Lula's World

Lula's World: The problem with Chezza...

2011-06-15T11:31:00.000-07:00

Lula's World: The problem with Chezza...

The problem with Chezza...

2011-06-14T14:23:00.000-07:00

So after much overhype about Cheryl Cole being on the brink of superstardom in the States, as a judge on The X Factor – USA, a couple of weeks ago came the news that she went over the brink...but landed on the wrong side. Chezza was fired before things even got started. Depending on who you believe, it had nothing to do with Simon but all to do with Fox Network executives, the lack of chemistry between her and Paula Abdul (but she had none with Danii so not a surprise) which deteriorated to outright bitchiness, upsetting the US audience by sitting next to Simon which is Paula’s spot (apparently there is chemistry between Simon and Paula), being homesick and finally, Americans just not understanding her Geordie accent.

My interpretation of the whole scenario is that Chezza has finally been rumbled for being totally talentless. This in itself is not the only problem. There are many examples of talentless individuals who make it big – Madonna, the Kardashians, Shakira, Lil’Kim – but the difference is that they are a bit smarter. Chezza is not bright, and even Simon cannot defend stupidity.
Going back to the days of Girls Aloud, I can’t say I even noticed her and not sure many did either. Nadine and the Ginger Girl were fabulous singers, then there were the other 3, 2 of whom I thought were the same and 1 of whom was Chezza. Those girls carried her. Then she married a footballer, Ashley Cole, and one who as far as I can see was not a very skilled one and even less bright than she was. This was the start of Chezza’s downfall, expecting her association with other individuals to carry her along. This was a critical moment for someone like her, because if she had chosen a guy that could have led to a mutual elevation of status, she may not have been in this position. One thing about Posh Spice and David Beckham, who if you believed the media hype at the time the Coles were trying to emulate, is that they BOTH moved each other onward and upward so much so that they have nearly lost that ‘chavtastiqueness’ about them.

Next move, she allows herself to be carried along on the power trip that is Simon Cowell’s World Domination in Reality Entertainment TV. She is presented as the girl next door who’s done good. But what exactly had she done? From my sofa, all I could see was a pretty but vacuous girl who could barely string a sentence together and when things got a bit tough, quivered her bottom lip or got a big gobby – the council estate roots coming out. Remember, this was the girl who slapped a lavatory attendant whilst racially abusing her. You don’t get rid of that behaviour with big hair, too much make-up and designer dresses.

She was just a show puppet for Simon; she even started doing the same salute that Simon did when all the judges made their entrance on the X Factor. And she couldn’t even - on screen anyway – develop her own relationship with Danii Minogue and Louis Walsh. I guess she just did what she was told. This was her excuse when she chose not to put forward one of the best singers in last year’s X Factor through to the live finals. The backlash started here, but by this time, the GBP (Great British Public) had done what it does best, elevate mediocrity to superstardom status; Chezza in all her total lack of cleverness totally embraced this and got a tad arrogant.
So arrogant that, when Simon reckoned he could make her a star in the US, she skipped along with the idea. She didn’t stop to look at who has made it and what it takes to make it in the US. Can she sing like Duffy, Adele, Estelle, Leona? No? More like Robbie Williams and Take That – love the boys and love the comeback without Robbie even more, but let’s face it, they really would only appeal to us here on the Island. Even JLS knew how far to push it. They went to the US last year but came back quickly and quietly muttering something like they ‘would miss home too much’ and ‘want to make it big in England’, blah, blah, blah. These boys are cute and clever - stick to the Sunday League and don’t go for the Champions League – at least not until you are ready. Love you though JLS.

For weeks we were bombarded with headlines about her getting or not getting the job. Then we heard that TV Execs were worried that the GAP (Great American Public) wouldn’t understand her. Then finally we hear she has the job. But from the first media call after the confirmation it looked like it could only end in disaster. She stepped out with too purple, too flared and too long trousers, topped off with too much hair. Which American star dresses like this – OK big hair - yes, purple ‘pants’ – no; Americans have dress sense. Her interview was lacklustre with no sign of a personality anywhere – and we all know Americans like personality. And here-in lies another problem - Cheryl has no clue about who she is or what she should be, because she has pretty much spent most of her ‘career’ hanging off the coat-tails of others – Reality TV, Girls Aloud, Ashley Cole, Simon, The GBP; and to do that means that you have to be what others want you to be.

In America, to be British means that you must exude class, even if you have none. You must have diction like a member of the Royal Family, or Hugh Grant, or James Bond or Simon Cowell. Fergie, ex-in-law of the dear Queen, is a prime example. Her diction is impeccable but we all know without this, she is as rough as they come – toe sucking in public, selling access to her ex-husband, raising daughters who wear £80, 000 pound toilet brushes on their heads to their cousin’s wedding... Yet she remains a star to them, because she speaks well and so appears to have good old British class. Chezza did not live up to this expectation at all – no class and speaks funny. I love the Geordie accent – in fact I love all Northern accents, but off this Island, no one can understand them. In fact, no one inside of the M25 can. This is a fact. To make matters worse, either because she was too arrogant or was wrongly advised – she didn’t even bother to do her time like everyone else and live in the US for a while, to dilute said Geordie accent a bit and understand the quite simple psychology of the GAP.

The GAP likes those that stick to the script. Leave the ‘pretty starlet with dimples’ thing to them. They have more than enough of these to go round and furthermore, theirs have talent. If you are British, come with the accent which is interpreted as having class. Sadly Chezza came with neither. She is still a WCG (working class girl) – and worse, the type that when they go abroad, want fish and chips and bacon butties; everything must be as it is at home. Take this brand of WCG out of their world and they are quite unpleasant; so perhaps that story about bitching on Paula may be true and the one about being homesick may also be true. This type does not travel well at all.

But whilst all these reasons for Chezza’s demise may hold some water, the point is that had she had talent or had she used her own head, she may have landed on the right side of that brink of superstardom. Don’t be fooled by today’s GBP and GAP. Yes they love all the drama and the glamour, but if you do not justify your existence and deliver you will be rumbled and sent back to the estate...or the trailer park.

Zimbabwe's Children

2010-03-02T15:26:00.000-08:00

I totally stumbled on this programme by accident yesterday. As I am one of those that believe everything, no matter how inconsequential that thing may seem, happens for a reason, no matter how insignificant that reason may seem, this stumble did happen for a reason. Here is my letter to the charity that sprung out of this documentary, and other documentaries like it; the reason for me is at the end:

The Zimbabwe’s Children Fund
True Vision
49a Oxford Road South
London
W4 3DD

Dear Sir/Madam,

I watched the documentary of Zimbabwe’s Children yesterday on BBC4 and for the first time in a long time, a TV programme has compelled me to put pen to paper, or rather fingers to keyboard.

This documentary was raw, emotional and heartbreaking. I do applaud the producer and others involved in bringing this story to us. The detail was upsettingly graphic but I think there really was no other way to show the extent to which children are being denied the right to be children in our country, and unnecessarily so. I am Zimbabwean by birth, and though I grew up during the time of the ‘hondo’ (war), and do remember some of the challenges we faced at that time, particularly in rural Zimbabwe, I NEVER as a child had the burden of looking after ill relatives, going without anything less than 3 full meals and in betweens a day, worrying about not getting to school, not being able to play and most importantly not fulfilling my dreams. Like the producer, the achievements that I, my sister, cousins and thousands of others of my generation have made today were born out of the fabric and sheer determination (like Obert’s grandmother) of that society through our parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, teachers and neighbours, IN SPITE of the terror that surrounded us at the time. And for those goals we have not yet attained, that society taught us that you never stop striving to reach them, because there is nothing that you cannot do.

These children, 30 years later, are faced with a unique and horrifying terror, one that takes away a childhood and thus dreams and hopes and eventually for some the will to live and be a productive member of society . I pray really hard that enough of us that watched or glimpsed or read or heard of this programme can take small steps, and that these small steps can become one big enough step to change the lives of some of these children. Because if we can bring about such a change before all innocence is lost, we can reignite the magic of childhood such that perhaps one, any, of their dreams can come true, one day.

My one criticism is that this programme did not spend enough airtime on local home grown charities that are taking active steps to help children like Esther, Obert and Grace. Many of my family members starting with my late grandfather ran and continue to run organisations to help deprived children in Zimbabwe. Perhaps because of the current situation, those involved in the charities could not speak out. However, some word on what action is being taken by these organisations may have left the viewer with a feeling that there is compassion within our society towards our brothers and sisters that are less fortunate despite the lack of compassion that the politics of our nations seem to exhibit. I know that the aim here was not to make the viewer feel comfortable. However, many of these groups have to provide services with very little and any chance to raise their profile would enable them to reach further and wider across the desolated human and physical landscape depicted by your programme.

