Classic Live Performances: Michael Jackson

Merry Christmas!

Crossover and Michael Jackson by Ralph Wiley

note: the following is an excerpt from the late Ralph Wiley classic, and one of my favorite reads, Why Black People Tend To Shout.



I cannot understand why black people become upset with Michael Jackson and accuse him of "crossover." I can't see why anyone would mind. Michael is just following the crowd.

It's like I used to hear in the words of that Negro spiritual, which I first sang out of a songbook written, published and distributed by non-Negroes: De-e-eep river, I want to cross over Jordan into campground. I'm sure Michael knows a meaningful lyric when he hears it. You've got to say that for him. Those aren't stringy locks atop his head. To Michael, those locks are dollar bills. And that nose. Michael paid good money for that nose. Why? Because soon his nose would pay for itself, and then some. That isn't Michael's nose. That's his campground.

People search through life for a philosophy. Since we are in America, it follows that a good philosophy would have economic principles. Michael Jackson crosses over, just like that old Negro spiritual says, so he can get paid. Life in America is based on getting paid, as you know if you've ever been or know anyone who has ever been to New York City.

Sometimes being a good citizen, paying taxes and doing a good job of whatever you do for a living doesn't necessarily mean you'll get paid, especially if you're related by either blood or appearance to the subjects of old Negro spirituals. We all have to get paid, one way or another, or we end up sleeping outdoors, starved or dead.

Michael Jackson wanted to get paid and then some, so he crossed over and then some. That's how you get paid a lot in America if you are black. You cross over and then some. Black musicians have crossed over into pop and been pilloried for it by black people. White pop musicians cross over into jazz, or rap, or wherever they can navigate the stream, but nobody pillories them, and even if somebody does, as long as that somebody isn't the somebody who is signing the checks, so what?

Some of the black people who complain about Michael Jackson and other musicians, actors and stars crossing over do a pretty good job of crossing over themselves, and they aren't getting paid nearly as well. We cross over at work if we happen to work at Fortune 500 companies. We cross over when we buy vapid pop albums, or when we buy song books of Negro spirituals published by non-Negro people or when we criticize a black filmmaker like Spike Lee for hitting too close to home, while spending good money to go and see how white filmmakers will ignore us next.

I had a bet with the person who helped me sell these essays. I said the buyer would be a black publisher. He disagreed. I lost.

So, in the end, we all cross over to some extent, which is good for the circulation - or better be. Michael Jackson isn't blind or dumb, even if he doesn't look the same as he did once. If black people bought the jazz albums, or bought black-owned or produced goods and services, then there wouldn't be as much fun and profit in crossover. Possibly, Michael Jackson would not now resemble pottery from the Ming Dynasty.

Don't blame Michael for crossing over. Blame yourself for showing him that it was the thing to do. It's always best when you can get paid and be yourself at the same time. It's more sane. One day, black people might get together and try it.

Rihanna: Good Girl Gone Bad

Oh.

Rihanna.

Well, she stands far removed from the Little Miss Sunshine originally portrayed. That's for sure. Long gone is the cute politically correctness of yesteryear. Nowadays, whenever the name Rihanna becomes the subject of conversation, it's sure to be followed by one question in particular:

What happened?

Perhaps Rihanna's abrupt change was the result of the well-publicized fight with ex-boyfriend and fellow recording star Chris Brown. Although I seriously doubt it. If you ask, I don't think it had anything to do with the February 9, 2009 incident, which transpired after leaving a pre-Grammy party.

I say this because not only were Rihanna and Chris Brown laid up in bed together shortly thereafter, but Rihanna also stopped assisting investigators in their criminal case. She did not want Chris Brown to be criminally punished.

Rihanna then turned around and posed for an album cover which appears to promote violence. An action that left everyone confused. Everyone, except Rihanna.

Only twenty one years of age, still somewhat immature, what is clear to everyone - Robyn Rihanna Fenty has entered into a state of rebellion. The condition where a person acts out or shows strong aversion against towards former self. Which, as we all know, is the stage where a majority of young adolescence, women especially, arrive once they've spread their wings and flown the nest.

