Setting the Record Straight

If there is to be a theme for Project Pump, it will be moaning. As an Englishman, I feel compelled to moan about everything. Even if I have nothing to moan about, I can take solace in the fact that I can moan about having nothing to moan about. A good rant can be fun. Whether it is a political concern, or something more trivial, such as the correct pronunciation of the word 'scone' (which for all you idiots out there, is most certainly not the pronunciation that rhymes with 'gone').

But today I come to you with a rant not about people's ignorance of baked goods, but of something that is altogether more important to me. Years ago, many would associate me with an immense appreciation of a certain single-glove-wearing eighties icon. Still to this day, people that I haven't seen for years ask me if I still like Michael Jackson.

Now let me get this straight, the answer to that question is not 'no'. I still listen to his music regularly. MJ has made some great tracks over the years, and has some truly classic albums. But for me, I fail to see him as an artist anymore.

He is like the old uncle that you only see at weddings. Fairly pleasant on face value (believe me, there's no pun intended there), but you do not see him often enough, so there's always the suspicion of something sinister underneath the surface.

I feel the need to address this now, before I go any further. When the trials went on, I believed Michael Jackson was innocent. I still to this day feel that in that particular case, Michael Jackson was the victim. Whether or not MJ possesses sexual desires towards young boys remains to be seen. There is obviously something not right going on there, but we can never really know his intentions. But I am outright dismissing this as the reason for me losing my interest in MJ. I will not be talking about paedophilia any more, you'll be glad to read. Unless of course you're Gary Glitter in which case I'm wondering how you ever stumbled across this.

I also feel the need to disregard any thoughts concerning his appearance. Vitiligo or just plain paranoid, I am not concerned with his appearance. Okay, I am, because he looks like the offspring of Teri Hatcher and Jack Skellington. But this blog is not concerned with that.

I'm scrutinizing Michael Jackson as though he'd never been to court, and possessed a lovely head full of soul-glo. The trouble with MJ is that he is just a manufactured pop puppet, in exactly the same way that Justin Timberlake and Chris Brown are today. The only difference is, he came from an era where it was good to be different and (pun intended here) Dangerous.

Michael wrote some of his own material, just as Timberlake does today. But had today's 'producers first' culture existed back then, maybe his tracks would have been listed as Quincy Jones ft. Michael Jackson. It's just a good job that the legendary Mr Jones was not as nauseatingly obnoxious and overbearing as Timbaland is today. But my intense hatred for that man will have to wait for another day.

There's nothing wrong with being manufactured, to be perfectly honest. If you're talented, it doesn't really matter, in fact, it just helps your career. So that cannot be the reason that I have lost my passion for Michael Jackson.

It may lie in the fact that if he is to be considered an 'artist', Michael Jackson is very lazy. An album every four or five years is remotely acceptable. But we have not heard a peep from him since 2001. What's more, we have had greatest hits after greatest hits compilations thrown at us, just to keep the cash coming in. In 1995, he released HIStory, which as well as a disc of new tracks, contained a good overview of his hits. Since that he has released one album of new material, the inconsistent Invincible in 2001, and half an album in the remix CD of Blood On The Dance Floor in 1997. So how does that merit Number Ones, The Essential Michael Jackson, a four disc Ultimate Collection and the second special edition release of Thriller? Personally, I thought HIStory would suffice for someone who has not really had any new material of note. I refuse to buy Thriller 25, partly because it's ruined by money whoring remixes by today's wave hoggers, and partly because Thriller 26 will be out next year. Probably. I say probably, because we will not have that new album he keeps promising us. Ever. And if we do, it will be so corrupted by trying to include as many producers (stay away Timbaland!), shit guest vocalists, and out-of-place faux shit-hoppers; that I probably will not buy it anyway. He's an artist now comfortably living in the past.

Speaking of where he's living, he has now moved to a village near Barnstaple. Sweet Jesus and the Seven Dwarves! Why Barnstaple of all places? Maybe I should challenge him to a Devon Dance Off. Keep your eyes peeled on Youtube for that one.

His life is no longer about music, it is just a circus. I can try to ignore all that the press label him with, but there is no music to turn to. He doesn't even perform anymore. For that, I no longer have time for him, because in my mind he is finished. In the eighties and nineties, he was an unstoppable record selling machine. But now that there is no record company to promote him, and no place for his music in today's pop industry, he is muted as a talent. It is not as though he has the variety of talent to do a jazz album, or an acoustic album to regain his favour with critics. Other than his crazy-ass hardcore fans, who think he is some kind of deity, and who should stay away from other members of society at all times; people have moved on. Ultimately, without record sales, he is nothing. Eventually people will get tired after 45 versions of the same CD, and he will possibly put out something new. Unfortunately by then, no one will care.

That is why I have lost my passion for The King of Pop. The King is dead.

Peach and pumps