I started several things but put them away. I don't know what to write. I don't really know what to say. I don't have anything prolific to engage anyone with, only to say that I have been a Jackson 5 fan from “I Want You Back” but that the first Jackson 5 single I ever bought was “Never Can Say Goodbye." I've seen every nationally televised appearance the group made except for their performance on “Hollywood Palace." I watched their Saturday morning cartoon.
When they came to Oklahoma City, the Jackson 5 was the first concert I ever attended “by myself” with my childhood best friend, Don Minnis. An unknown band called the Commodores opened for them. I read Ebony, Jet, Life, Look, Time, Newsweek, Right On! and Black Stars because of the Jackson 5. I listened to the radio because of the Jackson 5. I discovered some great music in my youth--I had to do something while waiting for a new Jackson 5 single. Black power? No, I grew an afro because of the Jackson 5.
When the Jackson 5 returned to Oklahoma City in 1971, I was 16 years old. Donny and I crashed the midday rehearsal at the Myriad Convention Center and met the Jackson 5. They were really nice, especially Michael, 13, who cracked jokes with us and let Donny take pictures of him a couple of minutes more while his brothers waited for him in the limousine. Hear what I'm saying: we kept the rest of the Jackson 5 waiting to be driven back to their hotel. Maybe they were hungry. One of them probably had to pee. But we kept them waiting. Michael and us. Me and Michael. Donny and Me. And Michael.
In 1973, when I graduated from high school, I came to Los Angeles to live with my Aunt Jewel and grandmother Jesse and ended up writing about pop music. And over and over again, through album after album, I interviewed the Jacksons. And Michael.
For better or worse, in one way or another, for most of my life, Michael Jackson has been part of my consciousness. I've had a front row seat for practically everything Michael has ever done. Well, not really. When he moon walked into history during the Motown 25th taping at the Pasadena Civic Auditorium, I was fifth row center, not the front row. But I was there.
I was at the CBS building in Los Angeles the afternoon he celebrated “Thriller” selling its first ... six million copies. I think Mike even drove himself to the small, hastily assembled reception. Jane Fonda was there. It was a big deal, those first six million. At the reception, Michael said it was just the beginning. I didn't want to say anything. Let a brother have his dream.
I was at the private premiere of the “Thriller” video. I was backstage at the Shrine Auditorium when Michael burned his head in the Pepsi commercial; stood in the parking lot and watched the ambulance take him away. I was in Kansas City for the opening night of the “Victory” tour.
I watched every lurid detail of his legal troubles with those boys, tried to find some way to deal with what I was hearing and hoped for the best.
Michael has had some close calls in his--my--life. I just thought this was going to be another one of them.
But ever since June 25th, it feels like there's been a death in my family. I'm still trying to come to terms with it.
Steven Ivory has covered popular music for a variety of publications and media outlets for more than 30 years. Respond to him via stevrivory@aol.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment