Neverland & Graceland

In the race to the bottom of American culture, I don't want SDP to be left too far behind. So here is a post on the King of Pop and the King of Rock and Roll.

It's not always good to be king. All of us know this and none of us knows this. We understand that power, wealth, and fame can destroy us, but few of us would object to getting a little more of any or all of that. So the examples of Michael Jackson and Elvis Pressley are morally edifying.

A few years ago I visited Graceland for the first time, though Pressley's fabled home was only an hour away from my home town. I found it fascinating and appalling, in equal measure. It was a monument to wretchedness secured by success.

I was never a big Elvis fan, though I liked a lot of his music and, I confess, I liked a lot of his dreadful movies when I was about eleven. He had a great voice, a very serviceable face, and came along at the right time. But he got everything he ever wanted early in life, and had no idea what to do with it. Graceland is full of exhibits devoted to Pressley's attempts to distract himself. One day he got a great idea. He bought dozens of golf carts and he and his entourage played golf cart polo on the grounds. I bet that got old fast. He was bored most of the time, and his typical response was to redecorate another room in more garish colors. But none of that worked. The only things that did work were fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches and, of course, drugs.

Michael Jackson was Elvis with even more money and tilted seven degrees to the weird side of the dial. When he and I were young, I liked "Ben." But that was because, despite its soupy presentation, it was about a hyper-intelligent rat that commanded a man-eating army of rats. That's entertainment! I also thought 'Billy Jean' and 'Thriller' to be first rate pop songs.

Jackson's descended into wretchedness in a much more pubic fashion than Elvis. Perhaps because his fame came in childhood, his stunted emotional development made the King of Rock and Roll look like a well-rounded individual. Coming along later, he had more refined nonsense to work with. I remember a photo of Jackson sleeping in an enriched oxygen capsule. And there was the famous transformation from Black guy to white ghost. About his relations with children, I have no interest in knowing enough to comment. But it does seem to me possible that it was entirely innocent, if altogether creepy. He was a child trapped in a bigger than life man, and craved the innocent attention of other children.

There are two lessons here, and both are fundamental. One is that it is bad to be surrounded by people who have to tell you what you want to hear and can never tell you what you need to hear. The other is that there is such a thing as higher culture. Precisely when you have security and leisure, that is the time to put aside conspicuous displays and garish colors, and develop a taste for more subtle and refined pleasures. This, if you want to know the whole story, is the point of the liberal arts. What is beautiful and profound is both stimulating and challenging. In many societies the rich have patronized the arts and sciences because they wanted something worthwhile to spend their money on. Wealth and power without cultivated tastes will end up like Elvis Pressley and Michael Jackson: feeble and bloated or feeble, washed out, and thin, but in either case wretched and then dead.

Comments

[Erik]

KB:
Very thoughtful post. I would just add a couple of thoughts of my own. Jackson's death frees us from his soap opera life to truly enjoy his music. No more of the strangeness, just the music.
Also, sadly, this was yet another case of child exploitation. From Jackie Coogan on there have been parents willing to milk their children's talent and pocket the money.
Erik

[KB]

Thanks, Erik. I think you are right about the "child exploitation" angle. Jackson might have made himself into a person if he had had a different family. The moral of this story, I suppose, is that its better to be an Osmond than a Jackson.