I for one would be humbled to have the opportunity to contribute towards a change for one of these children. Please accept my enclosed donation as small as it is. But I know that it can go a long way in paying for school fees and some books for Obert and Grace, or medication for children like Esther and Tino.

Finally I am running the Virgin London Marathon in April this year; up to now I had not been able to decide on which charity to raise funds for. After today, that decision has been made.

Thank you, thank you, and thank you.

Rhoda Molife

Interlude Over

2010-03-02T15:23:00.000-08:00

So finallly my cold seems to be going. Ran for the first time in 7 days yesterday. Did 27 minutes after the nursery run and before work. I could have done more but didn't want to be too late for work - tonnes to do at the moment, or really push myself too much.

I think the rest did me good. Would normally have taken 30 minutes to do that route. All is not lost in mind or body...

Marathon Madness Part II

2010-02-22T15:00:00.000-08:00

So I know I started my marathon training supposedly in September. Well I did, but that was practice training it seemed.

For the past 7 weeks I have been PROPER MARATHON TRAINING, i.e., following a programme that actually means I run faster and longer each week. Started Jan 1st and so far I have run through rain, sleet, snow and ice for up to 2h and 15 minutes on my last weekly long Sunday run. I have cut my hair short as that meant it was easier to manage with all the sweat and stuff - the verdict is out on that one. Not sure, might have to go back to braids...Revamped my diet so I don't interrupt my training with needless colds - fresh lemon in hot water morning and night and lots of fruit and veggies and plenty of rest. But guess what... as I am about to start week 8, I get another bloody cold and Toddler Boy still wants to get up every night for a bottle of milk, work is relentless so there goes my rest...

But you know it is too late to turn back, so unless I am no longer in this life in April, I intend to do this marathon (sneeze).

Tuesday 6th October

2009-10-17T15:04:00.000-07:00

Today is my last day off and I was planning to go for a nice long one today but frankly just felt like staying in my PJs in bed.... and as soon as I did the nursery drop off, I do just that. Get up about 3pm - not sure when I nodded off. I feel rough and really the only thing that will sort this is exercise. Don't do coffee or tea so got to do something. Get dressed fast before I change my mind.
My run round the neighbourhood coincides with the afternoon school run. Bump into mummies and daddies and big brothers and big sisters and childminders and grannies picking up their charges. That's gonna be me in...3 years time. How the hell will I do it cause neither my or his Dad's job finishes in the middle of the afternoon so going to have to shell out money for a childminder on top of school fees, unless of course I miraculously don't need to work....

Time :21 minutes

My Marathon Madness - Thurs 1 Oct

2009-10-06T04:28:00.000-07:00

Third time lucky this week. Got to take Baby Boy's Daddy's car to the garage for a service and MOT. Means I can try another route today. New routes are great cause it makes the time go by faster. I head off for Crystal Palace. Never been there before, now is my chance. Got to get up a goddamn hill first though and these hills here are VICIOUS. I mean NASTY! Halfway up, I am literally at snail's pace but I dont want to stop cause I would never start again. Make it to the top by Grangewood Park - no relief cause there is another slope in sight. God please help me. He obviously did cause I get to the other side and can now safely make my way to the Palace. Run through some trendy shops first then I see the entrance to the park. Oh my God - it is a GEM this place. Why haven't I been here before! Aaah I see why it is called Crystal Palace; the remains of a palace and its walls are still visible, complete with statues of sphinxes copie. The views across South London are amazing. The grounds are vast. This must have been some residence back in the day. I must research the story on this when I get back if I don't get caught up in something which of course I will... I could run in here forever but I can't 'cause I would still have to negotiate the hills on the way back home. I am going to come here again and really explore, but I may drive the car and park it here then run. NO, in fact I WILL drive the car here! And I must bring Baby Boy - he will go crazy here when he sees he can run ad infinitum!

Nothing interesting on the way back. Stop by a carwash place to find out how much to valet my car which needs fumigating really. £10 not bad considering...Will bring it next week.

