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On the Sudden Passing of Michael Jackson.
Raymond Q. Smuckles
President, Prime Time Records

It’s bad. It’s bad around here. It’s like today was fake. Even the sunlight seems staged. I wish they’d take it away.

When I got the Celebrity Death Beep on my Blackberry, I blew it off as a dumb rumor. That service is good, but I can see it makin’ mistakes. A false headline at, like, The Onion coulda’ triggered it. Michael had an eye on his health constantly. You know that about him. We all know the lengths he went to for health. Dude slept in a hyperbaric chamber. I like my health, but I ain’t gonna go that far, you know? Michael’s health was, to him, a special, magical thing. Something worth machines.

What I think a lotta folks are feelin’ now is a regret. Not regret that a man died; no. They regret that for almost three decades they been mockin’ this guy. This guy who wrote Thriller, and PYT, and Billie Jean. You know who you are, you Michael deniers, listenin’ to your The Cure or Aerosmith. You always considered Michael’s music silly. Not serious. Lame, mainstream. “Popular.” And his life — everyone gets a kick outta’ watchin’ the mighty fall. It sells paper. It makes us feel falsely superior, from our low places. Yet now, now that he’ll never sing another note, you listen to those songs anew —ABC, I Want You Back, Beat It — and you know who he was. Michael had more talent in his little finger than any act today has among four men. Try wakin’ up tomorrow and writin’ We Are The World. See what you come up with. See if you can get Stevie and Tina to come down to the studio, along with Bruce and Billy and twenty other people who cost a whole hell of a lotta money at the time.

Michael was our music. The next time you’re out alone in your car, and Smooth Criminal comes on, it’s gonna mean somethin’ different to you. You’re not gonna change it this time. You’re gonna hear it and think to yourself, “I missed knowin’ his music in the moment.” I don’t blame The Cure. That was your call. The Cure is just out there, like car horns or people who make noise when they cry. The Cure is a choice. When we hear Michael, it is not a choice to feel the beat. It is not a choice to cock your head and straighten all the fingers on your right hand.

His story went out like a light today, and now all we have is his music. He can’t make any more mistakes.* We can’t say anything bad about him anymore.**

R.I.P., Michael. You moved more wax than anybody, player.***

-=Ray Smuckles=-
Achewood Estates, CA
June 25, 2009

* Unless there is something weird in his will.
** I wish this were true.
*** Except: The Beatles (they had a huge head start), Elvis (even bigger head start), and Bing Crosby (40-year head start, and declining super-fast).