I’m half-deaf, my nose is sunburned, and my throat feels like sandpaper, but I’m still high on happiness following yesterday’s 52nd birthday celebration for Michael Jackson in Prospect Park. It was 95° in New York City (with zero cloud cover), which made standing in the middle of an open field for six hours akin to roasting in an oven, but no matter. The fun and joy of the day outweighed the unpleasantness of heat and sweat (and for me, that’s saying a lot).
An estimated 50,000 (!!!) people came out to celebrate together, making this year’s event even bigger and more successful than last year’s.
I have a huge amount of respect for Spike Lee as a filmmaker (including the three videos he made for MJ), and I’m so grateful that he’s put this massive—and FREE—party on for the past two years . . . and that he plans to continue to do it every year.
As he did last year, poet and performance artist Lemon Andersen delivered spoken-word pieces that honored both the legacy of the entire Jackson family and the wonder that is BROOKLYN.
This girl was so full of energy and confidence. She did a wicked air-guitar solo during "Beat It" that would’ve made Jennifer Batten proud.
DJ Spinna was amazing again this year. His knowledge and love of all eras of Michael’s career—with and without the Jackson 5—is what makes it possible to spend six hours listening to a single artist (with a small handful of associated acts thrown in) without getting bored.
AHHHHHHH!!! Snoop Dogg!!! (And yes, that’s Warren G behind Spike!) I love me some Snoop, and his appearance yesterday was a complete surprise. I like that the party is really about celebrating Michael’s music (as he recorded it, and not being performed by other artists), but a few minutes of Snoop droppin’ it like it’s hot never hurt anyone.
The Reverend Al Sharpton came out again this year to deliver a beautiful eulogy for Michael and to speak about the 5th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. (No photos, as I was recording video.)
EDIT: Spike has posted a thank-you note on his site that nicely summarizes the day. Thank YOU, Spike!
EDIT #2: Here are a couple of clips from interviews with Snoop and Reverend Al. If you watch carefully, you’ll see me and my camera all hot and sweaty in the front row . . .
Last summer, Spike Lee organized the first-annual Brooklyn Loves Michael Jackson Birthday Party in Prospect Park, and it was awesome. I’ve never attended an even of that scale (20,000 people!) before that didn’t have problems, but this one went off without a hitch—everyone was nice to each other, no one was arrested, and nobody got stupid. It really was a mass celebration of L.O.V.E. + music + dancing + family + friends + FUN, which is exactly what a Michael Jackson birthday party should be.
I find it dismaying how many supposed “Michael Jackson tribute” events (not to mention all of the awards show events) have been held around the world in the past year that have really been little more than an excuse for greedy people to make money (or to promote other artists) by exploiting MJ’s name. Spike is doing this for FREE (with the inimitable DJ Spinna!), and he’s doing it RIGHT. I’m so pleased that it wasn’t a one-time thing, either. I’d love to see this celebration become an annual event. Thank you, Spike! (For more information, visit the event page on Facebook.)
Looking back at the post I wrote 365 days ago, it’s clear to me that I really did not fully understand on that day just how much of an impact he had on my life, or how greatly his death would affect me.
I remember much of that afternoon quite clearly. The panic as I was leaving work, the text messages and phone calls from my friend Pam. The confusion and the confirmation. The feeling of the ground dropping out from under me as I walked to Grand Central to take a train home. Evan was working late, and my mother drove me home from the ferry. I sat in her car and forced myself to not cry because I knew that kind of reaction would be irrational. But why?
The death of a celebrity is a strange thing. Everything about celebrity is strange, actually. We know them but we don’t know them, and they don’t know us at all—or at least not as individuals. It’s nearly as one-sided a relationship as possible, but the extent and depth of emotion we’re capable of feeling for these strangers should not be underestimated.
There are a hundred reasons why Michael Jackson’s death has affected me so deeply, and none of them are unimportant. I feel what I feel, and I stopped apologizing for it a long time ago. (Though I suppose the need to even say that is, in itself, a kind of apology. Oh well.)