Home at 1h 4 mins

Marathon Madness Week 4 - Tues Sept 29th

2009-10-06T04:12:00.000-07:00

Spurred on by the fact that I did that impossible slope yesterday - I am on a roll. Today I head back home after the nursery run cause I need a change of scenery. Head off from my house. I feel slow today, check my timer to see how long I have been running, and see it is only 5 minutes when it feels like 15. Ugh. Head towards Lloyds Park - probably the biggest green space in Croydon. Oooh I love this park. Getting to my favourite part of running her: a big open space with no one in sight, so I start dancing to Akon's 'You're so beautiful' on my ipod - the house remix. Feel happy. Stop dancing when I see an old woman coming towards me with her dog - don't want to give the mongrel an excuse to bite me. Run through a path under some thick bush. Meet a man with a walking stick - probably had a stroke and rehabing himself - good on you. He says a big hi - I say hi back - he looks happy too, just like me. Pass a lady walking her dog. It's about 45 minutes now and decide to head back home. Pass by this mansion which has been under construction for about year now. It is nearly done and looks soooo glorious. My house can fit in there at least 20 times. LOL!

Green space behind me now and grey slabs bekon me home. That's the contrast that is London! Do my usual sprint at the end - and it feels alright!

Time 57 minutes.

Marathon Madness Week 4 - Mon Sept 28th

2009-10-06T04:04:00.000-07:00

Get off to a great start this week. Monday, not at work, sun is shining.. in Sept at that! Drop Baby Boy off at nursery, leave car in car park and set off round the neighbourhood. Go through a huge park running round the edge to avoid any encounters with dogs and their owners. Today I am avoiding the hills cause it hurt last time and I dont want to hurt today. I love the world at this time of day - everyone is cooped up in the offices, kiddies are in school, housewives at home so the streets are all MINE! Oh God, I took a wrong turn and to get back to the car I MUST go up a STEEP hill. Whichever way I try to avoid this one, will still have to go up another. OK, either I walk or like Nike said, just do it. 5 minutes later, I am at the top but I can't feel my legs. A driver passing by is just staring at me - I must look a sight. LOL! Thank god its down hill all the way now.

Time - 46 minutes

Marathon Madness Week 3 - 24th Sept

2009-10-06T03:58:00.000-07:00

My first (and at it turned out) my only run of the week. Dropped Baby Boy off at nursery, left the car in the car park and set off. Ran past a Granny walking her presumed grand-daughter to nursery with 2 Peppa Pig Bags in tow - why she needs 2 who knows, cause she has a way to go till she is a woman; guess the madness starts early. Grandparents are soooo necessary. I am not in the mood to run today and on top of that I do a hilly route. Pass a sister walking a dog. Hardly see any one else - guess everyone is at work. I'm not - ha, ha!

At last run is finished. Legs feel heavy.

Time 41 minutes

Lula's Marathon Madness Day 3 20 Sept

2009-09-20T08:51:00.000-07:00

Sunday is the long run day; seeing that I haven't done one of these for at least six weeks not sure how long this long run is going to be. Nevertheless, I aim for an hour. Decide to do a totally new route cause when you have to run for a long time you need all the entertainment you can get. Head for Central Park. No not Central Park New York, but Central Park, Chelmsford, Essex. Yep came to stay with Baby Boy's grandparents in the country for a rest.

Actually Central Park Chelmsford, with its quite varied flora and fauna, skateboarding ramp, lake complete with elegant swans and silky black feathered ducks, fishing river, bowling green, gypsy fun fair, is not half bad. Who needs NYC: me for a shopping spree. Urban life is not half bad. I pass several joggers, one woman who must be at least 70 running with one arm in the air - not sure why - I want to be her at 70 though, a ginger haired teen, a little round woman and a really long-legged man whose one stride was equal to ten of mine. We all say hi to each other as our paths cross. Runner's etiquette 2009. Twenty minutes into my run, I am feeling good - this hour is going to be a breeze. Pass a young couple going for a walk with their new born. Daddy is pushing the pram and mummy is lovingly stroking daddy's hair. Clearly her hormones are still on a high cause by now it would be more like menacingly pulling daddy's hair. At 30 minutes I pass a bowling club - all slender and nimble, silver haired geriatrics.

Pass a couple with a double buggy holding 2 little occupants. The bigger occupant is screaming: 'I want to get out! I want to get out!' Parents being parents: totally ignoring him. I laugh cause I've been there - no I AM there. Its 40 minutes now pain is setting in, and my gut and bottom are jiggling in protest. Head out the park and run on the main road for a little while before I head for the river bank. Got to run up a slope and now it really hurts. Pass a middle-aged woman sitting on a middle-aged man's lap on a park bench, crying her eyes out. Her pain is clearly greater than mine so I forget mine temporarily till I get to the really steep part of the slope and I don't give a shit about how bad she must feel, cause I definately feel worse but don't have the option of sitting on some man's lap to ease the agony. OK, head down, relax shoulders and just get to the top and it will be all over. Get to the top and it isn't all over - got at least 10 minutes till I get home. Chest is burning. Slow down some to catch my breath. Thank God it's all flat now. Remind myself I need new trainers - have had these for like 3 years now. Round the bend and home is in sight. Do my end of race sprint and damn my legs feel like lead.

