Jun
26th
Fri
26th
Michael Jackson’s best songs are pop-culture islands. They’re able to exist alone and free of context, which is amazing for the image-inherent world of pop music and especially so being born of someone who wound up so scarred and bizarre. No matter whose bones he collected or whose boner he allegedly fondled, Michael’s best pop music is too transcendent to be bogged down by such earthly matters. “Billie Jean,” “Thriller,” “Off the Wall,” “Human Nature,” “PYT,” “Rock With You,” “Smooth Criminal,” shit even, “Butterflies,” “Ben,” “Scream,” “In the Closet” and “Remember the Time,” and so many more are too precious to tarnish. They’re Scotchguarded with perfection, utmost examples of art that demands to be separated from its artist. And one of the most heartening phenomena I’ve observed in the population’s relationship to art has been its ability to do just that. I’d never give the public that much credit if I hadn’t observed countless examples of the unmitigated joy that results en masse when anything from Thriller is played at a party, no matter the attendees, no matter the occasion and still to this day.
