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Michael Jackson: A Remembrance
- On a Half Century of Unparalleled American Genius and Freakery
- Growing Up with Michael Jackson (Who Never Grew Up)
- The Kiddie-Pleasing Linguistic Inventions of the King of Pop
- You Never Forget Your First Time
- How Achieving the American Dream Broke Michael Jackson’s Brain
- Michael Jackson’s Gold-Plated Crazybrains
- Farewell to the Best Friend a Boy Could Ever Have
- The Posthumous Ruminations of One Pissed Angel
- On the Tragic Loss of Charlie’s Angel Kate Jackson
Before I was through the front door, my dad stopped me in my tracks. “Wait right there!” he yelled, then disappeared down the stairs, leaving me standing in the living room with my backpack and the smell of my school bus’s exhaust lingering in the air.
“Are you ready?” my dad hollered from out of sight. I wasn’t sure if I was or not. A second later, I heard a whip-crack horn blast, breaking the air and making way for the tough-as-fuck bass line to Michael Jackson’s “Bad.”
Stranger Personals
I screamed. “That’s Michael Jackson!” I thought as I dropped my bag and ran downstairs. “THAT’S THE NEW MICHAEL JACKSON TAPE!”
My dad was standing in front of a new stereo system, holding up a long, flat, white box with a leather-clad Michael Jackson on the cover and… what the huh!? This wasn’t a tape at all. This was a CD! THIS WAS MY FIRST CD! What the fuck is a CD?
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was loud and it was Michael Jackson, and it was mine. And my dad said I could listen to it over and over again, and it would never start to sound wobbly, unlike my Thriller tape, which was eventually eaten by my boom box.
I was seven years old, and this was the best thing that had ever happened to me. New, “flawless” technology, new Michael Jackson music—I danced around the room, singing, “I’m bad, I’m bad/Really, really bad,” with my 7-year-old white-girl proclamations of badness almost as believable as those of the bleached-and-mascaraed Jackson. It was all too much, yet I couldn’t get enough. That was when an undeniable love of music was embedded into my psyche. And that moment paved way for a lifelong addiction—I’ve bought thousands of CDs since. But Michael Jackson was the first. Michael Jackson started it all. ![]()
I'll never forgive his Thriller garbage for being the beginning of the end of MTV original programing leading it into the urban crap, hip-hop and emo idiocy it evolved into.
His musical influence was the audio equivalent of his kid-touching.
Go screw.
The stuff of hack-writers.
I had a similar experience with INXS when Hutchence died. The first cassette I ever bought was Kick and I listened to it until it was powder. Sure, it's kind of cheesy now; but kids eat that shit up and it still has a meaningful effect on you when a childhood idol dies regardless of the significance of their legacy.
I had a similar experience with INXS when Hutchence died. The first cassette I ever bought was Kick and I listened to it until it was powder. Sure, it's kind of cheesy now; but kids eat that shit up and it still has a meaningful effect on you when a childhood idol dies regardless of the significance of their legacy.
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And uh..#1 You're just a jackass, I don't think she was trying to write about music, or claiming to know anything about music (a thing you obviously know nothing about you, snobby dick). She's a writer!
And a good one! Damn-it this article did it for me! I was just a bit older than 7 when 'BAD' came out, but I remember dancing my ass off, you almost gave me tears!










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