Time : 1h 2 minutes.

Lula's Marathon Madness - Week 1 17 Sept

2009-09-17T15:08:00.000-07:00

Missed 2 days training since the last - but actually don't even have a schedule so what am I talking about. Anyway, today couldn't do the morning session as meeting with my Big Boss at 830am. Meeting starts 1.5 hours late. Not a good start but I keep calm.

445pm head out for run. Start on the other side of the posh suburb which is even posher. Spot a lovely field through one of the houses but how the hell do I get there. Decide to ask a newspaper boy for directions - he is so polite with it as well. Teenagers get a bad name. Follow his directions but end up on a golf course - teenagers for you. Some caddy tells me to to keep running on and I will find what I am looking for. Get to Oaks Park - georgeous fields. Decide to run on the track though - not in the mood to dodge dog shit. A killer slope all the way for about 5 minutes - ugh. Get to the other side of the park to a main road but don't know which way to turn. Got about 1 hour till nursery shuts. Head back into park to ask this elderly couple sitting with their dogs, for directions. Actually I dont think it's a couple...maybe they just meet in the park with their dogs. Direct my question to the woman naturally; she looks at me shellshocked - like what is this little black woman saying. Want to tell her I am speaking English. The man steps in - he has a frightfully impeccable old boy accent. Asks me if I am running - I think 'but you saw me running towards you and I am all sweaty in running gear.. no I am flying' I want to say. Anyway he gives me some backroute direction which was actually fab as got in some fresh fume free country air and got back to base in good time to tidy up my desk a bit before heading for my 2nd full time job as Mummy.

Lula's Marathon Madness - Week 1 14 Sept

2009-09-17T14:48:00.000-07:00

So this week I start training yet again for my first ever marathon to be. Was supposed to run last year, but I think I was one of the 1st victims of pig flu cause I was sick as a dog for all of march, one month before the event. Had to pull out - had no intentions of running for 5 hours or some ridiculous time.

Actually I was more motivated to start this week as my gut is bulging over my belt and my clothes all feel rather tight round the tum and bum area. I guess I have been overdoing the chocolate and cake of late with not enough activity.

First day did not start well. The plan was to get to work earlyish, run then use the gym at work. But got up late, Baby Boy got up before I was ready for him, so really ran behind schedule. Then on the way to nursery drop off, sit in loads of traffic as a bus broke down at the roundabout just before nursery. Then Baby Boy screams his head off when I drop him off so I can't just dash off. I miss the days when he didn't give a hoot when I left but cried when I came to pick him up.

Anyway leave him at nursery and head into more traffic: this time school traffic as I am seriously late. Get to work at about 9am when really I should have been tucking into my 50 emails. But I am determined to start today come hell or high water. Eventually start my run at 910am. Do a hill route in the posh suburb near the office. Got to get me into one of these neighbourhoods in the next 5 years or so. Bump into some skinny cow jogging carefree down the hill whilst I am huffing and puffing up - clearly she is not training like I am. Get a cheery good morning from a bin man. Try to run on a country road but give up fearing for my life. I do maybe about 3 miles. Got to get a pedometer some time soon as guess work on my distance will not be much use for much longer.

Get back to gym at 945, do 20 mins in gym then head for shower. See notice outside changing room saying 'closed between 10-11 for cleaning' which I ignore - I have work to do. But apparently it is true, cleaning lady comes in as I am about to go to shower and tells me I need to leave or 'I get in trouble with my boss'. I beg for 5 minutes which is not too much to ask seeing that my tits are hanging out already - she says 'OK 5 minutes'. I think I do it all in 7 - not bad.

Butterfly

2009-07-23T14:17:00.000-07:00

Today I saw a butterfly for the first time in literally years. And by coincidence I was listening to Michael Jackson's 'Butterflies' from his 2nd to last album, 'Invincible'.