It’s been a strange year. On one hand, it’s a relief to see documentation of certain things (yes, even the autopsy confirms vitiligo; no, the extensive FBI files weren’t hiding any sordid tales; yes, he really was extorted, multiple times; yes, the media did completely mislead the public for 16 years; no, there isn’t anyone who knew him with anything bad to say; yes, his three children are beautiful and amazing and they love him very much; yes, that fire on the Pepsi set was way more horrible than any of us realized; yes, he really did give away that much money; yes, a lot of people took horrible advantage of this man with a big, big heart; …and yes, he just might have been the nicest person ever), it’s very frustrating and sad for a lifetime fan who has spent many hours over many years reading a great number of legal documents and court transcripts to not be able to say, “I told you so”.
I just wish all of the voices speaking out on Michael’s behalf now would have done so years ago.
But enough about that.
The word “icon” gets tossed around an awful lot, but it’s impossible to overuse when talking about Michael Jackson. Everything the man wore became instantly identifiable as an extension of who he was an artist. Of course the first thing most people think of is the single, glittering glove, but that’s just the tip of the MJ fashion iceberg. Beyond the glove, we have the cropped pants, the white socks, the loafers, the fedora, the zippered red jacket, the red jeans, the military-style jacket, the white-taped fingers, the sequined cardigan, the Mickey Mouse shirt, the aviator-style Ray Bans, the armband, the surgical mask, the red button-down, the umbrella, the arm brace, the shinguards, the bow tie, the gold pants…and so on. From just a few photos and some film shot last spring, it’s now impossible to see a peaked-shoulder Balmain jacket or a pair of bright orange Dior Homme jeans without thinking of Michael. Anything he chose to wear became his. How amazing is that? And I’m just talking about fashion here—I haven’t even touched on the music and the dance!
The fact is that Michael Jackson had something that no one else has ever had or ever will have. He was and continues to be utterly compelling to watch and listen to because every aspect of his being as an entertainer was in perfect harmony. Nothing was done by mistake or without reason, but the overall effect is one of total effortlessness. His movements, his voice, his appearance: Like breathing.
It’s hard for me to write this. I could keep going and going and never finish, becoming more and more disjointed with my thoughts and failing miserably at paying any kind of real tribute. Ultimately, the best way to honor Michael is by listening to his music. I learned that last August 29th, when I stood in Prospect Park with 20,000 other Michael Jackson fans, singing and dancing and weeping and remembering how much joy this man has brought us over the years. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an outpouring of love for strangers in one place before in my life. But as always, Michael loved us more.
Please, just this once, skip this post and don’t comment if you aren’t interested or don’t understand why I feel the way that I do. I don’t need to convince anyone of anything. This is for me and for others who are commemorating the anniversary of a loss that did matter to a lot of people. Thank you.
This has nothing to do with anything, but it did improve my Tuesday considerably: “Bohemian Rhapsody”, as performed by The Muppets. YES. I had no idea such a thing existed. I may need to watch this every morning for the rest of my life.
So, you know when a bunch of people tell you that they think you’d like really something (a book, a movie, a musician, whatever) so many times that you kind of get this attitude like, “Oh please, if it’s THAT obvious that I’d like it, I’d probably hate it!”, and then you’re reluctant to even give whatever this thing is a chance? …No? Okay, maybe it’s just me.
Anyway, after the millionth person told me I’d probably really dig Janelle Monáe, I finally took five minutes to go on YouTube and watch a few videos and live perfomances, and, well—all of you know-it-alls were right this time. I definitely dig this chick.
I really appreciate when musical artists go the extra mile and put everything they have into all aspects of their public persona and performance—clothing, production, attitude, packaging design, videos, stage presence, references…all of it. There is a quality level that I look for, and it has to be one that’s genuine, not contrived by a label or the artist as an attention-getting gimmick that detracts from the music itself. I’m talking about real style that serves to complement actual talent. (Think: James Brown, Prince, Morrissey, Siouxsie, Michael Jackson, David Bowie…)
On top of all of that style, Janelle is…really, really great. (Ugh, could I possibly be a worse “reviewer”?) I’m also excited to be excited about cool music being released by someone 10 years younger than me, rather than 20+ years older. That doesn’t happen often, probably because of that cruddy attitude I mentioned having.
