"I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal simply because he will endure: That when the last dingdong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking. I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail." -William Faulkner, speech at the Nobel Banquet at the City Hall in Stockholm, December 10, 1950.

So Obama was given the coveted "Nobel Peace Prize" and I write about John Lennon and Barry Manilow. Why'd I even show up to work today?

Well, I think we all had the same reaction to the news. No one was outraged like when Steve Nash won NBA MVP for the second time. Not much news about who got robbed, or how Ahmadinejad had a better video.

Everyone just seemed to ask "What for?".

What harmonious feat in the peace-perpetuating community did he accomplish? What countries in this world are currently more serene for having somehow been touched by President Obama?

Well, the answer dear friends, is truly "blowing in the wind". You see, perhaps it's not what he did, but rather what he didn't do. Not so much what he stands for, but what he stands against. (Alright, now I even forgot what I was talking about)

Perhaps the fact that he hasn't made anything worse, by default just makes him better than every other eligible candidate on the planet.

So I did some research that may help shed some light on this for all of you who like me, every other year at this time, pretty much don't care.

The prize was bequeathed by Alfred Nobel who was a famous scientist who invented...wait for it..... DYNAMITE! Hmmm....explosive news, huh?
Yes, the Peace Prize offered by the guy who invented something that blows stuff up. Awesome!

Back in the day, he was known as "Le Marchand De La Mort", the Merchant of Death (it really sounds so much more romantic in French though.)

In an attempt to leave the world a better legacy, he created the Nobel prizes.

According to his will, the "Peace" prize should be awarded "to the person who shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses." His will stated that the prize should be awarded by a committee of five people elected by the Norwegian Parliament.

Well that explains it. Every time I turn around those @*#$*%!* Norwegians are screwing it up for everyone. With their cheese and their...wood, and their...accords...and stuff.

Norway and Sweden were in union at that time (1890s), and Sweden was responsible for all foreign policy. Nobel thought there might be less political corruption if it were awarded by Norway than Sweden.

The Prize is presented every year in Oslo, in the presence of the king, where the Chairman of the Norwegian Nobel Committee presents to the "Nobel Laureate" who receives a diploma (that's a definite framer), a medal (if you open the first couple of buttons on your shirt, you can wear it to the club and hear all the ladies say "Oooh, is that the Nobel Peace Prize? Sexxxy!"), not to mention a fair bit o' cash (Roughly $1.5 million U.S.).

Here's the impressive part where the music guy answers the question,
"What does any of this have to do with music?".

Well, in the words of the late great James Brown, "Watch me now?":

The Nobel Peace Prize Ceremony is held at the Oslo City Hall, followed the next day by the Nobel Peace Prize Concert, which is broadcast to more than 450 million households in over 150 countries around the world (So sayeth Wikipedia). The concert is always a huge event with massive stars (I didn't go last time because of a mix-up on the guest list but that was probably just a mistake).

This year's concert is being hosted by Hollywood super-couple Will and Jada Pinkett Smith.

Some of the artists you can expect to see are:


Wyclef Jean sans Fugees (Oh Lauryn, where you at, girlfriend?)

Toby Keith (Oops, Wyclef's audience all go to the washroom at the same time)

Donna Summer (Wyclef's audience comes back, but they bring their parents)

Luis Fonsi (Oye, donde esta Menudo? You're welcome. Now you know more about him than anyone in the room.)

Amadou & Mariam (These two are actually awesome, plus they're blind and I've got my hands full pissing off Manilow fans).

So what have we learned here, people?

That it really doesn't matter who wins or who loses, so long as someone throws a kick-ass party right afterwards! I hope Obama still knows how to get down.

Happy thanksgiving everybody!

Tattoo You

As a fan of both Hip-Hop and NBA basketball, something I read recently struck me as amusing.

One of many similarities between NBA and Hip-hop culture is the trend of interesting body art. It was not long ago that it was rare to see basketball players with tattoos at all, let alone intricate designs reflecting personal philosophies, religious views or proclamations of a particular spiritual ideology. Now that we live in a world where every available surface seems to be an advertising opportunity, it seems fitting that toned bodies that are pleasing to the eye be utilized as a canvas for such profound messagerie.

