Michael Jackson has moonwalked for the last time and I am sad.
After I heard the news yesterday, I immediately called Gulley to see if she’d heard the news because I felt like I needed to share the moment with someone who, like me, spent a better part of 1983-1984 memorizing the choreography to the “Thriller” video.
I told her I’d never forget sitting in the stands at a junior high pep rally when the eighth grade cheerleaders came out on the gym floor and performed a routine to “Beat It”. At the time I had no idea what that song was or who sang it because I spent all my time listening to Rick Springfield and practicing my clarinet, even though I really wanted to play the flute but couldn’t because my mouth was shaped wrong according to some hack of a band director.
But, really, I harbor no ill will towards the man who ended my career as a world-famous flautist before it even began.
A few days later I saw the “Beat It” video on MTV and it made me love the song even more, though something in me intuitively knew that there was no way Michael Jackson could take on an entire street gang. It didn’t matter because the music was just so good.
By the time I was in seventh grade, I’d quit band due to clarinet frustration and moved on to choir. Choir was so much better, mainly because it didn’t require me to carry an instrument to school every day in a big black case. It didn’t seem to matter that I had little to no (leaning heavy towards the no) singing talent, until the day I auditioned for the special show choir by singing the theme from “Arthur”. Needless to say, I am no Christopher Cross and was informed that my voice was better suited to being part of the large regular choir, which we all know translates to “Bless your heart you can’t sing a lick”.
But ultimately I didn’t care because the perk of being a part of the regular, average-to-no-talent choir was that our choir director, Mr. LaForge, would wheel in the T.V. and a VCR that was bigger than the space shuttle and let us watch Michael Jackson’s performance on the American Music Awards over and over again while he worked with the special show choir. I have never been so thankful that I couldn’t sing.
We would all ooh and aah over that single, sequined glove, the band uniform and the sunglasses while we argued over who could do the best version of the moonwalk. There was a boy named Marcus who could do it pretty well in his socks, but we didn’t believe it really counted unless you could do it in your penny loafers because that takes real talent.
Mr. LaForge even threw the regular choir a bone and let us perform “Human Nature” during our spring concert complete with some stellar choreography that included jazz hands as we sang “Why? Why?” that turned into a waterfall effect as we finished “tell her that it’s human nature”. I think it goes without saying that we totally smoked the show choir and their lame rendition of “Ave Maria”.
Over the years it became apparent that Michael had his share of problems, just another example that fame and fortune are no guarantee of peace and happiness; that sometimes the people who seem to have it all can be some of the loneliest people around. Still, you can’t discount the incredible talent he possessed and the effect he had on the music world.
And, for me personally, on my fashion world.
That homecoming dress that looked like a band uniform gone awry never would have existed if not for the influence of Michael Jackson.
I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
Or black or white.