Preparing for my Countdown to 40 blogging adventure was a multi-step process. I brainstormed lists of movies, albums, books, video games, and television shows that included what I considered sure things along with likely contenders and long-shots. (I plan to share some of the cast-offs on an honorable mention list sometime near or shortly after the final post on March 12th.) One of the items I always knew would be the focus of a featured post is Michael Jackson’s Bad album, an album intricately woven into my developing taste for pop music in the late 1980s.
By the 6th grade, my family had relocated from suburban Saint Paul to the vast and sparsely populated prairies of west-central Minnesota. As I shared in my first post about Entertainment Weekly, I felt isolated from the cultured life I longed to live, regardless of whether or not that was justified or true. My feelings of remoteness stemmed from the 200-mile move, yes, but I also felt disconnected from my older sister, Missy. (She prefers Melissa these days, but to me she’ll always be Missy.) Ten years separated my sister and I in age, and I always looked up to her as one of my role models, which meant I wanted to spend time with and be like her as much as possible. I probably annoyed her when I was not yet ten and she was a teenager. I’d intrude on her time with her high school friends (and boyfriends) and talk with them on the telephone before getting Missy for them. For her part, she rarely seemed bothered by my brotherly antics, at least as far as I remember, and had nothing but patience with me, taking me under her wing in many ways. As a result, I often felt we shared a unique bond, one that followed me into adulthood, and on more occasions than I can count, it seemed as if we knew what the other was feeling and/or thinking. Throughout those developmentally important years, I picked up a lot from Missy, including her taste in music. The connection we made over artists, albums, and songs was one thing I treasured most about our relationship (and still do). Like so many others in the 1980s, one performer she loved was Michael Jackson. So, naturally, I did, too. A year or so after my parents moved my younger siblings and I to Alexandria, Missy called one day to invite me to see the King of Pop in concert. She wanted to take me to his Bad tour stop at the Met Center in Bloomington—perhaps as a birthday gift, the details escape me now—and because it provided me the opportunity to spend time alone with her and return to our old hometown, I felt more than excited. That we were going to see Michael Jackson perform live was tertiary. As the concert date approached, a little nervousness emerged alongside my constant excitement. How loud was it going to be? Would I like it? Not as familiar with Bad as with Thriller at the time, I wondered, would he sing any of his other music? My eleven-year-old mind started psyching itself out. But I persevered, and the big night finally arrived, and although many of the details surrounding that night escape me, several important memories stick out in my mind. My sister somehow managed to get us tickets for floor seats in the 17th row. I was eleven at the time and my growth spurt hadn’t really happened yet (I was short), so I needed to stand on my chair in order to see Michael Jackson over the heads of the people in front of us. Every time Missy told me to jump onto the chair, however, a security guard would walk by and order me down. Unfortunately, the constant to and fro between floor and chair is what I remember most about that night. I must have loved it though, because in short order I became obsessed with Michael Jackson. I memorized every lyric to every song on the Bad album. I got the Moonwalker VHS tape, which served as the visual accompaniment to Bad, and repeatedly watched it, the short film for “Smooth Criminal” being my favorite. I put on little lip sync shows, dressed in boots and the concert t-shirt Missy bought me. I even wanted to grow my hair long and curl it, just like Jackson. Clearly, the concert experience with my sister and the album played a large role in defining my cultural identity during those last years before becoming a teenager. Today I consider myself extremely lucky that the first person I ever saw in concert was Michael Jackson. It fueled my love not just for Jackson, but pop music in general—undoubtedly including the work of his sister, Janet. The concert also sparked a desire to see other performers live, which would eventually include the likes of Janet Jackson, Prince, Madonna, Fleetwood Mac, Garth Brooks, and Simon & Garfunkel. It also reinforced the bond between Missy and I, and I cherish that above all.
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I am a self-proclaimed pop culture geek and list enthusiast who is celebrating the big four-zero by counting down the most important, influential, and favorite music, movies, television shows, books, and video games of my life so far. Categories
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