My journey with MJJ

2009-07-09T09:38:00.000-07:00

Today is the second time this year I have sat in front of the TV for more than an hour straight to watch a landmark event – the first was the ushering in of the first Black President of the United States of America, and the second was the farewell of the ‘King of Pop’. I will tell you how I felt when Barack Hussein Obama made his entry in the history books later. Right now I want to share with you my rollercoaster ride with Michael Joseph Jackson as he made several entries in these same history books. Let me talk to you about a man who inspired my first hairstyle (the jheri curl), a man whose concert was the first I ever went to, and a man whose album was the first I ever owned.

I first ‘met’ MJJ perhaps in 1980 when I was 7. My family and I lived in Jamaica then. Behind our house was a cottage, I guess that’s what you would call it, where Auntie Paulette and Auntie Sonia lived. They weren’t my aunties but in our culture, you always called any adult who was vaguely friends with your parents Auntie or Uncle. Auntie Paulette and Auntie Sonia were two single ladies. I think they both used to work in a bank as bank tellers. Auntie Sonia was definitely the more fabulous of the two – you never saw her without make-up and her hair was never out of place. Auntie Paulette had these big glasses, a la Big Bird from Sesame Street, but with a tint on the lenses – get the picture? Though the least glam, she was definitely the nicer one. Auntie Sonia had a baby boy at some point, then Auntie Paulette had twins one of whom was called Gabrielle – they were the original single mums now that I think about it, but back then I don’t remember that being too big a deal, maybe because they didn’t live off taxpayer’s money - some, and I hasten to add, not I, would say. Anyway I digress.

So Auntie Sonia used to blast the ‘Off The Wall’ album, especially the track ‘Rock With You’. This was that first encounter with MJJ. I remember being fascinated by the album cover where he looked just so cool leaning on a brick wall in that black suit with the ‘don’t touch’ trousers and white socks – today, an unforgiveably serious fashion faux pas. Over the years, he would continue to wear anything and get away with it. I didn’t understand the lyrics to ‘Rock With You’, but there was a plaintive ring in his voice that he really just wanted to rock (my interpretation: dance) with me, so I would sway to that song every time Auntie Sonia played it. What was even more mesmerising to me was Auntie Sonia’s reaction every time she played his album. She would ‘go somewhere else’ and what a sight that was for a 7 year old, especially when she was listening to the tracks whilst doing housework on a Saturday with curlers in hair and a sack of a house dress – still looking fabulous of course. I guess she was feeling how I felt when I heard the tunes too, but in a grown up way. I have to say that my parents used to play music all the time when my sister and I were younger; so music was something we really appreciated an still love; now when I hear the soundtrack to my younger years with songs from Bill Withers, The Commodores, Joan Baez (!), etc, they bring back some happy childhood memories. But when I hear ‘Rock With You’, I realise, that is when I first felt music.

In 1982, the album ‘Thriller’ was released. ‘Pretty Young Thing’ was the track for me on that album and today it remains probably my favourite MJJ single. ‘Beat It’ and ‘Thriller’ were all about the imagery - the videos. I have to say I really never saw the full videos for these until I was in my late 20s! That’s because in the Bahamas, where we were living from 1983 when Thriller was really big, you couldn’t access MTV via terrestrial TV – you had to have a satellite dish. And a satellite dish was not one of my parents’ priorities - school fees and us doing well at school was though. I guess the cost of a satellite was maybe a large chunk of a term’s fees and for my teacher parents, really this situation was a no brainer. I kind of saw snippets of these videos from news reports and other places I don’t recall. So I never really got into the videos at that time; for me it was all about the lyrics and how the music made me feel. And ‘PYT’ made me just want to dance till I dropped. I, like all my school friends – those with satellite TV and those without - knew the lyrics to Billie Jean back to front, inside out and upside down.

As the 80s progressed, MJJ was just huge, I mean ginormous. We were distracted by Prince and Madonna, only temporarily though, because everywhere you turned Michael was there. Winning Grammys and countless other awards, on the cover of countless magazines such as Time, Ebony, Jet, People, The Enquirer (US trash tabloid that is 10 times trashier than the UK Daily Star, but still a weekly staple in every half decent household including ours; yes a contradiction you may say in our household where it was all about learning, but it was all about getting a balanced education I guess), spearheading the 1985 single ‘We Are the World’ with Lionel Ritchie and Quincy Jones, and on and on.

