Michael Jackson was definitely an icon. With a few musicians, I’ve had moments when something in one of their songs impressed me so much, I thought, “Wow, I have to listen every single song this person has ever recorded.” That happened to me the first time I heard Bob Dylan’s Tangled Up in Blue, The Who’s Bargain, and NWA’s Boyz in da Hood (yeah, I’m on board with gangsta rap). I suppose that inclination hasn’t been limited to musicians either – I experienced this after reading Kerouac’s The Town and the City, his shot at a Thomas Wolfe, family-themed legacy novel that is far from his best work – I found something in it for me, though. But the first time I was blown away enough to decided to follow someone’s entire output was after hearing Michael Jackson’s Human Nature.
The Thriller album was a smash hit for virtually every song on it, but to me, Human Nature was something new. There is a sincerity about the human condition in that song that can’t be faked. It’s a gorgeous singing performance – almost a whisper, really – and I think in many ways it’s as close as Michael Jackson ever came to recording … him. I don’t know how the song was captured, but I’ve always wondered if he sang parts of it in the booth, alone. (more…)
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This was one of the first songs I learned the words to. I remember sitting on the floor around an upright piano with the other kids with folded legs. Ms. Bachus, our kindergarten teacher, looked over her shoulder at us us and raised her eyebrows – an encouragement to sing along. Her hands were arched and they lifted and dropped on the chords sounding rich and wooden in the piano’s belly. Kindergarten teachers were magic then in how they taught and entertained us, too, with real vaudeville talent. I was a nervous little boy so scared to go to school some days that I’d worry myself sick. I missed a full week that winter with a pretend illness that came about with no fever and no recognizable side-effects. Rehearsing this song for the winter music concert made me feel happy. It filled me with so much joy that I wondered if anyone could see it inside me.
Every divorced mother in the 80s piloted a white Chevy Citation hatch-back. They were affordable and family-friendly, with plenty of space, and most importantly, they weren’t station wagons. I rode in one with my mother almost always in the back seat so I could carry out battles between my action figures or lie on my back and watch the clouds. My parents were divorced in 1984, and for a time, I was worried that the judge might make me choose between living with my mother and father. I was afraid of what my dad would do about my choice. I can remember a dozen songs from that time, but this one is the most vivid. The mix reminds me of the way my little boy smiles while he cries when something upsets him, but he doesn’t understand why. (more…)
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