Michael Joseph Jackson: The Black Gold of My Sun

Cats sit on the windowsill
Children sit in the show
Why do I feel I don’t fit in anywhere I go?
From “Corner of the Sky” by The Jackson 5

Some words, phrases and sentences simply make you bristle. When I think of that concept I chuckle a little bit, because I flash back to Dorothy telling fellow “Golden Girl” Rose that while intrauterine is a word, it shouldn’t be used in any old context.

I just wish the situation on my mind and heart at the moment was close to being that funny.

I am less than two months shy of turning 30. When I saw the words Michael, Jackson and dead woven together on Thursday, my universe turned upside down. My thoughts were racing at an uncontrollable pace. Could this be? Certainly not, right? It is 2009 – and Michael is still a young man. If I’m seeing a headline that says we lost him, have I blinked and missed the last 20 years of my life? I couldn’t be the 29-year-old Steve who, more than 20 years ago, saved his coins in his Smurf bank to buy a copy of Bad. I must be 50 and settled into my life as a happy, well-adjusted adult – and moving into the season where the icons of my youth are in a logical space to make their transition. I wanted to believe I wasn’t seeing an American tragedy unfold in the present.

When the dust of my devastation settled around my spirit, I had to own what happened: Michael Joseph Jackson, my childhood hero, was dead at 50. Ironically, it was a happy day for my family and I, as my witty maternal grandmother celebrated her 90th year of life. Speaking to her reminded me of how rewarding a long life filled with love and positive energy can be. In Brother Michael’s passing, however, I saw a grainy image of what can happen when a person never fully experiences those gifts, and that saddened me. It still does.

But I won’t go there just yet.

 

The eighties were a magical time for those of us who lived it, and Michael worked his sonic sorcery like no other. In him and his illustrious canon were infinite possibilities, Technicolor testaments to the fact that little black boys like me could dream big and see those visions come to fruition. His music is a key part of the soundtrack of my early years, but it was the way it built cultural bridges that was so special. Growing up in the suburbs of southeastern Virginia, I didn’t see a lot of people who looked like me when I entered the homes of my friends – but there was always Michael. Whether it was a poster, a pillow or a copy of Thriller, it wouldn’t be long before that inimitable, badass white suit would fill my gaze. I always found comfort in that because just for a moment, I had another brother in my midst. In my little world, Michael became a de facto symbol of universal love and acceptance.

When it comes to the music itself, I don’t know what I could say that has not already been stated. The classics he created with his talented siblings and on his own still burst with shimmery innocence, capturing the evolution of both R&B and an icon. The wise-beyond-his-years readings of “Who’s Loving You” and “Got to Be There.” The adolescent angst of “Dancing Machine” and “All I Do is Think of You.” The elegant, understated and underrated Philadelphia International productions The Jacksons and Goin’ Places. The high steppin’, hip dressin’ disco of Off the Wall. The shear pop mastery of Thriller, Bad, Dangerous and even Invincible. It just goes on and on. It cuts me to my core to know that the beautiful voice at the center of such greatness, an instrument that brought so many so much joy, has left this Earth.

I just wish Michael himself had been able to have a bit of that joy in his own life. Ravaged by constant media scrutiny and a fickle public, Michael was never afforded the chance to be happy. Save for a few close bonds, genuine friendship and support seemed to elude him. On more than one occasion I’ve been offended as a black man and a fan by things that have been said and written about this man. It continues to make me ache, because it almost seems like people want to believe the worst about Michael, no matter the circumstance. I simply don’t understand it.

However, this is not a time to dwell on the negativity of some segments of society. This is a time about Michael. The tears of pain I cried Thursday birthed a celebration in me of the man and his music. I celebrate the beauty of his soul. I celebrate what he gave me. I celebrate what he gave the black community. I celebrate what he gave the world.

Most importantly, I celebrate the peace that now cradles this beautiful brother. It is a peace he was never given in life, and it can’t be taken from him in death. That puts my mind and heart at ease.

