Thriller (25th Anniversary Edition)

This review is from: Michael Jackson 25th Anniversary of Thriller (Audio CD)
I woke up from a nap and there were three text messages on my phone. Nobody ever texts me, so I knew it must have been big news. I thought there was a fire or something. Turned out, Michael Jackson is dead. I was startled, to say the least, because MJ never seemed like the kind of person that could, you know, die. To be honest, he never really registered in my consciousness as being a person; Michael Jackson was the androgynous sexual panic of "Billie Jean," the breathless seduction of "P.Y.T.," the thrilling kitsch of "Thriller," the chattering afro-popisms of "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'." The idea that he had a human body, one that needed food and air and sleep, never really clicked in my mind. But then again, I guess that's to be expected. I mean, how can a mere human being really be thought to be capable of creating something as monstrous, as mechanical, as all-encompassing, and as awesome as Thriller? This kid wasn't the king of pop; he was the whole damn kingdom. And we, the audience, are not his loyal subjects; we're just reading the travel brochures.

The point is, Thriller is one of the greatest moments in the history of pure pop. Which is to say, it's plastic, mass-produced, jugular-grabbingly commercial, and completely unconcerned with originality, artistic merit, or honesty. And goshdarnit, I wouldn't have it any other way! With songs and performances as irresistible and ecstatic as the ones found here, artfulness will only get in the way. Because when you have a song as swooping, as ethereal, as hypnotic, and as unashamedly romantic as "Baby Be Mine," there's really no need to question its validity. Just let those labyrinthine keyboards and yearning vocals carry you away to a shiny place. And when "Beat It" comes roaring out of the gates, it does so with such force and brutal eloquence that you completely forget how absurd it is for Michael Jackson to take on the role of a street-smart hoodlum. As a vision of ghetto reality, it's a nonsensical failure; but the important thing to remember is that, on a purely visceral level, it SOUNDS more convincing and more immediate than its more authentic counterparts.

And then there's "Billie Jean," whose lyrics are either shockingly amoral or completely uneventful, but which still manages to be one of the most magical, irresistible, and emotionally charged moments in the history of music. And if we found ourselves getting annoyed by the idea of having to root for a child-abandoning father, then we can just remind ourselves that it's only a pop album. An stunning pop album, to be precise.