Even though I was never a fan of the man, I have to feel empathy for a short life that was largely devoid of happiness. But I've come to view him in a larger context, because in a way, he was a symbol of an America that went wrong.
He represents the unhealthy growth of the cult of celebrity in a country that has become increasingly divorced from reality. This is what leads to pathetic contestants on shows like American Idol to literally sob if the judges don't pick them. The attainment of celebrity will give their barren lives some kind of meaning.
For many Americans, empty of self worth or satisfaction with the attainment of reasonable and worthy goals, celebrity and its trappings are a kind of illness. It's not enough anymore for millions of people to live a simple and clean life. Life needs deification and thus validation, from fans and worshippers and sycophants. If the fans can't have this high, this thrill of celebrity for themselves, they can at the very least experience it vicariously by screaming at their icons, those in whom fate and luck changing morality have chosen to serve as popular culture figureheads. Jackson lived this life, on top of it. Like many previous celebrities, when he got to the top, he found the view wasn't worth the struggle. Like Marilyn Monroe, his fame became in fact a curse. He was seldom happy with it.
Jackson had two lives, two alter egos. There was his own life, his own sense of himself as a mere mortal human being, who just like you and I, has to wake up every day and go to the bathroom. This Michael Jackson was withered and small. And then there was his other side, his public persona, his life in the limelight of adulation and attention, as a performer, an icon. This side was gigantic, needing to be maintained, to be developed, stroked and furthered, existing on falsehoods, a truly Herculean task that would exhaust and expend the sensibilities of anyone. The need to keep this image of himself young and talented and the best, the king of pop, the need to not slip from being the king, became like a mountain on his shoulders.
And all he could do was hurt. He turned to pain killing drugs to survive. But he was just reflecting the time in which he lived.
Millions of Americans turn to drugs to fade the pain, to be happy, to be up, filled with energy, always temporarily. We're a nation of drug users, over the counter, scribbled on prescription notes, or illegal. Where Americans 100 years ago might be more inclined to live with the pain and boredom that sometimes accompanies any lived life, to take it, Americans today want to avoid it, anything unpleasant, by taking a pill.
We're a nation of junkies. If stoic indifference to pain is a sign of courage, and many say it is, then we've increasingly become a nation of cowards, who try to mask and hide from reality.
Jackson was simply perhaps an unwitting symbol for it all.
In the end, Jackson , like Elvis and Marilyn, couldn't stand it anymore. It was simply too much. The need to always be beautiful in the public eye despite the grotesque reality of looking like a sun-glassed skeleton, the need to curry the phony image he himself had created, and the troubled American society, lonely, barren, devoid of self worth, needing desperately to believe in and worship that image.
It all became a Frankenstein. A monster who had him by the throat. He had to get out. This was the only way.
There will be other Michael Jacksons in the future with different unique talents to satisfy the always changing insatiable demands of public taste. But the reasons we exalt and deify and promote these people the way we do, and the end result, should tell us something troubling about ourselves. Something, that like Michael, we don't want to admit.
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Mr. Sammon, I find this to be the best article I've read on the rise and demise of Michael Jackson. Thank you for penning thoughts I was unable to pen. This is an excellent article and one I believe is the sad truth. Respond to this comment
John, I read this article the other day along with several other articles you have penned ~ some were extremely entertaining but this one about Michael Jackson does resonate a truth ~ I do, however, believe that Michael would have made a comeback had the goals in his head not exceeded his frame of health ~ it is true that he needed to validate his self-worth and that he was a walking contradiction, but he truly was passionate about his music; and at the same time, a total mystery until the very end ~ a flawed individual without a question, but a genius of a musician who brought not only music to the next level but also dance ~ also a lot of confusion on who was the real Michael Jackson. I am glad they featured this article. Suzy
A story about Jackson paying off the "biological" mother of his children, Debbie Rowe, to remove herself from the lives of the children she gave birth to would be an interesting look at the dark underbelly of bizarro-world.
One can make comparisons with architectural legend Frank Lloyd Wright, who lived an eccentric style, but who distanced himself entirely from wife and children.
» left by Dr Clarence Rucker, Jr from MI (107 days 23 hours ago.)
Differently, I see Michael. I saw his talent pursuade the world to come unto him. I did not see him as the times, then that would place me in him. )I was the "Stevie Wonder" day.) A generation of and in his time went roaring. Some grew up with him. I remember seeing a little kid in Detroit on W. Grand Blvd., throwing footballs with other kids. I remember his Father during those times what were called discipline and or whipping your child, when they did wrong is now, child abuse. But then, it kept them from prison, jail, and gave them a work ethic...good or bad (they would not dare curse a teacher or break in a house.) The talent I note. Oh! we may not have the same flaws as he, but yet, we do. Different arenas of course. I cannot name many entertainers that were spotless, yet it depends on how one feels about that person. The times even stated the President could not think clearly with an alcoholic brain. Which is worse? To me, he is talent of this era. I could imagine being Thomas Edison, some say: "He was on drugs and crazy for what he was trying to do. But it came out well." The drug mind of Einstein they thought was 'crazy' (mentally challenged). We have so many "Acid Rockers" breaking guitars and OD ing, authorities hate doing autopsies. Some have always said: "Genuises are mental." But I do not know. Well, one talent is gone. But we do know one thing of the times, NEWS are not fact finders anymore, they are speculators. Except when in a court of law. I, myself, if I have to die, I feel for my wife and Doctor for all the medications they have to account for. I take 11 a day now. But, no mental pills. Do not worry Michael, one thing for sure, "You will rest in peace." We are not unrestful.
Life
Put in the picture me not, in doleful statistics, being is but an unfilled daydream, for the essence is lifeless that slumbers, and things are not, what they appear.
Being is true! Being is sincere! And the grave is not its aspiration, Dust we are, count it so, to dust we repeat, count it so. Dust, was not spoken of the soul, count it so.
Not delight, and not sorrowfulness, is our ordained conclusion or means, but to proceed, that every future uncovers us beyond than at present.
Drawing is time-consuming, and moment is ephemeral, and our hearts, though corpulent and valiant, motionless, like barely audible notes, are thumping interment paces to the earth. Be present, a male leader in the contention.
In the earth’s expansive meadow encounter, in the billet of subsistence, be not similar to moronic, single-minded cattle! Dependence upon no upcoming, however gratifying! Let the deceased times of yore, secrete its departed! Take action, act in the breathing current spirit within, and God in the clouds. Take heed, for God will come through the clouds of our confusion.
Lives of impressive men all remind us, we can formulate our lives uplifting and passing, leave at the back of us tracks on the sands of era. Tracks, that perchance a different, seafaring over life’s somber core, a pitiful and stranded brother, bearing in mind, shall take mind again. Give permission us, then be upbeat and responsibility with compassion for any destiny; at rest achieving, still pursuing, be taught to employment and stay.
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