Here’s to the black gold of my sun, Michael Joseph Jackson. May he rest peacefully in his corner of the sky.

My night on ‘The Block’

Let me tell ya’ll: In 1988, it was hard out there for a black boy who liked New Kids on the Block.

It may have been pure bubble gum, but the music the New Kids put out was a lot of fun and had its fair share of soul to it. Early cuts like their cover of The Delfonics’ “Didn’t I (Blow Your Mind This Time)” and “Please Don’t Go Girl” were enjoyable soul-shaded teen pop that reminded me of the kind of music that always filled our household, which is why I enjoyed them. At the end of the day, however, these were five white boys who had their faces plastered on everything from tote bags to Saturday morning television – and to be black, male and a fan was an open invitation to a verbal beat down from your peers. The criticism was harsh and often hurtful, as I remember an especially severe tongue lashing from one of my older sister’s ignorant-ass classmates. It didn’t matter to me though – I was a scrawny bookworm with no athletic ability, so I was used to it. I played my tapes and sported my buttons (which I still have, by the way) proudly and let the haters keep right on hating. “Just another day at the races,“ I thought.

Fast-forward 20 years to D.C.’s Verizon Center on October 2. There I was, amidst a sea of people in their late twenties and early thirties, about to live a childhood dream of mine. Like a lot of the folks there I was too young to go see them live at their peak and found the news of their reunion tour to be a thrilling prospect – but initially I wasn’t quite sure if I would be in attendance. I’d be lying if I said part of my reluctance didn’t have to do with those old memories and the idea of folks snickering at me for wanting to go. After the prodding of several friends of mine (“Boy you used to love them – you better go!” was the common refrain) I realized how silly I was being, grabbed a ticket and happily carried my ass to the show. With my shiny new tour book in hand, I took my seat and waited for the spectacle to begin. As I looked around, what amazed me most was the diversity of the crowd. Pretty much every group you could think of was represented: Whites, blacks, girls, gays and married couples with children all came out to hang tough for a night, and it gave the venue a care-free, electric energy. I was all ready to go.

Once the New Kids took to the stage, the place fell into frenzy. Donnie, Jordan, Jon, Joey (Is it Joe now that he’s grown?) and Danny powered through all of the ditties they are known for. Favorites like “(You Got It) The Right Stuff,” “Please Don’t Go Girl,” “Tonight,” “Cover Girl,” “I’ll Be Loving Your (Forever)” and “Valentine Girl” were all there, and the group had the vocal support of thousands to help them through them. I was particularly thrilled to hear the “Step By Step” b-side “Valentine Girl” because that remains my favorite New Kids song. On it and several other selections, Jordan proved his falsetto is as sharp now as it was two decades ago – I think Stylistic Russell Thompkins Jr. and Delfonic William Hart would be proud. In fact, the group’s vocals were strong all the way around, as were the fancy footwork and flashy set and costume changes. Danny got his break dance on like he was straight out of “Beat Street,” and Joey and Jordan even offered up “Stay the Same” and “Give it to You,” their respective solo hits. By the time they closed with “Step By Step” and “Hangin’ Tough,” the crowd was hoarse, worn out, and downright ecstatic.

Though the show was heavy on nostalgia, the group managed to work several songs from their latest effort “The Block” into the set. I have to admit I was surprised by how strong the record is, as these reunion albums that have been popping up in recent years have been beyond shaky. While it’s not “Innervisions” or “Dark Side of the Moon,” it’s a solid, well-crafted pop album that can appeal to both old fans and new ones. Many of the album’s strongest tracks were included in the show: “Single,” “Summertime,” and “Grown Man” (which featured an appearance by Pussycat Doll Nicole Scherzinger via video screen) all translated well on stage and didn’t clash with the old stuff. The group’s live take on “Click Click Click” (my personal favorite from the album) sealed the deal, proving that these Kids-turned-men have a lot of music left in them to make.

