This week, Pieces enjoyed a British player actually being quite good at Wimbledon, got drenched in the inevitable British summer thunderstorm, and felt more shocked than we thought we would when Michael Jackson died.
Now, this isn’t going to be a post about the life and times of Michael Jackson – it’s been done by every newspaper, blog and tv channel already. What really fascinates me is just how much of a big deal people are making of the event. Apparently, a detailed statistical review has showed that since last Thursday evening, 85% of all music played, all over the world, has been Michael Jackson. (this may or may not be made up, but anyone who’s walked down the street and heard snatches of Billie Jean through car windows every 5 minutes will understand.)
As far as I can see, there’s only one explanation: Jackson’s death has to be the last superstar event. It has to be. Noone since his glut of publicity in the 80s has come close to generating the kind of hysteria that followed him wherever he set foot. Noone has really tried – those who have have just been confronted with apathy (Madonna – who is in danger of slipping down the same once-I’ve-run-our-of-musical-ideas-I’ll-resort-to-weirdness-to-keep-people-hooked slope) or hostility (sure, U2 sell a few records, but you can bet if Bono was accused of touching children he’d never work again). Now that we can all communicate with people over the world, some of whom we never need to actually meet, and find out any information at the click of a mouse, there’s no need for anyone to perform the role of the superstar. And the idea of a person being the perfect superstar doesn’t really fit with the times any more. Noone’s untouched by cynicism enough any more to believe in that kind of myth.
What’s going to happen when other giants of pop music die? Noone, no matter how influential or much loved, is going to inspire the same level of posthumous devotion. Why? I haven’t really got a clue, but watch how Paul McCartney gets celebrated but doesn’t make people spontaneously start dancing to ‘Mull Of Kintyre’ in the street the day after he dies.
There was a time when ‘the superstar’ seemed more appropriate, more in tune with a feeling of wanting something better, but that time was finished way before anyone my age was born. Look back at ‘superstar’ deaths before the mid 80s, and consider how revelations about private lives have affected perceptions of the people involved. JFK – apparently a major womaniser, but noone questions his credentials as a great man. Elvis Presley – mega drug and food junkie, washed up and worthless for so long, but still people clamber to call him the greatest voice in Rock and Roll, as if the blots don’t matter. John Lennon – despite allegations of wife-beating and neglecting his first-born child, he’s still treated like a saint. It’s as if we have to continue to elevate these people to a status that is impossible to achieve. There’s nothing wrong with celebrating their achievements, but to a generation (mine) who have grown up exposed to information and opinion from every possible angle, denying human faults – crucial aspects of character no matter how unsavoury – seems like it detracts from a legacy rather than enhancing it.
But Jackson has to be the last of this breed. I just can’t see how it could be possible, in a 21st century world where ‘being true to yourself’ is enough of a venerated quality that it creates celebrities out of base materials like Jade Goody, for anyone to survive as much of a shitstorm, justified or not, as he must have faced in the last twenty years of his life. I have to admit that the overwhelming feeling I’ve experienced since about Friday evening wasn’t shock, or even sadness, but relief – for two reasons. Firstly, whatever your feelings about this man, whether you think he was a boy-saint or a kiddy fiddler, he must have lived a life of pain and anguish, and I’m relieved that a fellow human being doesn’t have to go through that any more. But more importantly, I’m relieved that this is probably the end of the kind of star-worship that presents people like Jackson with that kind of life. Who knows, it might turn out to be his biggest achievement.
There will be no further mention of Michael Jackson. Promise.
Now on to this week’s playlist, which pulses along like it knows you’ll have fun listening to it.
1. El Guincho - Antillas
2. Broadcast - Black Cat
3. Gang Gang Dance - God's Money V
4. Os Mutantes - A Minha Menina
5. TV On The Radio - Golden Age
6. Sunset Rubdown - Nightingale/December Song
7. Dirty Projectors - Two Doves
8. Kraftwerk - Tour De France (Live)
9. The Marvelettes - When You're Young And In Love
10. The Go! Team - Ladyflash
11. Young MC - Principle's Office
12. Lou Donaldson - Everything I Do Gonna Be Funky (From Now On)
13. Neil Young - Rockin' in the Free World
http://open.spotify.com/user/blownawish/playlist/5xkP9AGC72ZBBTrtBH1Xg4
See you next week for more.
Pieces x
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