Friday, August 25, 2006

August 25th

On the evening of Saturday, August 25, 1984, Michael Jackson did more than take the stage with his brothers for the 21st show of their Victory Tour. He justified its existence.

This first night in Buffalo, New York, begins again with a backcloth of white light. L
asers slice through billowing smoke until they find our Michael pulling a sword from a stone. At times, the stage and its star are hard to differentiate. Each sparkle and whir in time. Or, stop as if posing for a photograph exactly three minutes into "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin,'" the show'sand Thriller'sopening number. No sound but the crowd. Michael breaks the pause with insistent phrasing: "If you can't feed the baby, then don't have a baby." The brothers shimmy and the rhythm continues on cue.

Michael's hands-on direction was a prerequisite for his participation in a tour he'd wanted to call The Final Curtain. His meticulous theatrics wowed crowds but disappointed everyone else Jackson on the tour. Days before the Buffalo show, in Detroit, Michigan, the brothers wanted to accept a
multi-million dollar offer to videotape and release the tour. Not only did Michael refuse, he threatened he wouldn't perform if they went ahead without his consent. Now, however, there were enough cameramen onstage with them that brother Marlon nearly stumbled over one.

Michael was already producing
his own off-stage videos. He amused himself between shows not with his brothers, who traveled separately to the next city, but with another kind of choreography. He staged things to tape. On camera, he didn't feel "lost to the world," as he worried Broadway actors must feel after the curtain falls. With theater, "you don't capture that moment," he explains in an August 1982 interview. With film, you can; and its "shown all over the world and it's there forever. Spencer Tracy will always be young in Captains Courageous and I can learn and be stimulated by his performance."

In 1984 and 1985, Michael practiced his later public fascination with military imagery through his Victory shenanigans. He studied by watching them again. In each city, he'd don a flashy band major uniform and march with local police officers, all straightfaced, with matching shades shielding their eyes.
At the Detroit police station, he filmed himself surrounded. Officer Allan Booze remembers Michael: "Some people might say he looks like a fag, but I would never say that. He looked frail, almost sickly. But he had a real big hand. I'm a big guy, but when we shook hands, his went all the way around mine."

The Victory tour changed only our perception of Michael, the defunct lead singer for the
now 5-less backing band called The Jacksons. He always loomed over his brothers, years before his height or record sales did. He moved precociously long before he moonwalked. Sliding backwards was just another example of him looking forward. So was his onstage prelude to "Beat It," which started the finale of "Billie Jean" and "Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground)." Michael writhes beneath a mechanical spider with searchlight eyes, then levitates, overcome and lifeless, until he vanishes. He's resurrected in red leather and zippers, just like he still is in the music video.

In Moonwalk, Michael complains that "fans imagine you to be almost an illusion, this thing that doesn't exist." But twelve years before Victory, he knew the lasting power of reproducible images. An almost fourteen-year-old Michael knew somehow that optical sensations can focus our feelings. When touring with his brothers behind his first solo record, "Got To Be There,"
he was already marketing himself. He had an idea his tour manager nixed: "Before I sing that song, let me go offstage and grab that little hat I wore for the picture on the album cover. If the audience sees me wearing that hat, they'll go crazy." Michael's still proving that insight. His iconicity stands not only for him, but also for our connection to him.

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