Sleep Well, Popular Music King

The recent death of your King of Popular Musicians has led to a surprisingly long two week mourning period. Forgive me for being brash, but in the 1860’s a mother’s allotted window for grieving her newborn child’s passing was a swift forty five seconds, or as long as it took to re-impregnate her. Whichever came first. Huzzah! Double entendre!

[Verbal joust!]

I was preparing to mock your century’s queasiness over death, but as I began to examine the works of Mr. Jackson, I too felt myself a tad enchanted by the lad.

His Songs Had Words



Revolutionary! And words about things other than riverboat travel! In my day, when an artist wanted to convey that he was “Bad,” he had to keep his harpsichord on the angered side of G minor. Your Michael Jackson was able to achieve the same result with mere words and the occasional out-of-court settlement. Brilliant!

Dancing without the aide of tap shoes.



I love a St. Louis Toodle-oo Cramp Roll as much as the next chap, but Mr. Jackson’s rhythmic gyrations were the first dance steps I have seen without the accompaniment of specialized shoes. And his crotch grabbing was the fiercest I’ve seen since a bachelor’s exit from an Irish house of ill repute.

Zippers!
Look at all those zippers! I had previously only seen them adorning riding boots, but on a jacket? After months in the year 2009, I finally feel like I am in the future.

What is most astounding is that this lad who was so renown, so often in the public’s keen eye, somehow managed to stay out of trouble and keep his reputation sterling.

We all can only hope for the same.

Rest in peace, you King of Men.