It calls to mind a friend of my brothers who tattooed an intriguing ancient Chinese symbol on her back shoulder blade. Lovely a shoulder blade as it was, I was more fascinated with what this lovely specimen of femininity felt she wanted her back-viewing public to know about her. So I asked her what significance this curious symbol had to her. Her reply was, "Oh, I don't know. I just thought it would look really cool on my shoulder blade."

When I was done repeatedly banging my forehead against the back of a chair, I proceeded to speak to (I think I was lecturing) why anyone would permanently adorn themselves with a message that not only had no personal significance, but that could very well say something ugly or demeaning about them (as if the action itself hadn't already done that).

While this may surprise people, I now have information that will show that even athletes (who are supposed to be intellectually superior due to the 1 mandatory year of college) and rap artists who at the very least have to be literate (hey, you can't just memorize lyrics. You have to write them down) have been known to perform this very same blunder.

Shawn Marion's leg.

For example, former interim Toronto Raptor, Shawn Marion, a.k.a. Matrix, thought he had ink that said that very thing in Japanese. He recently discovered that it may have been more of a loose translation as instead of Matrix, his tattoo translates to "Demon bird moth balls"?!

I think a Manilow fan called me that once.
Britney Spears tattooed 3 Hebrew letters that seem to form a word on the back of her neck. It's apparently something from the Kabballah that means "healing", but it actually means nothing...nothing at all.

Oh well, I guess complete gibberish is better than "Evil spirit Cocker Spaniel".

Chris Anderson of the Denver Nuggets thought he tattooed the words "good" and "bad" on each of his shoulders (because that would have been super-clever), but apparently the word "bad" in Chinese is awfully close to their word for "Nausea". Guess which one he got.

Ladies and gentlemen, you can erase mistakes, you can tear pages out of books and hell, I just deleted a series of expletives regarding some of these geniuses but when you embed an inked image into your skin permanently, I think you owe it to yourself to do a little more research.

Better yet, here's an idea:

Stick to a language you actually understand. If that's asking too much because you have trouble with stuff like, oh I don't know...reading, but really feel you must have a certain portion of your body covered in ink, maybe try a picture.

Hey, it's your choice, but imagine meeting say, a Swedish woman who has a tattoo in English that she believes to say "Foxy Lady" but what it really says is "I have ambiguous sex organs". Would it have the same impact? My guess is that it may not come off as cool. Especially years from now when the grandchildren bring their friends over.

Body art can be sexy, but in the words of the artist once known as the artist formerly known as Prince, "forever is a mighty long time".

Peace out y'all.

The 80s were huge!

20 years ago, we were celebrating the last summer of 80s, while ushering in the final decade of our favourite century. It was big. As were our pants, shoulder pads, Doc Martens and even moreso, our hair.

Musical tastes (What? Did you think I was going to talk about fashion?) were more widely varied than at any other time in history.

"Alternative" music had ironically become mainstream making way for "Grunge" which was another way of saying "We're more progressive than alternative...and we shave and shower less to prove it."

"House" music brought an evolved form of Disco back from the underground to which it had reverted at the beginning of the decade. The Bee Gees and Village People were released from prison (figuratively speaking) and allowed to resume touring, only this time as something of a novelty act. That is, until everyone realized that they all enjoyed the same guilty pleasure, and stopped being ashamed of it. Their songs have now all been re-mixed a hundred times over so that we never have to go without a modern version of In The Navy for as long as we live. Phew!

"New Wave" brought all the weirdos out of their basements. This fusion of punk and electronic dance music bore some unique and catchy sounds, not to mention some of the craziest hairstyles ever. Seriously, what kind of advice could that Flock of Seagulls dude provide his kids and grandkids, that they will listen to. "Why, when I was youre age...." ....you looked like a monstrous dweeb. Groups like the Pet Shop Boys, New Order and the Cure were the defining sound of the 80s, but the list is endless and includes Modern English, Squeeze, Madness and would go so far as to include Bowie and The Police.

"Rap" music enjoyed it's adolescent heyday in the late 80s, with now classic acts as Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, Kool Moe Dee, Big Daddy Kane, and the kings...Run DMC. where would showbiz be today without 80s rappers Ice T, Ice Cube, LL Cool J, Beastie Boys and his royal higness, the "Fresh Prince", Will Smith?