In 1987, Bad was released. By that time he was getting weird but like every other 14 year old, I don’t think I cared much about that. This was the first album I owned courtesy of my parents as a birthday present. They got it at my request, but on opening it, I remember feeling so overwhelmed with excitement, any one watching would have been forgiven for thinking that receiving this gift was a total and utter surprise.

Oh what a joyous and momentous occasion. For 2 reasons – first of all, I had come as ‘face to face’ with my musical idol as I had ever been, and second, I had a right to use the record player in the ‘front room’. You see in the Caribbean, every household has 2 living rooms – one called a ‘family room’ where you could watch TV and generally slouch about, and the other the ‘front room’ which was basically a show room where everything was always pristine and in place, and where kids were banished unless there were visitors, and even then you were not always guaranteed entry. For the next year, that album never really left my side. I admired and adored MJJ, more as a really amazing and ‘awesome’, as the Americans would say, big brother, as he was 14 years older than me. Even when it was becoming clear that all was not well in his life to say the least – the relationships with middle aged women – Miss Ross, Elizabeth Taylor, Jane Fonda – and primates (Bubbles), his rapidly changing appearance, the further fashion mishaps (military gear all day, every day) sleeping in an oxygen tent, etc, MJJ could do no wrong as far as I was concerned.

When 1991 and ‘Dangerous’ came, the sparkle was fading. The first allegations of child abuse had surfaced I think. Although like all true fans I breathed a sigh of relief when it was all over, I will admit that I lost a bit of love for MJJ. Part of it may have been as a result of the influence of the British media (I had been living in the UK since 1988) whose claws against anyone vaguely successful were being sharpened way back then. Although they rather parodied MJJ introducing the term Wacko Jacko, I guess the fact that they were not as unfalteringly flattering as other national media, made you face up to the fact that MJJ had some real drama in his life. In fact, even though I went to see him in concert at Wembley in the early 90s, I didn’t really appreciate the significance of the occasion. Anyway, it was quite difficult to appreciate the wizardry of his showmanship as I had a rubbish seat; the guy who took me on a date had been asking me out for ages and I am embarrassed to say that I had always said no until he mentioned ‘Michael Jackson’ and ‘tickets’. He was a broke student (like I was) so I guess could only afford bleacher tickets. Needless to say, that was the first and last date, but I thank him for the ‘almost’ experience of MJJ live.

The closest I have since got to seeing MJJ live is seeing Usher in concert. Many who follow and appreciate R ‘n’ B will say Usher is the closest we have come to MJJ in terms of displaying a creative combination of vocals and dance with showmanship, but despite the valiant attempt, he doesn’t even get anywhere near the dust that MJJ raises when he does a moonwalk – forgive me for being dramatic but that’s the truth.

Despite MJJs troubles, twists and turns, when ‘Invincible’ was released in 2001, I was bursting with anticipation. All of his previous album releases were major events, and this was no different, especially as it had been a while since our last encounter. I, like millions of others, so wanted him to make a ‘come back’. And with the release of ‘You Rock My World’ I thought he would be back – that was a rocking track which did what a true MJJ song makes you want to do – get on the dance floor and dance. By this time I was 28, and now as a grown-up, who by virtue of my profession as a medical doctor had met people from all walks of life and therefore of all manner of dysfunction, had forgiven him of his many transgressions. So I was ready to embrace Michael fully once again. I started to listen to some of his earlier recordings in earnest and watched the iconic ‘Billie Jean’ and ‘Thriller’ videos in their entirety. A couple of years ago, my other half and I were staying in on a Saturday night watching TV and just relaxing after a long week at work. I think it was a cold winter’s night and we were not interested in wrapping up to go anywhere. Anyway, there was a 2 hour special of MJJs videos that we came across as we flicked through the channels. We watched the whole show, reminiscing about our youth and what we were doing when a particular track was released. At the end of each video, he or I would chant: ‘nobody can touch Michael Jackson’.

During this time when I was rekindling my relationship with MJJ, I realised that, MJJ taught Bobby Brown about ‘tenderoni’, MJJ taught P Diddy about the mini-feature length-movie-video with a bit of gangster action, MJJ taught R Kelly about the big anthem with a choir coming in halfway through for some real heart wrenching emotion and impact, MJJ taught every single artist after him about the socially conscious lyrics (OK maybe this should go to Marvin Gaye), MJJ fused R ‘n’ B, and rock before Jay Z and Lil Wayne did, MJJ did collaborations before Akon, and MJJ taught Usher, Justin and Neyo how to move. MJJ was clearly influenced by many before him, most famously James Brown, but it became clear to me as I reconnected with him, that he influenced every single artist who came after him. And most importantly, with all due respect to the work of Angelina, Madge, Wyclef, Alicia, U2, Bob Geldof et al as celebrity philanthropists, MJJ set the bar on humanitarian efforts and action – he is in the Guinness Book of World Records for this and I don’t think anyone will take his place for a while.

