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Making
things happen - with integrity. A weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday February 24, 2003 Volume V Number 8 |
FOCUS - The "Q"
There is perhaps no more disturbing example of the disconnect between the public and private person than the sculptured face of Michael Jackson. Few of us will admit our fascination with the story of how a child prodigy emerged as a pop icon with enough money to make any fantasy real, whose run from the paparazzi and the tabloids drove him behind iron gates that resemble the entrance to Disney World with a bold sign that reads “by invitation only.”
But the networks discovered this week, that a journey into the private world of the King of Pop proved to be a ratings bonanza. And the record companies, too. I suppose it’s no coincidence that the new CD on the shelf is moving more briskly. It’s not-so-modest title is “Invincible.” Is he? Sales were disappointing at first, but thanks to global media attention and controversy, there has been a surge at the cash register. Not wanting to miss the opportunity, every network raced to a change in programming, and filled a time slot with a “documentary” of their own, hoping, I guess, to get in on the ratings jackpot.
Maybe the world is weary of war talk. More likely, we are all fascinated (even though many of us deny it) by a curious story of the impact of indescribable fame and wealth on an individual. We strive for more, and then we observe a person who has unlimited access to immeasurable sums and curiously, we see there a hollowness, an emptiness that is so contradictory. So sad. We wonder, what’s wrong with this picture? In one documentary scene, Jackson, on a whim, saunters into to his favorite Las Vegas store, a treasure chest of opulent art and artifacts, and without any reference to cost strolls up and down the aisle, followed by an impeccably dressed manenager taking mental notes, nodding and repeating, “Certainly, Mr, Jackson” and “As you wish, Mr. Jackson” as the chiseled pop star points saying “I’ll take that one… and that one” and “Yes, I like that, add it to the list…” and that one and that one, too. Later, the interviewer and his crew attempt to add up the bill (it all went by too quickly for an accurate accounting), an estimated six million dollars spent in less than ten minutes, an unimaginable shopping spree, but a stunning welcome to the world of Michael Jackson.
Martin Bashir, the son of Pakistani parents, born in London in 1963, was a reporter for the BBC. He worked in relative obscurity until he landed a scoop that turned his colleagues green with envy. He managed to win the confidence of Princess Diana, who granted him a landmark interview in which she described for the world the awful details of her life in the not-so-royal family, revealing some of the more salient duplicities and kept secrets, astonishing the UK. Her candor won praise from her own generation of countrymen, but shocked the sensibilities of the remaining loyal Brits, and in the process, made Martin Bashir of the BBC something of a celebrity himself.
Michael Jackson knew and loved the Princess, and enjoys immense popularity among the British. He met Bashirs, and over a period of time, Jackson’s confidence grew until finally he agreed to an extensive project in which Jackson believed he could tell his story to the world – the way he wanted it to be told. He yearned desperately to be understood. He craved to counter the tabloid version of his life. He wished to answer those who make him a silly cartoon character. He longed to humanize his mission and purpose, to introduce his Neverland for what he intended it to be. He believed Bashirs would be the channel.
But it backfired.
How do you tell the story of Michael Jackson? How do you make him seem like a regular guy? How do you frame his life as ordinary?
His world is as intriguing and mystifying as the evolution of his portrait.
* * * * * *
By the time Quincy Jones agreed to collaborate with Michael Jackson on the most expensive record album project in the history of pop music, he had established himself as one of the most prolific producers of all time.
Born in relative obscurity in Chicago, young Quincy loved the jazz music his father played on the high fidelity monaural turntable at home. He was barely ten when he heard Dizzy Gillespie blow his horn in a Chicago night club – and it was then that he decided he would be a musician, too. By the time he was a teenager, he formed a band with Ray Charles. A scholarship soon came along, and young Ray moved to Boston to study at the Berklee College of Music.
In his first gig out of school, he played percussion in the big band for Lionel Hampton in New York City. But in the fifties, even in cosmopolitan New York, race was a barrier. Quincy’s friends told him that the most tolerant and romantic city in the world was also the musical Mecca, the pinnacle of the fine arts. Jazz musicians were recognized for their ability, their talent, and nothing else. Skin color was not a limiting factor. So Quincy Jones left New York for the bright lights of Paris. He took a job during the day as an executive for a record company, and at night, directed his own jazz band.
During the Paris years, he heard about a teacher, world renown, who took students one at a time. A strict disciplinarian, she was considered the best in the world. Her starting point was classical, but her students took the lessons of theory and the fundamentals of harmony and syncopation and composition and orchestration, and applied them to many musical styles. She would take auditions, and select only those students she believed had the talent and ambition and focus to be the best in the world. Her students, including Leonard Berstein, Igor Stravinsky and George Gershwin, now included young Quincy Jones.
Jones’ jazz band became one of the favorites on the Champs Élysées. He took the band on a tour of Europe, to packed auditoriums all over the Continent. He was, admittedly, a terrible businessman at the time, hardly paying attention to the books. After months of touring, he barely had enough money to make payroll, much less get everyone home, and he nearly collapsed from exhaustion and discouragement.
