Off and on in the 80's and 90's, my youngest aunt lived with my parents, brother and I and thus was obligated to buy me birthday gifts. For my 10th day of birth,I begged, I mean BEGGED her to get me Motely Crue's "Shout at the Devil." Now, knowing my aunt and how she is, a perceived satanic heavy metal record was never an option for her to purchase. She mentioned Michael Jackson and I begged her again not to get me "Thriller" and at the very least I would take VH's "1984." Of course, she gave me Thriller for my 10th birthday and I can't explain how disappointed I was. I don't know if my relationship with my aunt ever truly recovered and I know I hated MJ then as I hate him today, a year after the day of his death.
Pop music, in general, has always been something I don't enjoy. It seems forced, molded and soulless to me. Successful pop stars are those who can project emotion into emotionless, prepackaged junk. I have to wonder if for them, it's fame that eventually crushes them or if it's that when they fake emotion with every "ohh baby" a part of them dies, leaving a void? Maybe it's some weird musical karma, or maybe were all damaged by the soul sucking jobs we eventually come to hate? Either way, I know one thing: even though I have my separate issuse with his career much later, "Diary of a Madman" by Ozzy Osbourne, which came out a year prior to "Thriller" spoke more volumes to me when I was young than the king of pop ever could.
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