Let’s all start out this Friday with the beautiful new Morrissey video for “Ganglord”, directed by Dennis Roberts and filmed at Evergreen Cemetery in Boyle Heights, Los Angeles. (Evergreen, which is one of LA’s oldest cemeteries, has an interesting history.)
I love this song—lyrically, musically, and now visually. Well done.
A little Anna-side-project trivia: I’m a big Furs fan. I started Burned Down Days almost 10 years ago, when they reunited after a nearly decade-long break.
Today should have been Michael Jackson’s 51st birthday.
In a few hours, I’ll be in Prospect Park in Brooklyn, celebrating with Spike Lee, the Reverend Al Sharpton, and tens of thousands of people who love Michael Jackson just as much as I do. As wonderful a time as I’m sure we’ll all have, though, the sad fact is that MJ should be celebrating with us.
In the words of Spike Lee:
It’s going to be a joyous, festive, celebratory party. At the end, we’ll all sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Michael, We’re going to make sure he hears us, too. All over the world, people are going to be celebrating his birthday. But he’s going to hear Brooklyn; Brooklyn is going to be in the house. Deep.
There are (at least) two kinds of Michael Jackson fans: There’s the kind that loves a lot of his music and gets down to the ground when “Billie Jean” comes on at a party. And then there’s the kind who, yes, loves his music (even the stuff that went virtually unheard in the U.S. in the past 15 years), but perhaps more importantly, loves the man. I fall squarely in the latter group. For me, it isn’t possible to separate the life from the career—and frankly, it wasn’t possible for Michael, either.
This was a brilliant, kind, beautiful (and I mean that in every sense, and from birth to death) generous and truly loving man who literally gave everything he had to the world, and left nothing for himself in the end. This is the most misunderstood and hideously violated artist of our time, and his death has brought with it what will surely be many, many years of continued tabloid fodder based only slightly in truth, and primarily in sensationalist profiteering.
Yes, I am angry, and I am very, very sad.
Today, however, I will celebrate. I will dance and I will sing and I will forget to be afraid of how I look doing it. Can you feel it? Happy birthday, Michael. I hope you’ll hear us in Brooklyn.
p.s. Yes, it’s been a while, I know. Tonight I read through some of the comments that were left on my last post over the last couple of weeks, and all I can really say is that I’m sorry I’ve disappointed those of you who have come to expect something from me here on a regular basis. I can’t promise that, though, because I’m a human being with human distractions (like what you’ve read about in this post) that devour my attention completely, often for long stretches of time. This isn’t a job, it’s an extension of myself. I hope you can understand that.
I don’t normally post things like this, but I am feeling so sad right now that I don’t know what else to do. Bear with me.
I’m part of the generation that’s old enough to remember Michael Jackson from before he became a punch line, but young enough to not think of him as a child prodigy. When Thriller came out in 1982, I was in second grade. Michael Jackson was 24, and he was a sex symbol like no other. He was mysterious. He was cute. He didn’t look, sound, act, or dance like anyone else—he had moves, he was magic.
The only things I remember about second grade are that my teacher was Mrs. Loeber, and that Thriller was HUGE. It’s impossible to overstate how infatuated the entire world seemed to be with Michael Jackson in the early and mid-’80s, and he deserved every accolade he received (and then some).
If you’ve ever tried to have a conversation with me about Michael Jackson, you know that I am one of those people who will defend him to no end. It kills me that his so-called “weirdness” has overshadowed his truly stunning talent for so many years, but I’ve always been able to look beyond that and keep an intense appreciation for all that he contributed to music and entertainment and dance and fashion. I’ve never stopped thinking that he’s magic.
“I do maintain that if your hair is wrong, your entire life is wrong.”
—Morrissey (1984)
Well, Morrissey! You truly are the wit of a generation, and judging by the state of your hair over the years, you’ve certainly managed to live a fabulous life thus far. Here’s to 50 more years of fantastic haircuts!
Since I’m sure you read my blog (right?), allow me to be one of many to wish you a very (un)HAPPY birthday! Maybe later we can go out for drinks and talk about old times. What do you say? Oh, and wear that suit and tie. You’ll match my rug and chair perfectly.