Shortly afterward, in 1962, he took a position with Mercury Records in New York. There, he learned a simple principle that became a guiding light for the remainder of his career. If you want to survive as a musician, you’ve got to sell records. You’ve got to attract a large enough audience and collect enough money to pay the bills. Simple, but a reality. Some believe that Quincy Jones crossed over at this point, from pure musician settling for the bubble gum called pop. But his music speaks for itself. His genius carried over. “Q” had an instinct for the music that would touch people’s hearts. And the talent that would attract the masses.
He became the producer, arranger, visionary behind Sarah Vaugh, Duke Ellington, Frank Sinatra, Aretha Franklin, Roberta Flack and Stevie Wonder. He did movie and television scores, including the landmark miniseries with Alex Haley, Roots. In his collaboration with Steven Spielberg Academy Award winning film, The Color Purple, Quincy Jones is credited with casting a critical character, because he saw in her eyes and heart a greatness that would spark a fire and ignite an audience. By her own testimony, Quincy Jones discovered her. She went on from that film to build a media empire, the star with an unlikely name – Oprah Winfrey.
Jones and Jackson hammered out
the outline of a record album that would tap into the best technologies, the
best talent, the most energizing beat they could find. When it was released,
it would become the best selling album of all time – forty five million sold.
No record album since has come close. Seven of the songs on the CD were number
one on the charts. Thriller was designed to entertain not only
Jackson’s legion of young fans, but their parents as well. The broad appeal of
the album established Jackson as the “King of Pop.” The year: 1982.
There would never be another “Thriller” for Michael Jackson. The next album, which sold millions, Bad, was, by comparison, a disappointment. But the tours and the endorsements and the residuals would make Jackson the richest musician in history.
And one of the wealthiest individuals on the planet.
* * * * * * *
Jackson’s fantasy world he calls Neverland.
The name came from the children’s book, made famous on stage and screen, and the Walt Disney empire, Peter Pan. (“I am Peter Pan,” said Michael Jackson,) Peter Pan and his pal Tinker Bell transport children of all ages to a fantasy world of Pirates and caves and high seas and rope bridges and adventure in a place called Neverland. It’s the place Jackson says he never knew growing up, because, as the youngest in a performing family, he only knew the stage and the microphones and the glitter of hot lights and brightly colored, outrageous stage outfits and blaring amplifiers. From his earliest memories, the family lived on the only stages his ambitious father could find, local strip joints and bars, where the smell of stale beer and sweaty late night patrons still linger in Jackson’s memory like a bad dream. Neverland is the creation of a forty year old man with unlimited resources who wished upon a star and what appeared in the beautiful Santa Ynez valley was the rebirth of Anaheim’s Fantasyland, staffed and open for other deprived children to imagine a world that would otherwise never be.
Disney’s other childhood character, Pinnocchio, also visited a place of adventure and indulgence. In his story, the fantasy land was called Pleasure Island, where one was free with his pals to entertain every whim, ride every roller coaster, take all the candy, without boundaries, and as young Pinnocchio looked around, everyone was slowly changing, transforming before his very eyes – becoming hee-haw donkeys. Pinnocchio saw that the unbridled pleasure was really a trap – and that his pals were carried off in their hapless stupor into a kind of slavery from which they would never return.
That was the moment the wooden puppet Pinnocchio determined that his life’s goal would no longer be life in Pleasure Island. It would instead be a quest. A quest to become a real boy. A flesh and blood boy. With a real father, and a real life. No more escapes.
A real home.
* * * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
Jackson and Jones have traveled remarkably different paths. Me, well, I prefer the Jones path to the Jackson. The Q, as his friends call him, knows who he is. He’s a realist. His talent is remarkable. But he is comfortable in his own skin. He’s taken some hits. Made mistakes. But he’s learned from them.
Michael Jackson is, from all appearances, still confused. No one disagrees – he is an enormous talent. But he has erased his face. Some fear he’s become the "Bad" and "Dangerous" person he sang about. Others claim he is grossly misunderstood. He’s a gentle, caring human being, they say. All would agree, he is an enigma. Few would suggest he’s a role model.
You and I will never possess the staggering wealth of a Michael Jackson. But in our hearts, we believe that more money would certainly help. Deep down, we’d like to tap into some of that staggering wealth.
But really, money’s not the issue. We also know that. Becoming who we are, making our contribution with the gifts and talents we possess. Embracing our own identity, accepting our blemishes and flaws, living out our calling, these are the things that really matter. The money has a way of taking care of itself.
We learn from the best, as Quincy in Paris, studying the sounds and the moves and the marketplace. And then position ourselves to make the best contribution we can to the people who will benefit most – that’s the way of the Q.
And so for today, we’ll leave Neverland and Pleasure Island behind, and like Pinnocchio – we will live in pursuit of what is real.
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2003
Special Thanks to my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
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