When Michael Jackson passed away on Thursday, June 25, 2009, there was an outpouring of grief from around the world. We asked our editors to take a few minutes and collect their thoughts about the music and legacy of one of pop's greatest entertainers.
The Man
Michael Jackson never quite seemed mortal until now. He spent at least 40 of his 50 years trying to escape from his past and his fears and his race and his self, and at least 30 of those 50 years singing about it, and last Thursday, he finally found the door out. Michael Freedberg, the great disco critic from the Boston Phoenix, said once that Michael lived Robert Johnson's life in the plain view of everyone on earth, always watching out for hellhounds over his shoulder. And it's true; if you don't believe me, go back and listen again to the paranoia and foreboding in "Heartbreak Hotel," "Billie Jean," "Beat It," "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" ("You're a buffet, you're a vegetable/ They eat off of you, you're a vegetable") "Torture," "Smooth Criminal" ("You ran into the bedroom/ You were struck down/ It was your doom"), "Dirty Diana," "Who Is It," "Give In to Me," and pretty much all of 1997's great, intense, inexplicably ignored Blood on the Dance Floor album, which was almost entirely about being chased, followed, often to the sound of funereal gothic rock: "Susie got your number/ And Susie ain't your friend/ Look who took you under/ With seven inches in." As somebody approximately Michael Jackson's age (I'll be 49 this year, he was 50), also from the Midwest, with a messed-up and sometimes barely existent childhood of my own, I can relate. And so can Axl Rose, I'm sure, and so can Eminem. And so, in their own way, can the millions if not billions of other people worldwide who loved Michael, and probably plenty of the ones who didn't.
If he did anything wrong in his life -- and part of me doesn't ever want to know if he did -- he certainly also did more good than any of us can ever conceive of. He was easily the greatest dancer of the past three decades, probably the greatest singer, and quite possibly the greatest songwriter. Which adds up the greatest entertainer, period. "I can guarantee you one thing: we will never agree on anything as we agreed on Elvis," Lester Bangs wrote in Presley's obit 32 years ago, only a couple years before Michael Jackson definitively proved him wrong, emerging full-blown into adulthood as the world's most popular musician by presaging generations of young people who would celebrate their adulthood by refusing to grow up. And he emerged, of course, with some of the most celebratory music anybody from those generations will ever hear. But always, in the middle of that celebration, and not always submerged, there was dread. If anybody deserves to finally rest in peace, it's him. -- Chuck Eddy


















































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As a child I just took lyrics at face value and I'd still like to think that Mercury was just so into cycling when he cut this album that he just keeps bringing it up all the time.























Welcome to Frank's World, where I get to bore complete strangers by waxing rhapsodic about the vast
"On A Clear Day (You Can See Forever)" clues you in to the fact that adults were taking their shoes off, walking on the grass (and perhaps smoking it too) way before rock music came of age or the hippies showed up and stopped taking showers.
























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