In the mean time, let us reminisce about the old days by watching a great stage rush moment from Dallas in 1991, back when you were younger than I am now and the security guards weren’t complete thugs. VIVA MORRISSEY!
Today is also the perfect excuse to post THIS gem from 1984:
From the Completely Unrelated to Anything department, I bring you this fantastic clip from the 1975 Grammy Awards!
I don’t even know where to start with the awesomeness. Beyond the cast of characters onstage, how about those rainbow-colored heads awkwardly pushed in to announce the nominees? And O.N.J.’s name dropping down from the ceiling! We’ve gotten so used to everything being digitized that this almost feels like a high school production of Oklahoma.
I think I said, “What? Seriously?” about 15 times while watching this 4 1/2-minute clip. So great.
In 1994, I slept on the sidewalk outside of Carnegie Hall for two nights* (see, kids, this is what we had to suffer through before we had the internet) to get tickets to see Morrissey there. I got great seats (9th row center, if I recall correctly). The show was initially “postponed”, so I waited patiently for the new date to roll around six months later. Then, in true Morrissey form, he cancelled. And didn’t reschedule. HEARTBREAK. I still haven’t gotten over it.
15 years later, I am FINALLY going to see Morrissey at Carnegie Hall. This will be my 26th Morrissey concert, but I still feel nervous and excited every single time I see him.
(*Those were a craaaaazy couple of nights. MTV and the NY Times were there to film and interview us, and a radio station brought us breakfast in the mornings. The guy up at the front of the line had been there for days. I could never do something like that now, but I’m glad I was so ridiculous and silly once upon a time! Even though the concert was cancelled, I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything.)
First off, I’d like to thank the people who were courteous enough to either comment about or email me the above photo. The fact that there are at least 17 people in the world who immediately think of ME when they see a nearly-naked Morrissey (posing with his band for the inner sleeve of “I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris”) warms the cockles of my heart. Seriously.
Moving along, a few notes from the weekend:
I finished tiling the bathroom floor at 2:00 AM Saturday night. Or does that count as Sunday morning? Either way, I was totally out of my mind with exhaustion by the time I finished. Aside from some imperfections resulting from my lack of experience with tiny, round, mosaic tiles (or lack of experience with tiling, period), I think it looks great—and it’s going to look even better once it’s grouted. The tiles are matte-black pennyrounds, and I’ll be using black grout. (Photos soon, hold your horses!)
We’re pretty sure we’re going to use the white room as a bedroom. It’s the perfect size, it’s far away from the street, and it will free up the two larger bedrooms for other uses. I’m itching to buy the MANDAL bed from IKEA. I think it would look amazing on the white floor, and those drawers could easily hold all of our extra sheets and blankets (I suspect they could make nice “sidecar” pullout beds for the dogs, too!).
Last night we had friends over for dinner, which was lovely. I’ve said this before, but it’s really nice to have gotten to a point where we have a semblance of a social life in Newburgh. I made Ina Garten’s Macaroni & Cheese, which was completely delicious and immediately became my favorite new recipe. I also made broccoli rabe, which to my surprise was enjoyed by all six guests! Usually there’s at least one person who doesn’t like bitter veggies, but that was not the case last night. I love broccoli rabe as a complement to rich, sweet foods. (Speaking of rich and sweet, one of my friends brought dessert—crème brûlée—and a blowtorch to caramelize the sugar! Maybe I’m just easily impressed by fire, but I thought it was all very exciting.)
My local Target now has some of the Orla Kiely collection in stock. This weekend, I picked up a couple of closet organizers and the laundry bag. Very cute! I’m crossing my fingers that my store ultimately gets in the entire collection. (EDIT: The full collection will hit stores on February 15th. Thanks, Holly!)
“Entire coachloads of off-duty gas fitters from Bolton will risk death to get on the stage to try to either shake his hand, or to hug him, or to kiss him, or whatever. Almost as though they feel that, you know, some kind of ritual communion with Morrissey will enable them to contact a part of their emotions that they normally feel distanced from.”
—Michael Bracewell
Does anyone know who that is in the video giving the above quote? Thanks, Suzanne!
I’ve watched this mini-doc a number of times now, and it never fails to get me choked up.
