by Tom Townshend

Let's Make Michael Jackson Good Again

Originally written last year when Michael Jackson turned 50, this article has gained a new relevance with the news that Jacko is to make his live comeback in London this summer…

Not wanting to incur the wrath of all those with nothing better to do than sleep outside of hotels alternately moonwalking and crying, Michael Jackson is the King of Pop and we have no desire to see him dethroned, deposed or sent to live in exile like that Nazi-sympathising member of our actual royal family who had a naughty wife. But we would like to see Michael Jackson stop being rubbish before an entire generation grow up believing we crowned the monarch of music purely out of sympathy for a man cursed to live his life looking like a sad version of the Scream horror mask. Let's make Michael Jackson good again.

Michael Jackson holding his child over a hotel balcony (Image © PA)

Before we can plot his return, we need to understand how and where it all went wrong. Contrary to opinion we don’t believe MJ's downfall can be blamed on the cosmetic surgery, the friendship with a chimp, the false accusations of being a wrong 'un, the dangling of a baby out of a window or any of the other unorthodox life choices that earned him the tabloid tag of Wacko Jacko. Plenty of our stars exhibit weird behaviour. Rhianna is scared of crabs. Chris Martin insists on walking anti-clockwise round every branch of Somerfield he visits, and Ashley Simpson believes she can sing. Yet all of these 'crazy' artists are at the top of their game because of one thing: they've made records people don't hate.

We know you're likely to disagree about which particular record began the slump. But if you’re going to claim that his last album Invincible is anything more than a clueless fumble around the flies of modern pop by a man so out of touch with reality that one of his best friends is a spoon bender, then stop now. You’re wrong. It’s unlistenable rubbish. Get over it. And all rumours suggest that solo album number ten is shaping up to be more of the same, since the names connected with it so far are Rodney 'last century' Jerkins, Teddy 'again, what decade is this?' Riley, and A 'oh for goodness sake' kon. We interviewed Ne-Yo recently and while clearly excited to be contributing songs for his idol’s perusal, he admitted it was likely that every hit R&B songwriter in the country had received the same phone call. This is the multi-millionaire’s approach to making an album; pay enough people enough money and one of them will come up with a hit track. Well, possibly. But it’s more likely they’ll bust a gut trying to create something they think sounds like a modern idea of a Michael Jackson song. And we all know such things end up being a tuneless mess of beats, squeals and pitiful attempts to convince us that a 50-year-old shut-in is really a gangster/gang member/love machine.

For anyone not clinging to the idea that Mike is the last remaining living saint (following the deaths of Mother Theresa and Lady Di) it was his absurd 'Messianic' performance of Earth Song at the 1996 Brit Awards that had most of us concluding that the real Jackson had died sometime around the promotion of Dangerous and been replaced by an idiot.

Michael Jackson performing at the Brit Awards(Image © PA)

And while Jarvis Cocker’s drunken stage invasion heralded a new era in BS-free pop music, it possibly prevented Jacko from ever being imaginative again; his every idea blocked by the metaphorical wiggling arse of a skinny indie man from Sheffield. This is the horse Michael needs to get back on. Short of storming the Mercury Music Prize and mooning Radiohead (which, admittedly, would be brilliant) Jackson needs to say to the world, “Sure, maybe I took it a bit far with the whole pretending to be Jesus thing but I was in the Jackson 5, made Off The Wall and did a whole video full of dancing zombies and until any of you can claim as much… swivel on it.”

Actually, it’s this tremendous legacy that’s to blame for MJ’s creative stagnation. Off The Wall, Thriller and Bad are unrepeatable, perfect products of their time, containing innovations that changed music forever. But music has moved so far since then that for Michael to be as innovative now he’d have to invent a whole new note (perhaps something similar to the fabled ‘brown note’, which creates a more welcome bodily emission). The success of Thriller and Bad planted in his head the idea that he can’t make an album unless it has a concept, an accompanying dance-based video (costing more than the national debt of many African countries), and the record won’t be a Michael Jackson record unless it’s filled with his trademark “uh”s and “ah”s which, at his age, will sound more like Rolf Harris having an asthma attack. The difference between Michael Jackson and a parody of Michael Jackson is everyone still enjoys a parody of Michael Jackson.

There was a time when MJ wasn’t the musical equivalent of Frank Spencer (i.e. the one impression everyone can do). Michael once had the sweetest, most moving pop voice ever pressed on vinyl. Listen to the heartbreaking subtlety of 1971’s Got To Be There, or the tenderness he brings to Morning Glow on the Music And Me album. And there’s no denying Ben is the most beautiful love song ever performed about a killer rat And before you say, “well he’s not a child anymore”, firstly, try telling him that and, secondly, that voice might still be there. As recently as 1995’s You Are Not Alone, Michael was capable of delivering an understated, sincere and heartfelt vocal. And it’s an actual properly good song, written by R Kelly - a man also completely innocent of vile crimes so there’s no reason why the two shouldn’t reunite.

Because what Michael fails to realise is he’s nothing without the songs. All of the wiggling about and daft costumes and Neverland nonsense have been terrifically entertaining but, without good songs, he’s just a curiosity. And the media’s fascination with his apparent oddness has been fuelled by his reluctance to do what all other singers do and actually play concerts, give interviews, be on telly, etc.

But expecting Michael Jackson to start ‘doing stuff’ would be like asking Jimmy Carr to say no to appearing on a TV show. It’s not going to happen. And the more he stays away, and the less he does the actual job that’s written on his passport, the more outrageous the rumours about his life get, to a point where anything will be believed. Did you know Michael Jackson now sleeps in a hedge? Did you know Michael Jackson carries a picture of Edith Bowman in his wallet? Did you know Michael Jackson believes Pringles are magic? Only one of those is true, but who’s to say which? Not Michael. His policy of silence hasn’t served him well.

The problem is that while the similarly seminal and aged Prince is still capable of playing 21 nights of two hour sets without breaking a sweat, we’re all too aware that Michael could no longer even body-pop without getting giddy and needing a sit down. So the grand and revolutionary concept we’ve devised to show the world he still deserves his crown is (drum roll): ‘Michael Jackson Unplugged’.

Because there comes a time to grow old gracefully (as gracefully as anyone famous for walking backwards and wearing one glove can be), and the one sure-fire way to do that in pop is to sit on a comfy stool in a well lit, controlled studio environment and let your classic songs, stripped of any attempt at modern production, do the talking. And maybe, for added class, Michael could wrap his tonsils round a few old standards. Music’s old folks home has a well stocked library of tried and tested songs that only the over 50s can really do justice to. How fantastic would it be to hear Michael, backed by a gigantic Quincy Jones-arranged orchestra, sweetly crooning ‘I’ve Got You, Under My Skin’? Ok, well maybe not that one. ‘My Heart Belongs To Daddy’? Ok, well maybe not that one. ‘I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles’? Ah, stop booing. What do you suggest?

The changing face of Michael Jackson

Can Jacko make a successful comeback?

[REPLACE]

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