The Jacksons deserve their own category for no other reason than Michael and Janet's successes. Sure, Latoya entertained us in small intervals, while Jermaine and the rest of the brothers took turns being arrested for various forms of domestic violence, but that was really just their cute way of saying, "Look at me. I used to be famous."

Sorry guys. O.J. one-upped you.

"Punk" was rockin' by now. Billy Idol had opened the average listeners ears to what had already been great in The Sex Pistols, The Ramones and Iggy Pop. I remember frequenting the Thunderdome in Montreal for the ritual "Monday Night Jello Fights" and enjoying a good beat-down in the mosh pit (I think this is where Fight Clubs were started). The music was great, but alas, the lifestyle was not for me as I really didn't have the right hair, was clumsy with studded bracelets, and found that black lipstick over-emphasized my facial flaws.

"Rock" had become a nothing term as if you were a rock group, you were probably in one of the categories above, except for guys like John Cougar Mellencamp, whose career nosedived because no one ever knew which name to look for at the record store.

In 1989, the Pop charts were dominated acts such as; Michael and Janet Jackson, George Michael, Madonna, Sting, Bon-Jovi, U2, Annie Lennox, the hard-rockin' Guns N' Roses, the once-punk B-52s, and the soon to be pathetic Bobby Brown.

So, from the beginning of the last decade to the end of the first, what has changed?

"Indie" rock is essentially the new "Alternative", but it's really all the same. Young rockers saying they want to change the world, convince you they're not posers or sell-outs, but who eventually turn into some version of Avril Lavigne, unless no one likes their music, in which case, they stick proudly by their principles until the day the bandmembers end up slandering and killing each other (and not always in that order).

Rappers are becoming movie stars at an alarming rate.

We can pronounce the name "Prince" again.

No one still thinks that Bobby Brown has "potential".

Ice Cube isn't all that "Bad-ass". Whitney ain't so cute.

Neil Young still has no idea how old he is, and neither do his fans, as his concerts still rock hard. That said, the audience are now on much harder drugs to prevent, heart-attacks, strokes, Alzheimer's and they still dance, but all the while mindful not to break a hip.

INXS found a lead singer who prefers to breathe while he masturbates. (What? I'm just saying...)

Janet is the only Jackson left with any chance of a hit, but since her famous "Wardrobe malfunction", she has lost the title of "the only normal Jackson". The world has given up that search.

You can't say it hasn't been a blast.

No Need To Wonder

All this talk of Michael Jackson and his importance in the world of music may have given some the impression that he is the greatest artist that ever lived.

Not so folks.

As talented as he was, the greatest artist in music history is not he. That honour belongs to one man only. The gentleman originally known as the boy wonder, and now recognized the world over by just one name:

Stevie!

That's right. Stevie Wonder is the most outrageously talented musician of the last century, with no exception. The trouble is that people say this for different reasons and I would like to set the record straight.

For years, Stevie wrote songs that made us move, that told us stories, that made us feel, and he did it with a voice that was not overly perfect, but as sublimely real as anyone ever.

However, it seems that fellow artists, musicians and true music enthusiasts have delved further into his repertoire than the average Person.

I only say this because everytime the topic of Stevie Wonder comes up in conversation, some young white woman pulls an "I Just Called to say I Love you" out of their butt! Hey, I'm not saying you can't LIKE the song! Heck, if I had written it, I'd still be talking about it. But to define the man, his music, or career by that song, is a back-handed bitch-slap to him, and every artist he has influenced, and that is one looong list.

Of course, nobody's worried about Stevie getting his due. He gets plenty, but it should not have anything to do with the condition of his eyesight, or the fact that a couple of his catchiest tunes have been so commercialized.

This is not a tribute to Stevie Wonder per se. It is a plea to music lovers who have not explored his music, to do themselves a favour and listen to at least a portion of a staggering body of work while he is still alive.

You've heard every Michael Jackson song ever recorded, over the last two weeks, and Ray Charles exploded posthumously due to a hit movie and a 'Duets' album, but Stevie will leave a larger footprint than Ray, Michael and Elvis put together!