It really felt like he was on the way back up. But alas it was not to be because the decline from that last album was rapid, steep and ugly. After the last court case, where he was clearly under the influence, and then becoming a recluse I truly felt sad and secretly hoped that one day he would re-emerge from that bad place he had gone to. I do not exonerate him from taking responsibility for the path he went down, but this man had some baggage to contend with. Despite being, or rather, in spite of the fact that he was the first African American/Black Man to achieve cross over success in the music industry and especially on MTV, he probably had to endure serious racism. And we know how the scars of racism can live on – if you saw Reverend Wright’s sermons during Barack Obama’s campaign you will know… Why else were activists like Reverend Al Sharpton, Reverend Jesse Jackson and the family of the late Martin Luther King, and latterly, the Nation of Islam close family friends. They provided some sort of support being outspoken critics of prejudice. His alleged abuse at the hands of his father may just be the tip of the iceberg. I say this for two reasons: first, several who paid their respects on stage at the memorial today acknowledged his mother and siblings but not his father; second, he left his father out of his will and both these actions speak volumes. He had to have lost a childhood, because to perfect his craft he had to have sacrificed plenty. I myself do not believe he molested those boys; I think to deal with the loss of normal childhood experiences, and the intense scrutiny and sometimes unfair judgement at the way he conducted his life, he preferred the fun and innocence of children or even probably regressed to childhood; in his world, he could not appreciate that in the world the rest of us lived in, this sort of behaviour was not going to be always seen as ‘appropriate’. And we know that what is logical in a child’s world is not always appropriate in an adult’s world.

It is difficult to appreciate a life punctuated with not only psychological but also physical pain. He fell off a stage in the early 80s breaking his nose. This episode meant he had to have surgery to repair the damage – I wonder if this first encounter with the surgeon’s knife was his undoing. Years later he injured his back after another fall leading to chronic back pain; having listened to and watched those who have to endure this type of pain, I know it is no joke at all. Then there is the awful neuropathic pain he had to deal with after having his hair burnt off his scalp doing that Pepsi commercial. You can see how with all this physical trauma, plus, you are accused of hurting those you love the most, have some financial discrepancies involving way too many zeros, and let’s face it every one has an ego, a seemingly tarnished star status, you might need lots of pills to make you forget. There is only so much even MJJ could take. Most of us would think of and may even hit the bottle or inhale hard drugs, or engage in dubious social behaviour, but when you have money and influence, you can take it to another level (if rumours of anaesthesia abuse are true), and there are plenty of people who will be happy to be paid to help you get to that other level.

Today as I ‘took part’ in the celebratory farewell to MJJ with my other half on the sofa and our quarter each (18 month old Baby Boy) bouncing up and down between us, and though, I am a fairly balanced MJJ fan, I got the knot in my throat and I have to say tears did flow. For many reasons. MJJs music was the back drop to my childhood and the vessel through which that music was transported is not here anymore. I know his music will live on – tomorrow I should have 6 CDs I ordered from Amazon to prove this – but his departure means I, like many others, am also saying goodbye to happy memories of my youth. I am sad because I don’t know if my little one will ever experience the thrill of another ‘Thriller’. I have to say, he is appreciating his music now, or so I would like to think; when an MJJ tune comes on, I just dance like mad. As he loves dancing he just joins in. Even when in the car seat, and the music is blaring, he shakes the bits of his that are not strapped in! I am sad because his brilliance came with such a high price tag. That high price tag is not death, because that is the only certainty about life that we should not fear, but rather the torment he experienced. I am sad because when Janet Jackson said last week, ‘though to you MJJ is an icon, to us he is family’ and when his daughter Paris said today ‘ever since I was born, daddy has been the best father you could imagine’, you see that this icon was first and foremost a brother, son, cousin and father, you know the pain of loss because you have felt it or dread the day you will feel it.

Michael Joseph Jackson, it has truly been a pleasure to be entertained by you for the last 29 of my 36 years. The might of your talent and the magnitude of your skill surpassed your darkest moments. You inspired many, brought joy to more, and will be remembered by all.