An "icon" who grew sideways, then disappeared

It's a few years old, but here is my Quote of the Week about Pop Culture—more specifically, about the late Michael Jackson:

Singers, groups or lead performers are nor constrained by musical standards. But they are constrained by their totemic role. They must be young, sexually attractive, and with the plaintive voice of youthful desire—like the girly group called All Saints. Of course, popular musicians have always been idolised, as were Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, and Cliff Richard. But those old-style icons grew up in time, passed over from adolescence to adulthood, became mellow, avuncular and religious. The modern pop star does not grow up. He grows sideways, like Mick Jagger or Michael Jackson, becoming waxy and encrusted as though covered by a much-repainted mask. Such spectral creatures haunt for a while the halls of fame, trailing behind them the ghosts of their vanished fans. And then, overnight, they disappear."  — From "Yoofanasia," in Modern Culture (Continuum, 2005), by Roger Scruton.

Somewhat prophetic, I suppose. When I heard of Jackson's death back in late June (yes, this post is a couple months late), I was momentarily surprised. But why? Frankly, I'm nearly as surprised, in hindsight, that he lived until the age of fifty. There was something so desperate and sad about the man, who seemed to live solely for the adulation he had enjoyed as a "global pop icon." Again and again, ad nauseum, we are told that Jackson was an "icon." In considering why that is so, contemplate the heart of the legacy:

"At the heart of Michael Jackson's musical legacy are two albums that total less than an hour-and-a-quarter's worth of music. Both are rightfully considered among the best pop albums of their era." — "How Jackson Did It", by Jim Fusilli (Wall Street Journal, July 1, 2009)

Amazing. 75 minutes of pop music. Created over 25 years ago. In pop culture terms, that might as well have been two hundred years ago. Don't get me wrong: I'm not making light of his death. Quite the contrary, I'm questioning his public legacy, the sort of out-of-proportion mirage that burns so hotly for a brief span of time that it threatened to consume nearly every air wave, website and printing press in existence. And so Jackson, it was said a bazillion times—often with the sincerity of a sidewalk preacher—was a "an icon."

An icon in Eastern Christianity is a likeness and image, created in a specific way (based on a combination of tradition and accepted symbolism, much of it biblical) and primarily viewed in the context of prayer and worship. So, in what sense was Michael Jackson an "icon"? And what does it say that popular culture takes religious language and uses it in this way? Part of the answer might be found in the famous words of Marshall McLuhan, "The medium is the message." One commentator, in reflecting on McLuhan's statement a few years ago, wrote:

The fact that more people watch television than go to church is nothing new to us, but it was one of the tell-tale signs of a cultural shift in history for McLuhan; a shift which has been imperceptible to most, and devastating to all. If anyone doubts McLuhan's warning that "we become what we behold," he should reflect on the consuming desire of many average teenagers to be like Michael Jordan, Madonna, or Britney Spears: a desire that has resulted in a culture of plastic surgery and drive-by shootings to obtain tennis shoes.

Strangely enough, the death of the self-proclaimed "King of Pop" was such a massive event in large part because of the medium—the internet—that is overtaking the medium—the television—that propelled Jackson to stardom. And it seems more and more evident that Jackson arguably benefited more than any other entertainer from television and the advent of the brief glory days of the music video. "The transformation of the pop star into an icon," Scruton states, "is assisted by the music video. This is perhaps the most important innovation in the sphere of pop since the electric guitar. The video sublimates the star, re-cycles him as image, more effectively than any painted icon of a saint. It is expressly designed for home consumption, and brings the sacred presence into the living room."

While music television may have turned living rooms into aural temples, those sacred spaces were reliant on a limited number of sources: MTV, VH1, and little more in the 1980s. The internet changed that, and in doing so, changed the name of the game when it comes to musical superstardom. "Today, you watch music videos on YouTube, but because there are no programmers to curate what you see, every artist has to compete with thousands of others. And now that anyone with a computer has a miniature studio, and anyone with a Internet connection can post a song, there are more genres, subgenres and artists than ever," wrote David Segal in a June 27, 2009, piece titled, "After Jackson, Fame May Never Be the Same":

That’s why even Michael Jackson would have a hard time becoming Michael Jackson these days. ...  But there is something sad about our infinite menu of options. It could very well mean the end of true superstardom and with it, the end the collective experience on display Thursday night in Union Square. Everyone there knew Michael Jackson. Everyone there had watched him, sang with him, tried to dance with him and, yes, everyone was collectively aghast by much of his recent behavior. But he was ours. If nothing else, his passing reminds us of how little in pop culture we currently share.

"Everyone there knew Michael Jackson. ... But he was ours." Really? You knew him? He was yours? This is simply pop culture as pseudo-religion, a quasi-spiritual movement facilitated by technology, propelled by carefully crafted music (often different from great music, I hasten to add), and rooted in images, pulsing, moving, gyrating, sliding, dancing—bigger than life, unreal, fantastic, otherworldly, almost supernatural. For many folks, pop culture is the only culture they know or want, and pop "icons" are on the posters, television screens, computer monitors, and iPods within their living room temples. The best of pop culture (and, yes, I do believe there is good to be found in pop culture) can easily be lost or overrun by the worst of pop culture, which is often bound up in time-frozen nostalgia and perpetual adolescence, a world filled with a nearly endless collection of "icons."

The scathing but on-the-mark Joe Queenan would have none of it; in a piece sardonically titled, "Icons Aren't What They Used to Be" (WSJ, July 20, 2009), he wrote:

For a number of reasons, the term "icon" cannot be used the way it is currently being tossed about. If your nickname is Wacko Jacko, if you have forked over tens of millions of dollars to settle lawsuits in which you were accused of child abuse, the term "icon" is probably not le mot juste. "Iconic" carries with it a subtext of moral elegance. It is not interchangeable with "famous" or "powerful" or even "brilliant." This is why Henry VIII, Attila the Hun, Oliver Cromwell and Satan are rarely described as "iconic." They were interesting chaps, they put a lot of points on the scoreboard, and they changed the world forever. But iconic? No.

What Queenan calls "moral elegance," I might describe as holiness. Michael Jackson, even if innocent of various charges and allegations involving boys, did not appear to be a whole, let alone holy, man. His many bizarre actions shouldn't keep us from seeing that, sadly, he was not a tragic figure or a victim, but the latest in a line of pop/rock stars who have made a complete mess of their lives and spiraled into addiction, vanity, denial, and destruction despite an unbelievable amount of riches, fame, and fans. "I'm Starting With The Man In The Mirror," he once sang, "I'm Asking Him To Change His Ways." Did he? God alone knows for certain. R.I.P.