From a young age, Stevie was recognized by the greatest minds in music, and given more freedom than most artists. His thirst for every facet of sound brought him greater strength with each endeavour, and by age 15, he had written and recorded countless hits on which he played various instruments including, Keyboard, drums, Harmonica, Bass, and every percussive instrument known to man, and even discovered a few new ones. He also sang not only lead vocals, but his own back-up vocals as well, sometimes performing each part of a five part harmony all by himself. A good example is the song They Won't Go When I Go which was later covered by George Michael (Remember him?)

Sometimes he would even synthesize his own voice to mesh with his own, creating the illusion of a duet like on You Are The Sunshine Of My Life (Oh, you thought that was a woman?)or Ordinary Pain where he sounds like a little boy.

In addition to many of those unique gifts, so raw and sincere were his lyrics that he would humble even the greatest musicians.

One example is Eric Clapton in the mid '70s while riding a huge wave of admiration among rock fans who proclaimed freely that "Eric Clapton is God!" He once told Rolling Stone Magazine that when he felt his ego getting out of control, he would put on a Stevie record, and come right back down.

For 30 years, Stevie prolifically produced more timeless classics than anyone. Songs that hold up in all situations, and all times.

If you've ever wondered (no pun intended) why Stevie has that perpetual bump on his head, it is because in 1973, a log fell from a truck, went through the windshield of his car (no, he wasn't driving.) and hit him right in the head. He ended up in a coma for four days and lost most of his sense of smell, and also left him temporarily without a sense of taste, a particularly tough pill to swallow for someone already born without sight.

After returning to much fanfare in 1974, Stevie set out to begin his biggest project. An album that would take 2 years and a couple of million dollars to complete (a huge sum at the time).

This album would cause Berry Gordy so much grief that he had almost begun to lose faith in his most solid commodity.

Almost.

Stevie's double album, which also included an additional extended play 45, finally went on sale in September 1976.

Songs In The Key of Life became the first American album to hit #1 on its first day.

There it remained for 14 non-consecutive weeks. To this day, the album ranks 56th on Rolling Stone Magazine's 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, behind his own Innervisions at #23. In my estimation, 'Songs' is still grossly under-ranked.

Those two albums, in conjunction with Fulfillingness First Finale are referred to as Mr. Wonder's "classic period". Rolling Stone Magazine said, of this period, that Stevie "pioneered stylistic approaches that helped to determine the shape of pop music for the next decade".

In 2005, music mogul Kanye West said, "I'm not trying to compete with what's out there now. I'm really trying to compete with Innervisions and Songs in the Key of Life. It sounds musically blasphemous to say something like that, but why not set that as your bar?"

Why not indeed!

If you fancy yourself a music lover, and have never explored any of these classic albums, consider yourself informed.

Non-commercial songs like Love's In Need of Love, Too Shy To Say, You Haven't Done Nothing, Lately, and All Is Fair In Love have been covered by artists such as Jodeci, Marc Anthony, Stevie Ray Vaughan and Mary J. Blige.

His music is consistently sampled by rappers like 50 Cent in the song "Ryder Music". Warren G sampled "Village Ghetto Land" for his song "Ghetto Village." "Pastime Paradise" was re-worked only slightly for Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise" while Will Smith used "I Wish" as the basis for the theme song to his movie, Wild Wild West. In 1999, Salome De Bahia made a Brazilian version of "Another Star". Tupac Shakur sampled "That Girl" for his hit song "So Many Tears" and Red Hot Chili Peppers covered "Higher Ground" in 1989 on their "Mother's Milk" album.

Many more songs by Stevie Wonder have also been sampled or re-made. Wonder is one of the most sampled artists/singers ever.

So if Stevie inspires the artists you listen to in order to create the songs you love, shouldn't you give the original a chance?

It's high time for the youth of the world to hear the real deal.

Often imitated, but never duplicated......the one and only,

Stevie Wonder.

Who's the King?

Michael Jackson's death has given the media's greatest vultures a whole new meal plan. The frenzy that will ensue over the next year is going to make Princess Di's death look like my mother's uncle Sam's (Sadly, uncle Sam went out without much fanfare).

I, for one, am neither interested nor impressed by any of these posthumous scandals; the discovery of countless "Last" Wills and Testaments, the genetic evidence of Patrimony, or unsolved allegations of impropriety, but much like the show Fear Factor, when a grown man eats the freshly removed testicles of a Donkey, it is difficult to ignore.

