Like most sentient beings in the world, I was stunned by the death of Michael Jackson. It is like the 80's died, very suddenly without warning. Being only a few years younger than the man himself, his music was huge on the soundtrack of my life. His passing made me think of many issues: fame and the devastation it has wrought in so many lives, our inadequacy to judge another person's heart, how a seemingly gentle and shy soul can also have the astounding ability to entertain, indeed to keep riveted, huge crowds of people. But what I keep coming back to is the music. I listen to more opera than pop these days-- Renee Fleming is my heartthrob now. But I love all kinds of music. I listen to polkas on Saturday mornings, go to hear bluegrass and jazz, big bands, wispy girls with guitars whenever I can. Some of my must sees are Greg Brown, Richard Thompson, BR-549, Hem, Jane Siberry, Bruce Springsteen, the Primate Fiasco, and the list goes on. But when I was in college, Michael Jackson was up there with Joan Armatrading, Roxy Music, Steely Dan. Not a dining hall dance went by without at least the vast majority of Thriller being blasted, while I Moonwalked (badly) like everyone else.
So, this weekend, start somethin' by digging out some of your old CD's, cassettes, (dare I say 8-tracks or vinyl?) and replay the soundtrack of your life. Dance around in your kitchen until you're sweaty. Remember your misspent youth. Then write it, draw it.
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