It’s been damn near a week since I saw the show, and I still can’t stop talking about it. I had a blast, and it was worth every penny. Regardless of what the haters say, I’ll always love those New Kids. Their music is part of the soundtrack to a happy, simple time in my life, and I’ll never forget that. More importantly, liking their music taught me to like what I like and be unapologetic about it. Good music is good music, good times are good times, and all that really matters is what it all means to you. Nobody should ever rob you of that.

So you’re damn straight – if they come to my town when I am 39 in 10 years, I’m still gonna party with them on the block.

Celebrate 25 years of DeBarge’s ‘In a Special Way’ at Fly

Though it is now regarded as a modern classic, DeBarge’s In a Special Way wasn’t exactly a high priority for those who deemed themselves discerning music lovers when it was issued.

After all, this was a good-looking quintet of teen idols aimed at kids who favoured Right On and Black Beat over Rolling Stone, a pin-up ready product of the Motown machine that brought the world their predecessors The Jackson Five. While some were generous enough to acknowledge their knack for harmonising, that was often where the praise stopped. “All style, no substance,” many critics cried.

Or so they thought.

To read the full article at Fly, click here.

He messed up Janet’s ‘Good Thing’

I swear, some songs just should not be covered.

All of the buzz around Janet Jackson’s current tour has loyal fans more excited than we’ve been in a long time, and one of the highlights of the show is a medley of Janet’s pre-”Control” material. As expected, the inclusion of “Young Love,” “Say You Do” and “Don’t Stand Another Chance” has many fans revisiting and discussing her early material. Over at the forum at popular fan site Janet Xone, a thread came up about a little-known cover version of the 1982 fan favorite “Don’t Mess Up This Good Thing.” The verdict from Xoners was swift and declarative: It wasn’t a good look. 

Mind you, “Don’t Mess Up This Good Thing” is hardly Grammy material, but it works because beyond Janet’s bubble gum vocals, it boasts production and backing by the wizards behind the Solar Records sound. It, like the eponymous debut it came from, is just good, no-frills teen pop-soul. Truth be told, it sounds so similar to the work Solar trio Shalamar was doing at the time, I can almost hear Jody Watley singing it. Now that would have been some hot shit.

Unfortunately, the only other version that exists is the one by Glenn Scarpelli, a former child actor best known for his role as Alex on the hit show “One Day at a Time.” Recorded around 1984, Scarpelli’s version of the song is just not the correct answer. I’m not a hater, but it is obvious that this was one of those records that would not have existed had it not been for Scarpelli’s appeal to the teen market via his career in television. (Think Kim Fields’ lopsided croon on the quirky but memorable ode to The King of Pop “Dear Michael.”) Though the track is still danceable, the production is nowhere near as crisp as the original – and the singer’s coarse, formless vocals do nothing to help the situation. Since Scarpelli has stated in interviews that a team of people pulling the strings of his career surrounded him, this may not have even been something he wanted to do. I’m just glad he never tried to mount a serious recording career.

But hey, I won’t hold it against him. We all make mistakes.

Check out Scarpelli’s version at the top of the post and Janet’s at the bottom. You already know who I think the winner is. ☺

Vinyl examination: The rhythm of ‘Patti Austin’

I will never understand why Patti Austin, diva of soul, pop and jazz, never became a major star.

Her voice is clear as crystal, the kind of instrument that you recognize as soon as you hear it. A gifted singer who honed her chops singing jingles and background vocals for everyone from Kenny Loggins to Angela Bofill, the Grammy winner has recorded songs in pretty much every style imaginable. From the light fusion of her early CTI LPs like “Havana Candy” to the standards that grace her most recent outing “Avant Gershwin,” Austin’s stylistic range is astonishing in its breadth and sheer technical mastery. Oddly, that may have been part of her problem: If there is one thing that baffles the record-buying public, it is a black chick they can’t easily categorize. Add to that the fact that Austin was building her repertoire in an era when the only thing major labels were building was a legion of image-driven artists, and it’s safe to say her remarkable recordings were destined to get lost in the shuffle.