So brace yourselves people, for a barrage of "tell-all" books, feature articles, made-for-TV movies, made-for-movie movies, and countless bits of gossip, hearsay and urban myth whose subject is no longer available for rebuttal.

It has begun already, and may never end.

Today is Michael Jackson's memorial and if his life story hasn't been pimped enough, you've got the celebrity line-up of the century performing at what is essentially his wake. We've got screaming fans fighting each other tooth and nail for the opportunity to "honour" the artist that sang of peace, love, togetherness, and gettin' on down wit'cho bad self!

Far be it from me to rise above the madness and speak purely of the artist's work, but I saw a news clip of an older gentlemen, whom I will kindly refer to as "L'homme avec le cou rouge" so as not to offend anyone. He, for some reason, felt the need to point out that this was not as big a loss as Elvis! Now, granted, I was a child when Elvis died and while his body of work speaks for itself in the grand scheme of things, I must confront this as a lover of music and pop culture, and firmly ask, "Are you out of your *#$%@*&# mind?????".

I know there is no need to drag one artist down, to demonstrate the greatness of another, but Monsieur "Cou Rouge" started it, and I must finish.

Hear me now, and please forgive me for this mom, but there is absolutely, positively, undoubtedly, and unquestionably no comparison in the world of music that could ever put Elvis in the ring with Michael Jackson!!!

Elvis was the greatest celebrity of his time, but he was neither the greatest singer, nor songwriter, actor, dancer, musician of his time or any other. He was the pioneer of the crossover, and may have had more actual hits than anyone, and the impact of his death may have been just as great at the time, but as an artist, he cannot be compared to Michael Jackson in any way whatsoever!

Now, I know I have opened the floodgates, so yell and curse at me if you will, but should you doubt the sheer talent and genius of the King of Pop, I encourage you to go ahead and listen to Who's Loving You, a song recorded at the tender age of 10. A blues-y, gospel-y vocal strut that has to have been developed in the womb. His groundbreaking rhythm at a ridiculously young age, both with dance moves and pure vocal funkiness is second-to-none. Listen to Dancing Machine, which the Jacksons recorded when Michael was in his early teens, or I'll Be There when he was 11.

His voice alone would generate excitement in any collaboration. Take, for example Rockwell's one-hit wonder, Somebody's Watching Me. His is the defining line in the song, and it was enough to make it a top 10 hit. The same goes for any of Michael's duets with Mick Jagger (State of Shock) or Paul McCartney (Girl Is Mine, Say Say Say). Even Michael's part in the Wiz's Ease on Down The Road alongside Diana Ross and Nipsy Russell (for those looking to name for their newborn).

Michael stood his ground and over-shadowed the best with a great work ethic and an outstanding natural talent. He repeatedly created things that changed the direction of popular music, video, dance and show business as a whole, whereas Elvis had an awesome voice and a little bit of soul at a time when white dudes just didn't. A wonderful singer, Mr. Presley was, but please don't make me have to come down to Memphis to have this conversation, because I would very much like to not be shot.

So I say, "Let there be 2 kings! The King of Rock, and the King of Pop."

Both started as human beings and ended as legendary icons that the world will never forget....or leave in peace.

Bow Your Head. The King is Dead.

This has to be the blow heard round the world. June 25th, 2009:
The day the King of Pop died.

My late father-in-law called it 10 years ago. Michael Jackson was on TV defending himself yet again for some inappropriate interaction with a kid, or for proclaiming that he was not bleaching his skin, or, and this is the best one, saying that he had NOT had any plastic surgery!!

My father-in-law shook his head and said "This guy's not going to make it past 50."
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"He lived too much too fast, and that just can't go on for long." He said.

I really didn't think that was a solid theory. I still don't.
Yet here we are, with one of the world's all-time greatest talents leaving us at EXACTLY the age of 50. My father-in-law's deadline.

He had lost some lustre of late, to be sure, but Michael Jackson, until today was still the King!

There was controversy and there was weirdness, but when MJ came to town, people were always there to greet him. Not just our town, but any town, practically anywhere in the world. This guy fascinated everyone, and he did so from the tender age of 5.

