The Man in the Mirror

Jackson Free Press

July 15, 2009

I recently had an hour to kill in the airport, so I indulged myself and picked up a few tabloid magazines inundated with Michael Jackson stories. In the weeks following Jackson’s death, I was dismayed to see the media shift its focus from the genius of Jackson’s musical contributions to speculation over how he died. The cover of Life & Style captures the theme perfectly: “Who Killed Michael Jackson?”

The source of Michael Jackson’s death is no mystery: He killed himself, slowly, with an addiction to painkillers and anorexia-induced starvation. The responsible question isn’t who killed Michael Jackson but why he killed himself.

Given the unspoken guilt attached to the litany of MJ tributes, it seems we already know the answer: We made him hate himself.

Over the past 15 years, Michael Jackson’s name became synonymous with eccentricity. In that time, he was the subject of constant ridicule, some of it self-imposed. Everyone has heard a Michael Jackson joke, nearly all of them involving child molestation or rape—unspeakable crimes for which Jackson has never been convicted.

Many have portrayed him as a traitor to his race, because he may or may not have undergone surgery to whiten his skin. (Ironically, whites have often led this charge.)

Mentioned less is the fact that Jackson was one of the most race-conscious artists of his generation. Almost single-handedly, Jackson introduced black music to MTV and into the living rooms of a new generation of music fans. Sadly, more people seem to dismiss his song “Black or White” as Jackson’s attempt to justify his plastic surgery rather than praise it for what it truly is: one of the few songs openly discussing racism with the fortitude to market itself to the pop charts.

But despite Jackson’s international stardom, or perhaps because of it, media outlets have taunted Jackson and encouraged his self-destruction. Not only has every mass-market tabloid had a go at him, but ABC aired Martin Bashir’s controversial 2003 documentary, “Living With Michael Jackson,” in primetime, reportedly driving Jackson to further addiction. It was a reprehensible piece that spat on the notion of journalistic integrity with unsubstantiated implications that Jackson was a sexual deviant.

Only in death has the obvious fact emerged that Jackson was a near asexual entity. His attempts to recapture a lost childhood were, at best, bizarre and misguided, but never criminal or pedophilic like Bashir and other reporters have suggested.

But it’s not just the media’s fault. We must acknowledge the role we ourselves play as spectators. Consider this: An invasion of privacy may be collateral damage to one’s decision to act, sing or dance, but it’s clear that Jackson never chose to become a star. By age 7, he simply was one. And, despite his media high jinks, he told us again, and again through words and actions, “Leave me alone.”

The fact that we chose to view Michael Jackson’s sensitivity and compassion as passiveness and perversion is, itself, troubling. If just a fraction of the glowing articles about Jackson’s music and character published the days following his death had been written while he was still alive, perhaps the spectacle of his Los Angeles funeral would never have been necessary.

Original Article

Spirit of ’94

Rancid

Jackson Free Press

July 1, 2009

New-age punk rock, for better or for worse, can be tied to 1994. It was during this year that the genre re-emerged from music’s doldrums and experienced a renaissance. Green Day and The Offspring spearheaded this re-emergence in the mainstream with their respective multi-platinum albums “Dookie” and “Smash.”

Unfortunately, many punk traditionalists condemn the 1994 punk revival for removing the heart and passion from the genre that was known primarily for those qualities. It became about self-awareness, whininess and, worst of all, apathy. The Clash would never waste a lyric asking the audience if they had time to listen to them whine, as Green Day famously did. They were going to tell you either way.

The third band to emerge from the punk rebirth of ’94 was Rancid with its platinum-selling album “…And Out Come the Wolves.” While major labels seduced Green Day and The Offspring away from their independent record companies, Rancid resisted the overtures and remained loyal to its punk-centric label.

Rancid comes at you with a similar approach as The Clash, and in a perfect world, they would carry the lasting legacy of 1994. The band members never shy away from edgy, relevant topics and never bite their tongues. The band is an unfailing supporter of the working class and social justice but are also not afraid of a good time.

“Let the Dominoes Fall,” their first album in six years, demonstrates all these characteristics. They rant about the decline of industrial America (“This Place”) and the Wall Street bailout (“Locomotive”), while still saving time for some chest thumping (“Last One to Die”) and self-reflection (“The Highway”). The songs are catchy, urgent and musically complex.

One of the things that have long separated Rancid from other punk bands is their willingness to experiment, both within and outside their genre. They often have bass-driven, as opposed to guitar-driven, songs—a rarity in punk. They also employ a twin vocal attack, with Tim Armstrong’s slurry smokiness perfectly complimenting Lars Frederickson’s angry righteousness. Similarly, they introduce elements of ska and dub on nearly all their albums, including “Let the Dominoes Fall.” As a result, the band avoids the monotony that plagues most punk LPs.

The biggest weakness on “Let the Dominoes Fall,” however, is its timing. George Bush’s presidency supplied a near bottomless well of material for Rancid and other likeminded bands. Now his presidency has ended, and our new president is trying to undo many of his predecessor’s policies. Rancid, however, is still singing about police states, government censorship and other anti-Bush buzzwords. It leaves the listener with a feeling of discomfort and bitterness where there needn’t be any, like if your new bride asked about your ex-wife on your honeymoon.

Rancid has been the best and most consistent punk band for the past 15 years. “Let the Dominoes Fall” proves to be a worthy addition to their ambitious catalog, emphasizing their strengths while also breaking new ground stylistically. My only regret is that while this Bush-bashing album is good in 2009, it could have been great in 2006.

Original Article