The early eighties found Austin moving in a more pop-oriented direction, waxing sides for Quincy Jones’ fledgling Qwest Records. The singer is best remembered for the timeless 1981 gem “Baby, Come to Me,” a duet with crooner extraordinaire James Ingram that shot to the top of the pop charts thanks to the popularity of the ABC soap opera “General Hospital.” Jones, who is Austin’s godfather, handled the production chores for her Qwest debut “Every Home Should Have One” and she seemed destined for the big leagues, as the album was both a commercial and critical success. Employing the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” approach, the label continued to push Austin into shiny pop-soul territory on her eponymous 1984 follow-up. A solid collection heavy on highly stylized dance tracks, the record deserves far more attention than it’s ever gotten.

Like many albums of the period, “Patti Austin” (which was reissued on CD in 2007) utilizes a series of producers and a stellar group of players in what was likely an effort to catch as many sides of both Austin’s personality and the current musical landscape as possible. Jones, Narada Michael Walden, David Pack, Ollie E. Brown, Clif Magness and Glen Ballard take turns twisting knobs on the LP’s 10 cuts, while the likes of Bofill, Sheree Brown, Phillip Ingram, Michael McDonald and Siedah Garrett offer musical support. Los Angeles Times writer Connie Johnson praised the album’s consistency and noted that Austin embraced a kind of freedom that eluded her on previous efforts. “She affects a lowdown growl on funk numbers and even tears loose with some scatty jazz inflections,” Johnson wrote. The latter has always been Austin’s greatest asset, giving her synth-based material a bit more grace than that of a lot of her contemporaries. In less capable hands, the hit single “It’s Gonna Be Special” (No. 15 R&B), “Shoot the Moon” (No. 49 R&B) and the Walden productions “Rhythm of the Street” and “Hot! In the Flames of Love” would have been mere filler, but Austin’s inimitable verve and phrasing up the aural ante. She also excels on the pristine pop of “Starstruck” and the reggae-influenced “I’ve Got My Heart Set on You,” grooves that signal a real broadening of the Austin sound.

Never one to holler and shout, Austin knows how to grab you quietly, which is what makes her love songs so appealing. Unlike most of her other albums, however, the ballads here are a bit weaker than the dance material. Still, they are quite lovely and the singer gives them all she’s got. Of the pair of slow jams featured on the LP, “All Behind Us Now” is the strongest; it’s a straightforward, languid love song that gives her lead plenty of room to breathe and fits well into the album’s overall vibe. Dark and moody, the album’s closing number “Any Way You Can” is a fitting cool down after nearly an hour of get down – though not remarkable, it’s the closest to any of her pre-Qwest material she gets here. I’m sure fans of her early material found it to be a breath of fresh air.

Though it likely pleased her existing fan base and grabbed some new folks along the way, the record failed to make a significant mainstream impact and stalled at a paltry No. 87 on the pop albums chart. Undaunted, Austin soldiered on at Qwest, issuing the equally glossy and highly enjoyable “Gettin’ Away With Murder” in 1985. While it featured production from Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, the album didn’t become a major hit, a blow that likely caused Austin to return to her jazzy roots on the outstanding “The Real Me” in 1988. From that point forward, fans found Austin grooving on the chic, smooth jazz tip, a medium that has helped her remain a popular attraction in concert and on record to this day. Just this year, she snagged a Grammy for her critically acclaimed album “Avant Gershwin.”

The Qwest album from Austin’s canon that always seems to get overlooked, “Patti Austin” didn’t shatter any glass ceilings and at its root was probably never intended to. A product of the big eighties, it’s as solid as anything fellow divas like The Pointer Sisters or Patti LaBelle were having success with at the time and should have found a similar fate. It just seems that it wasn’t meant to happen. No matter, as it’s as tasty as the brightest moments from any of the singer’s other incarnations. And at the end of the day, it is the versatility that records like this bring to Austin’s catalog that make her one of the most treasured stylists of the last three decades.

“Patti Austin” is proof that no matter what she sings, the sister will leave you starstruck.