Sadly almost anything you say about Michael has either already been said, or it's just obvious. To say he was one of a kind would imply too many things I don't wish to discuss, so instead, I will recount my recollections.

Born August 29, 1958, he was child number 7 for his parents. With the additions of Randy and Janet,there would be nine in total, at which point I assume Mrs. Jackson's uterus simply disintegrated.

By the time he was 11, he was playing with his brothers in the Jackson 5, with a hit record and loads of adoring fans.
I remember the Jackson 5 (That's right, I'm old, so what!?). I remember their variety show. I remember their Saturday morning cartoon, and I remember when Michael first got together with Quincy Jones to release his magnificent Off The Wall album. As a matter of fact, I still have it. Not the CD, the LP (Okay, I'm old. We get it!)
The big hits were:
Don't Stop Till You Get Enough- a song that to this day, can kick start any party.
Rock With You- with that smooth soul groove that has been much covered, but little improved.
Off The Wall, the title track, which has been sampled, covered and remixed repeatedly in dance music, and the Eddie Murphy imitated ballad,
She's Out Of My Life (Tito, get me some tissue. Jermaine, stop teasing!).
Then somebody heard the B side of one of those singles. A song called Working Day and Night which never became a proper hit but has the freakiest rhythm ever and is still played at sporting events, on TV shows and in commercials!
I wondered how one artist could make one album with so much eclectic great music.
No other pop album in my lifetime even compared.

Until 1983.

That's when Thriller came out (Technically, the end of '82).

The first song I heard was The Girl is Mine, his duet with Paul McCartney. It was good, but not the track that was going to flip the world on its ear. ("Paul, I think I told you, I'm a lover, not a fighter!")

Then, at a time when videos were just starting to shape the music industry in a new way, came Billie Jean. No one knew what this video was about but they had Michael Jackson...dancing...on a street where the cobblestones light up when you dance on them. Then he went for the big finish: the half-kick-leg shake-fake shoe tie. His dancing was so unique that they just let him go. There did not seem to be any choreography.

The turning point was that fateful night of Motown's 25th anniversary.
March 25th 1983.
All the great Motown acts were performing and the Jacksons were all there too. Michael did a medley with his brothers until they suddenly left the stage, leaving him alone to the sound of a familiar new beat, the intro to Billie Jean. In my opinion, this was the moment in which Michael Jackson grabbed the world by the tender parts, never to release them. He started his pelvic thrust to the beat, stood up straight, looked both ways, grabbed his hat, and flung it behind him with such style that no one spoke in anticipation of what was to come. Michael did not disappoint, and as the piece de resistance, hit us with a move that streetdancers had been doing for years, but that would forever become his trademark:

The moonwalk!

Believe me when I tell you that everyone watched in awe for the rest of his performance, rendering anything any other Motown great had done until that very minute, completely insignificant. That was all that would be talked about the next day.

The next thing I remember is being in a shopping mall and seeing a crowd gather in front of the electronics store where the big 36" screen TV was about to play the very newest video for his new song, Beat It.

Up until that moment, all we had seen is Michael with the Jacksons or dancing by himself to his own music, but this viedo was awesome. It was the first time you saw a story being told to a great song that included Eddie Van Halen on guitar, and the greatest choreographed dancing to really ewnhance Michael Jackson's own moves. It was tantamount to the space shuttle's first landing on the moon! Moonwalk and all.

Everyone agreed it was the greatest video we had ever seen......until.....
Thriller!!

Thriller was the mother of all music videos and it's debut was highly anticipated by all. That night, millions of families, mine included, sat and waited and then watched in amazement as the King took it to another level.

By mid-1985, you could still not go to a party without at least one Thriller cut being played, be it PYT, Wanna Be Starting Something or any of the aforementioned.
And just so you don't think it was all dance music, he threw in Human Nature (and they said, "Why, why"?).

From then on, the bar had been raised. Everyone else's best was simply the least we expected from Michael.

He had become so popular that Jewish boys were dressing up as him for Purim. You didn't even need much: One glove, a black hat, and for those fortunate few, a red pleather jacket (What? You think anyone is buying it in real leather?).

I could go on and talk about Bad and Dangerous and everything else, but in my fondest memories, that was Michael Jackson at his best: Young, slick, and still black despite the first of many facial configurations.

