Billboard Magazine left Michael Jackson and Thriller off of the bestseller list last week for the 25th anniversary of Thriller the album. It was, during that week, the top selling album again. And I wonder if its genius is discredited by its maker? Is that fair? I am not a fan now of Michael Jackson, but I was way back then. And I think that album was amazing, and still is amazing. But, Billboard bounced it. One of my favorite writers was Edgar Allen Poe. This man was no angel, and if memory serves me he died in the street. Was found dead in the street after having lived a life riddled with drugs and alcohol. Yet, to me, he was quite brilliant in his study of the darker side of humanity. The areas that most of us don't want to admit to or ponder. In NO WAY do I condone pedophilia, but I am asking if what we become late in life will decide what we were first? If life is indeed this long suffering moment (and for some of us, it is or sometimes can be), what we become may have very little to do with who we were in the beginning. If children are pure and young adults troubled and middle age stressed and elderly excused, then the journey seems to pass from enchantment to turbulence to anxiety to end in neglect. I have definitely been more enchanting than I am today, and I struggle with a desire to be that way again. Yet, I do not know that life can allow me that. Again, I don't excuse criminal activity, but why destroy the gifts one soul leaves behind on its journey to the end? Why ignore them, when you have the opportunity to say here was this amazing offering. This happened once and we loved it. Thriller was joyful, and put Vincent Price back on the rock star map.
I guess I just want the truth out there. The truth that what is truly fabulous can live in someone who is truly tortured. That in all of us, there is some good, some bad and some WTF? And that the more good tunes you have to dance with in life, the better chance you have of making the enchantment last. So, shame on you Billboard for leaving out a groovy legacy.
"And whosoever shall be found
Without the soul for getting down
Must stand and face the hounds of hell
And rot inside a corpses shell
The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grizzy ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom
And though you fight to stay alive
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of the thriller"