. This probably explains everything about him: his eccentricities (real or imagined), his music, his triumphs and tribulations and, ultimately, his death. Michael Jackson was never a normal person; he never had a normal childhood (his father put him to work in the family business — the Jackson 5 — at the age of 5), and he segued from that directly into an exceedingly abnormal adulthood, one spent directly beneath the megawatt glare of the spotlight. He lived — and died — smothered by fame.
I'm not writing this to eulogize Jackson, or to explain away the things he may or may not have done. I'm just pointing out the fact that he lived a fairly isolated, probably lonely life.
Which that brings me to the point of this column. Even if, for most of the past two decades, Jackson seemed to exist solely for the pleasure of the tabloids, at least he was alive. There was a sort of comfort in knowing that the guy who made Thriller (and Off the Wall and Bad) was still with us. It seemed like he would never die — that in some bizarre way he was immortal, a living bridge between pop music's past and present. He was a beacon of permanence in increasingly un-permanent times.
Of course, that all ended last week. Which means that, for the first time in nearly four decades, there will be kids who grow up without ever knowing what it's like to have Michael Jackson in their lives. This is amazing when you think about it, not to mention a little sad and frightening.
Because what happens now that the King of Pop is dead? Who will amaze, enthrall, and engage the next generation of music fans now that he's gone? Who will make the 18-minute music videos, or stage the mega-tours, or release the concert films that will melt these kids' minds? Who will write the pop tunes that will make them laugh and cry and fall in love? Who will have them aping dance moves on the linoleum floors of their kitchens, or putting on ridiculous sparkly gloves for Halloween? Sure, some people will — but they won't be like Michael Jackson.
Jackson's death has left a gaping, generation-sized hole in the entertainment world, one that — as I'm sure they'd agree — a hundred Justins or Britneys or Jiggas or Kanyes will never fill. That's the reality of the situation. We've witnessed the end of something here; something we probably won't be able to comprehend anytime soon.
One of my best friends and his wife just had a baby boy, seven pounds of awesome named Carlos Antonio Ortiz. So far, Little 'Los has had a pretty excellent life, except for the part where MJ died. He is only three weeks old, so I haven't had the heart to tell him this yet, but for the rest of his life, he will exist in a world without Michael Jackson, which is to say that it's basically all downhill from here. Sure, he will have heroes, people he will emulate and idolize, but none of them will be able to do the Moonwalk, not even his dad. No offense, Jason.
And the sad thing is, there are millions of Carloses out there now. More are born every minute. And sure, their mothers and fathers will probably play them Michael Jackson's music, will try to explain to them who this man was and what he meant to the world. But it won't be the same, not for any of them, because they won't have a reference point, they won't have the real thing. Jackson now will exist only in stories and videos and recorded music.
Sure, there will undoubtedly be more Michael Jackson albums in the future. Unreleased songs and demos, the recordings of rehearsals for his upcoming run of shows at London's O2 Arena, posthumous releases that won't have one one-hundredth of the heart and soul of "She's Out of My Life" or "Black or White." It's entirely possible that these "new" releases will introduce a whole new generation of fans to his music, and that, in death, Michael Jackson will become even more famous. Though I somehow doubt that. For starters, I don't think it's even possible to be more famous that MJ is/was. And, perhaps more importantly, because there's nothing like the genuine article. And there never will be again.
Of course, you'll have to take my word for it, Carlos, but trust me: Michael Jackson was unreal. You'll never know what you missed.
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