Apparently Rihanna's grown and can make her own decisions. Who are we to disagree? Besides, haven't we all undergone physical, mental and emotional change?

Difference being, Rihanna is a major recording artist. She lives under the public eye. Thus, her every action will be magnified, glorified and, at times, scrutinized. But the spunky Barbados native has made it clear to everyone the fact that she could care less.

Hardly anyone understands exactly what it is about Rihanna that has created such mass hysteria, or disturbia, depending on who you ask. Many feel she's uncharismatic, cannot sing or dance, and doesn't posses enough musical talent to make it out of round one of American Idol, never mind a career.

Yet, somehow it's Rihanna, whiny voice and all, whose catchy lyrics and melodies have given her more Number One hits than any other female recording star this decade, even the more talented and experienced Beyonce.

Whatever her star power or appeal amongst an enormous legion of fans worldwide, the bottom line, this controversial superstar sells records. And, at the end of the day, as anyone in the music industry will attest, that is all that matters.

Likes and Dislikes

LIKES

• scorpio's
• this year is almost over
• getting my point across
• suiteb's timelines
  
• hand sanitizers
• rihanna's 106&Park live performance
  
• people who actually listen
• no such thing as a perfect person
• what the site google books offers
  
• good that come with the bad
  

DISLIKES

• mayo
• plain oatmeal
• cheap bread
• dallas cowboys
• dallas cowboy fans
• these kind of people
• people who ask to use my cell phone
• being written off too soon
• when someone dies over material things
• bad that comes with the good
  

There Really Is A Santa Claus

note: this is a repost

Twas the night before Christmas, all through the house, a wide-eyed child lay quietly awake in bed.

The little boy anxiously awaits the morning sun to signal the dawn of Christmas Day. He toss and turns, as he stares at the clock hanging upon his bedroom wall. It appears little or no time has passed. A repeated process which indicates the one thing clearly on his mind; the very moment he can reach under the tree, grab his present and remove the gift wrap.

Which, as every man knows, mirrors the kind of celebrated act which new p*ssy brings.

A sensation which leaves us unable to wait until our hands are placed firmly around the package with our name written all over it. This particular anew creates an excitement that mere words cannot measure. The kind of enthusiasm felt when a person gets exactly what they have always wanted.

As men, we cannot wait to insert batteries, turn it on and give our undivided attention. Smiling ear to ear, we marvel at its beauty and build. We wonder if the benefaction can do this and whether it does that. In some cases we play with our present all day long, way into the wee hours of the night. Even when we know we should be fast asleep.

We talk to it. Claim it as our best friend. If walls could talk they would reveal how we "kept up noise" all night long. Most play tirelessly, until our toy puts us to sleep. Only to awake the very next morning and pick up where we left off.

During this stage, the cherish stage, the best stage, boredom hardly enters the picture. We give the impression that this level of excitement will last forever. We brag about our toy to close friends and family. It absolutely destroys us to see anyone with our plaything. In fact, we insist on taking it everywhere we go.

Sadly, some of us don't know how to act once we get something new, and possess it for only a short amount of time. We began to handle the toy improperly and end up breaking "a part." A formality which some around us had already expected. "I knew you wouldn't have it long," they whisper, giggles under their breath.

Broken, we attempt to handle business as usual. Trying hard to ignore the damage. At least we do, until it becomes painfully obvious. Like a child who has lost his best friend, we sit quietly, unable to utter a simple word. The thrill has gone away.

Had we taken great care of our present from Santa there's a good chance we could have enjoyed it forever. Well, unless one of our so-called friends came along and stole it, right from under our nose. Which happens every time we are careless. Now, all one can ever do is sit quietly, listen to overly emotional holiday songs, and wish we'd been more careful.

"What's wrong? Need some new batteries?" asks others who sit and witness our agony.

No matter how often we "change" batteries, the truth is, we were reckless with our Christmas present. Leaving us to simply ponder the next time Santa Claus, or new p*ssy, returns.