YouTube’s Michael Jackson channel (which still features a background image of the King of Pop surrounded by the walking dead-c’mon, guys!) has the hits, for super-ethnically-diverse street gangs in the mood to hear “Beat It” one more time. But by the time a nodding-off Larry King threw it to Anderson Cooper, I’d gone down a rabbit-hole, opening browser-tab after browser-tab of old (young) Michael videos-pre-Jesus Juice, pre-surgically-assisted post-humanity, even pre-Victory Tour. I kept the news on in the background, bugging out on the disconnect between his tabloid mess of a life and the exquisite and painstaking SFX-and-CGI fantasylands he created around his songs. It seemed like the right “place” to light a candle for Jackson, who became the first black artist to crack MTV’s honkified playlist in the early ‘80s and never seemed entirely real thereafter, except in music videos-a man who couldn’t really make it work outside the mirror. When the Michael Jackson news broke yesterday, I fired up YouTube the way New Yorkers flock to Strawberry Fields in Central Park when a Beatle dies.
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