So, if his music is his legacy, then we have all received a great inheritance.
We will always have the songs.

Farewell dear Michael. You changed the world.

Go in peace.

This summer will commemorate the 30th anniversary a most glorious era on earth!

No, It was not the space shuttle or Haley’s Comet.

It wasn’t Margaret Thatcher’s election as Britain’s Prime Minister (although that was pretty awesome!).

No, my friends. It was the height of perhaps the most pivotal movement in the history of…pivotal movements.

It was the indisputable peak of music history’s most enduring (but also endearing) blemish.

Yes folks…….‘Twas the age of DISCO!!

Disco hit it’s pinnacle in 1979!

It was everywhere atop the charts, and many radio stations had even gone all disco (with the occasional Al Green tune just to break the monotony).

Saturday Night Fever had been in Theatres for about 2 years, and it’s soundtrack had gone 15x Platinum!
A year earlier, you could not enter a home in North America that didn’t have a copy of that record, but by 1979, many of those homes were buying 2nd and 3rd copies because the 1st was so scratched from being over-played, or because the kids were fighting over which songs to play when they practiced groundbreaking moves, like pointing from left to right while simultaneously doing a pelvic thrust, in front of the mirror.
The craze had reached nauseatingly unprecedented proportions.

Just like any other all-encompassing fad, it was bound to drive you batty eventually.

Like when your wife buys you a bright red satin shirt to go with the tight pair of Sergio Valente Jeans that she has taken the liberty to “bedazzle” and tells you it’s the perfect outfit for your buddy’s party. So you break them in while you shop for a Roller Boogie lunch box for your son at K-Mart where Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive is playing over the P.A. (and you are still oblivious as to how annoyingly insidious that song would one day become).
Your daughter comes along to see if she can get a shiny pair of hot pink stretchy pants to wear on her date with some guy who’s trying desperately to look like Andy Gibb with an open leather vest and who drives one of those Trans Ams with a T-roof and the eagle on the hood.

So there you are shakin’ your booty with your Boogie Woogie Dancin’ Shoes on when unbeknownst to you, some rock radio jock in Chicago gets fired because his station switches to an all-disco format. Remember, this was back in the day when radio DJs actually chose and played their own music.

This DJ, Steve Dahl, landed a job as the morning man for a rock station where he began his infamous crusade against what he referred to as “Disco Dystrophy”, an infectious disease that had become a social pandemic. His followers were essentially white folk who couldn’t dance, I assume, but I have no factual basis for that statement, so I digress.

Their objective was clear, and their slogan was simple:

DISCO SUCKS!

No room for ambiguity there.

So that’s when it happened. July 1979. The great “Disco Demolition” at Comiskey Park, home of the Chicago White Sox. The promo took place during a night time double-header between the Sox and Detroit Tigers. Anyone bringing a disco album to the game would be admitted for just 98 cents. Between games, DJ Steve Dahl would blow up those disco albums with fireworks.

Sure. It sounds like a great idea when you say it like that, but over 75,000 people showed up and the huge box containing the records was rigged with what was essentially a small bomb! When it exploded, the bomb tore an enormous hole in the grass! Now, I’m not the most manly sporty type, but it is my understanding that baseball players actually use that little portion of ground. They even have a name for it. It’s commonly referred to as ….THE OUTFIELD!!

The next thing you know, thousands of fans are rushing the field, lighting fires, rioting, destroying the batting cage and stealing bases (no pun intended), but DJ Dahl had already escaped just as he discovered that his listeners were essentially insane.

Disco Sucks? You suck, Steve Dahl!

Okay, honestly, I could live 200 years without ever hearing I Will Survive, YMCA or Staying Alive again, but what about Off The Wall by Michael Jackson, He’s The Greatest Dancer by Sister Sledge, or Got To Give It Up by Marvin Gaye. Everyone remembers Shame by Evelyn "Champagne" King and who can forget Push Push In The Bush by Musique?
Ring My Bell by Anita Ward, or I Love The Nightlife (on the disc ra-howwwnd, yeah!) by Alicia Bridges.

I wish I could have been there. Disco sounds like a blast! (okay, that time the pun was intended)

To quote the inimitable Zohan, “disco disco, good good”.

Happy Anniversary!