I've never been a huge fan of Michael Jackson's music, but as you know many millions of people are. Being a pathological nostalgist, I like the odd song that carries with it an enduring memory of my youth.
The Jackson 5 song ABC has always been a favourite, never failing to remind me of the times, as a younger musician, that I signed on at the Lisson Grove DHSS, where it was regularly played to remind those standing in the dole queue, that getting a job could be as "easy as 1-2-3, A-B-C...". Being a budding rock-star, I of course, didn't want a job at the time.
Beat It too holds memories, slightly fonder, of being at 6th form college, of the jukebox in the student common room there, and of the evenings I spent attempting to master Eddie Van Halen's iconic 80s guitar solo, employing my newly purchased guitar's new-fangled tremolo system. I still love that solo.
Michael Jackson, along with Prince and Madonna, is a pop icon of my generation and I can't help feeling sadness at the news of his death. I wouldn't be blogging about it if I didn't. Maybe it's that his death, and that of another icon of my youth Farrah Fawcett, who died yesterday of cancer, simply serve to remind me of the passing of youth, of life's fraility, complexity and its lottery-like odds.
So, I might just get out that vinyl copy of Thriller (acquired from my record-playerless sister, I might add!), crack open a beer, strap on my air-guitar, and give Beat It a whirl later. I did say I was a pathological nostalgist, didn't I?
