![]() ![]() And between 19 they almost uniformly were. So the music and the dancing had better be pretty fucking good. We know the nuts had definitely taken over the fruitcake at the Neverland Ranch aaaaaages ago but essentially people love Michael for his music and his dancing in spite of these things. They don’t love him for having a pet monkey or an oxygen tent or plastic surgery or weird kid-related allegations or the bones of the Elephant Man or a bizarre friendship with Liz Taylor or having enough painkillers kicking about his mansion to kill a whoop of ketamine addicted gorillas… I mean, I could go on. ![]() It’s the spectacular entertainer, or the songwriter, or the staggering singing voice (his talking voice being staggeringly ridiculous), or the little kid with the afro on Soul Train with belt marks all across his back 'cos he missed a dance step in Denver the previous night. People love Michael Jackson for a few reasons, but it’s not really him that they love. Michael Jackson was not 'bad' in the way he meant it here. Firstly because it is excellent and secondly because if we were to answer the question: 'Who’s bad?', as asked in the title track, then that answer wouldn’t be the pampered, damaged, genius freak-pansy who, with Quincy Jones, co-arranged this near-immaculate pop cornerstone that a lot of our childhoods were held up by. ![]() The least appropriately named album ever.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |