Man in the Music

by Joseph Vogel

  Written by R. Kelly

  Produced by Michael Jackson and R. Kelly

  Released as the second single from HIStory, “You Are Not Alone” was the first song in the thirty-seven-year history of the Billboard Hot 100 chart to debut at #1. The majestic ballad also reached #1 in twelve other countries, including the UK, France, Poland, New Zealand, and Japan. While it has long been a beloved staple in Jackson’s catalog, some feel it is now tainted due to its association with R. Kelly, though there is some dispute about whether Kelly even wrote the song himself. In 2007, a Belgian court ruled that Kelly plagiarized the song “If We Can Start All Over” by Eddy and Danny Van Passel. While Kelly adamantly denied being aware of the song, the chorus melodies are indeed identical, and Van Passel’s demo, which was written in 1993, was circulating in the American music industry.

  “You Are Not Alone” was one of a pair of demos R. Kelly sent Jackson to consider in 1994. Jackson loved both (the second, called “All My Life,” subsequently became a #1 hit for R&B duo K-Ci & Jojo). The songs were not only written in keys that worked well for Jackson’s voice, but Kelly also sang the lead vocals in a style similar to the artist, hoping to give him a sense of how they might sound. Jackson immediately saw the potential in “You Are Not Alone.” The lyrics, about isolation and longing, resonated with the pop star, and he couldn’t get the five-note melody out of his head.

  Jackson turned to longtime collaborator Steve Porcaro to help with the lush production and to give the song more momentum. The artist wanted the song to have more of an arc and decided to modulate to a higher key and add a choir in the latter part of the song to achieve that. Listen to the shift at the 4:16 mark—that lift was Jackson’s contribution, as was the Andraé Crouch Choir’s humming and the final ad-libs, including that incredible twelve-second note hold. Jackson thought he should get cowriting credit for his contributions, but when R. Kelly pushed back, he demurred. Jackson flew out to R. Kelly’s studio in Chicago to work on the song before finishing it at Record One in Los Angeles.

  “You Are Not Alone” is a love song—yet it has a gospel element that carries echoes of “Will You Be There.” As in that song, the narrator is lonely and lost. He feels abandoned in “a world so cold.” The chorus, however, offers catharsis. While he is the one who sings “You are not alone,” the reassurance actually comes from another source (God? His lost lover?) that comes in his hour of need and comforts him. “Though we’re far apart,” the voice tells him, “You’re always in my heart.” In this way, the song functions as a kind of answered prayer. Jackson calls out for supplication and finds relief, at least for a moment. The sublime ballad was widely praised by critics. The music video (directed by Wayne Isham) was inspired by the 1933 painting Daybreak by Maxfield Parrish (Jackson’s idea) and featured the artist and his then-wife, Lisa Marie Presley, in the (semi) nude. “You Are Not Alone” ended up being Jackson’s final #1 hit.

  10. “CHILDHOOD”

  Written by Michael Jackson

  Produced by Michael Jackson and David Foster

  “If you really want to know about me,” Michael Jackson said in a 2004 interview, “there’s a song I wrote, which is the most honest song I’ve ever written….It’s called ‘Childhood.’ [People] should listen to it. That’s the one they should really listen to.”

  While there are many layers to the enigma that is Michael Jackson, the trauma of his “lost” childhood is where it all begins. In a way, the rest of his life was an endless attempt at recovering from that trauma. There were, of course, consequences to this quest, as his critics were quick to point out. His obsession with Peter Pan, his creation of Neverland, his childlike behavior (and, at times, naïveté and recklessness) have all elicited libraries’ worth of scrutiny and commentary. Perhaps no figure in American history has been pathologized more than Michael Jackson.

  But regardless of how he attempted to compensate, the pain was real. He was a child star, which meant the public’s entertainment and enjoyment came at a cost. That cost included loneliness, abuse, exploitation, and always the expectation that he must perform to be loved. It meant working in studios all day when other kids rode bikes and played on playgrounds. He dealt with red-eye flights, hotels, and groupies and, since the age of ten, was unable to go out in public without being mobbed. He was so ashamed of the way his appearance changed as he grew, including a bout with acne and a bigger nose, that he would hide in a closet and cry. And his father made him so terrified that he would want to vomit, even as an adult.

  This is the very real place from which “Childhood” sprang. “Our personal history begins in childhood,” he explained, “and the song ‘Childhood’ is a reflection of my life….It’s about the pain, some of the joys, some of the dreaming, some of the mental adventures that I took because of the different life I had, in being a child performer. I was born onstage and ‘Childhood,’ it’s my mirror—it’s my story.”

  Given the importance of this story to him, Jackson approached the song differently. Unlike many of his songs, he wrote, revised, and polished the lyrics completely before recording. He dictated to Brad Buxer exactly how he wanted the melody, chords, and strings to sound. Then, when he felt ready, he sang it live in the Hit Factory, accompanied by the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. His remarkable a cappella performance is captured in preserved video footage. In a small vocal booth, headphones on to hear the orchestra, he pours his heart and soul into the song.

  The tone of “Childhood” is both whimsical and sad. It opens with a question (“Have you seen my childhood?”). That question recurs throughout the song and works in different ways. On a literal level, it is asking the listener to consider the challenges of his early life. Yet it is also presented as an irrecoverable abstraction: his “ideal” childhood doesn’t exist, no matter how much he tries to find it. “I’m searching for the world that I come from,” he sings.

  In a way, the song operates as a confession. It is his Oprah interview condensed into poetry and music. Because of the unusual life he has led, he explained, people say “He’s not okay”; they view him as eccentric and weird. But because he was forced to be an adult as a child, he reasons, he has tried to “compensate” by re-creating some of the joy, wonder, and magic of childhood as an adult. You can hear that wonder in his vocal as he escapes into a world of “adventurous dreams.” But before long it fades. He wakes up in the adult world and the ache returns.

  In this way, it is both an ode and an elegy to innocence. Yet it is also simply a plea for compassion. “Before you judge me,” he begs, “Try hard to love me…The painful youth I’ve had…” The pathos in these final lines, as his voice breaks, is palpable.

  Perhaps because his vocals were so vulnerable—or because it was a string-laden, Broadway-esque ballad—rock critics ridiculed it. They described it as “maudlin” and “self-pitying.” Rolling Stone dismissed it as “a blend of rampaging ego and static orchestral pop” that was a “Streisand-size mistake.”

  For Jackson, however, it was his most honest and personal song.

  11. “TABLOID JUNKIE”

  Written by Michael Jackson, Jimmy Jam, and Terry Lewis

  Produced by Michael Jackson, Jimmy Jam, and Terry Lewis

  “Tabloid Junkie” is a sequel of sorts to songs like “Leave Me Alone” and “Why You Wanna Trip on Me”—only this time the critique of the media is much more personal, specific, and sharp. “We were gonna call it ‘Tabloid Jungle,’ ” said Jimmy Jam in 1995, “because we felt like the tabloids were the hunters and Michael the prey. He’s the biggest prize in the jungle, and the media’s on this mission to capture him.”

  Critics maligned the track, citing it as an example of Jackson’s persecution complex. But Jimmy Jam wasn’t wrong about the media fixation with the superstar. Stories about Jackson—no matter how outlandish—made for good copy. And over the previous decade, the media
’s appetite and tactics had only intensified. Jackson ultimately decided to change “jungle” to “junkie” to accentuate the media’s—and society’s—drug-like addiction to spectacle and sensationalism.

  The song begins with the voice of a newscaster mindlessly repeating tabloid fodder as news. Other voices follow and begin colliding with each other until it is a chaotic blend of white noise. Meanwhile, people frantically type on keyboards in the background, illustrating how quickly stories (whether true or false, important or unimportant) are produced, consumed, repeated, and spread. In this case, many of the stories involve the “strange and weird” Michael Jackson, who, for both reporters and audience, is no longer a human being but a consumable object.

  The breathless reporting builds until it turns into an all-out feeding frenzy—the sounds of wild animals mix with the voices of “journalists”; the beat swings and slams with abandon, as the rapid-fire percussion mimics a big game hunter maniacally shooting down prey. Jackson’s vocals, meanwhile, come in with a raspy rap: “Speculate to break the one you hate / Circulate the lie you confiscate / Assassinate and mutilate / As the hounding media in hysteria.”

  It’s noteworthy that Jackson uses the sound and style of hip-hop to deliver his counterprogramming (remember Chuck D’s famous line about rap being “CNN for black people”?). The verses here, like those in “Why You Wanna Trip on Me,” are rapped in short, biting rhymes, before he stretches out in the pre-chorus. “And you don’t have to read it,” he sings. “And you don’t have to eat it / To buy it is to feed it / So why do we keep foolin’ ourselves?”

  The chorus, meanwhile, offers a mantra of resistance: “Just because you read it in a magazine / See it on the TV screen / Don’t make it factual, actual.” The harmonies have a lush, airy quality that feels better to the ear than the noise in the verses. The implication seems to be that weaning yourself off the drug of tabloid journalism will have a similar effect. Note how the dense, aggressive bottom is overlaid with an airy, melodic top, providing that relief from losing the addiction.

  Between the verses, newscasters continue to recite outlandish stories. Jackson also inhabits their position, repeating the sensational claims (including that the artist is “homosexual”), before switching back to his own voice and pleading with his audience not to believe them. “It’s slander,” he proclaims. “You say it’s not a sword / But with your pen you torture men / You’d crucify the Lord.”

  He later refers to such malicious journalists as “parasites” and “false witnesses,” while alluding to the media frenzy surrounding JFK and Marilyn Monroe—even in death. Jackson’s message wasn’t anti-media, but a rebuttal against careless, speculative infotainment media in an era dominated by celebrity scandals and reality TV.

  12. “2 BAD”

  Written by Michael Jackson, Dallas Austin, Bruce Swedien, and René Moore

  Produced by Michael Jackson, Bruce Swedien, and René Moore

  Michael Jackson had nearly collaborated with Run-DMC back in 1986. Nine years later, he finally found a way to feature them in his work. The clip used here is not just any random sample—it’s a demo of “King of Rock,” in which the group makes its brash declaration of preeminence as “the baddest of the bad”—and volleys against the (white) rock establishment and its gatekeeping role in the music industry.

  Jackson’s use of “King of Rock,” then, is not only a nod of respect to fellow African American musical pioneers; it is also his own declaration to the industry that he himself remains “the baddest of the bad,” that “there is none higher.”

  Jackson worked on the song with a number of people, including Dallas Austin, Jimmy Jam, Bruce Swedien, and René Moore. As with “Jam,” Swedien and Moore introduced an initial groove to Jackson and the artist went to work on it, beatboxing incredible rhythm parts around it (some of which were retained in the final mix) and elaborating on the main riff, which was a hip-hop–inflected adaptation of Sly and the Family Stone’s 1969 song “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin).” The hi-hat part was performed by Jimmy Jam and, according to assistant engineer Rob Hoffman, “used as a trigger on a gated robot sound from the Roland S-760.” Jackson came up with many of the synth effects and horn parts. “If you listen to the bridge,” said Rob Hoffman, “the entire horn thing was Michael’s idea. He had Jerry Hey come in, and sang him all the parts.”

  Meanwhile, the artist invited basketball superstar Shaquille O’Neal—who was then moonlighting as a rapper—to perform on the track. Why did the artist select the Orlando Magic center over a more established rapper? According to collaborators, the two had struck up a friendship over the previous year, visiting each other’s houses and getting to know each other’s families. While critics mostly dismissed Shaq’s 1993 album, Shaq Diesel, it did go platinum. Moreover, Jackson was a fan of basketball, as indicated by previous collaborations with Magic Johnson (in the video for “Remember the Time”) and Michael Jordan (in the video for “Jam”). For his part, Shaq was thrilled. He’d grown up idolizing Jackson and couldn’t believe he now had the opportunity to be featured on one of his records. As it turned out, he delivered some pretty solid rhymes (which were recorded in Orlando and sent back for Jackson’s approval).

  While “2 Bad” was buried on the back half of the album and was never released as a single, it is one of the more innovative and interesting tracks on HIStory. It contains elements of funk, rock, hip-hop, and even some gospel. Jackson’s lyrics, meanwhile, combine defiance and bravado. “Look who’s standing if you please,” he sings. “Though you tried to bring me to my knees.” The lyrics call out the various forces he believes have attacked him—because of his race and his success, among other reasons—but also assert that he’s not about to back down.

  13. “HISTORY”

  Written by Michael Jackson, Jimmy Jam, and Terry Lewis

  Produced by Michael Jackson

  Michael Jackson had trouble figuring out the title track. He wanted something big and grand, but also something rooted in the grind and sweat of struggle. Eventually, he enlisted Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis to help out. To complete the song, he ended up calling on numerous others. Depending on your point of view, the song represents Jackson at his most excessive or his most ambitious.

  Production was a massive undertaking, requiring more than 192 tracks, sprawled over four different forty-eight-track digital audiotapes. In addition to the artist’s vocal and the instrumental parts, typical for a Michael Jackson song, this included a full orchestra, classical music samples, dozens of spoken lines, and historical audio clips (including quotes from Thomas Edison, Walt Disney, and Malcolm X), a performance by the Andraé Crouch Choir, a child solo, and even background vocals by R&B trio Boyz II Men.

  Like “Will You Be There” and “Earth Song,” Jackson envisioned “HIStory” as a three-part suite: in this case, a classical introduction, the song, and then a collage of historical events and quotes at the end.

  It begins with a sample from the tenth movement (“The Great Gate of Kiev”) of Russian composer Modest Mussorgsky’s masterpiece Pictures at an Exhibition. From a biographical standpoint, the choice seems to symbolize Jackson’s triumph over his trials and adversaries. It is the musical counterpart to the album cover, in which Jackson is shown as powerful, strong, and immortalized in the form of a statue (as he puts it in the song: “He dares to be recognized / The fire’s deep in his eyes”).

  After twenty seconds, that triumphant music suddenly stops. Historical dates (without corresponding events) are read as a bell tolls and a marching drum is played. We hear the scratching sound of vinyl being pulled off a record player. Then a distorted version of “America, the Beautiful” plays as we hear a quote from Michael Jackson himself (as a young boy): “Whatever I sing, that’s what I really mean. Like, I’m singing a song, I don’t sing it if I don’t mean it.”

  When the beat finally kick
s in, it sounds nothing like Jackson’s other anthems. The verses in “HIStory” are not hummable melodies, but short, clipped rhymes that recall the rhythm and structure of African American work songs from the era of slavery. “Don’t’ let no one get you down,” Jackson implores. “Keep movin’ on higher ground.” In such lyrics Jackson is not simply motivating himself, but playing the role of preacher (recalling “Keep the Faith”). He’s connecting his struggle and journey, that is, to the larger community—and within the broader sweep of human history.

  The verses feel like an uphill climb, a slow but steady push, with Jackson crying out words of hope and encouragement as they ascend to a summit. When the chorus arrives, we have come to the top of a mountain. There is suddenly a sense of perspective and accomplishment as we look around at the panoramic view. The melody gives us a gust of rejuvenating air.

  While the lyrics here get a bit contrived (“Every soldier dies in his glory / Every hero dreams of chivalry”), the juxtaposition of the verses and the chorus is effective, and leads to a characteristically sublime Michael Jackson lift after the bridge.

  In the bridge Jackson combines the exultant strains of a military parade, with recorded lines from Martin Luther King Jr.’s iconic “I Have a Dream” speech at the 1963 March on Washington. That speech unleashes the celebratory outro. Boyz II Men comes in with the harmonies, Greg Phillinganes plays a Fats Waller–esque piano, the choir swells, and Jackson ad-libs rhapsodically over the top.

  The song concludes with Jackson and a young girl (Leah Frazier) harmonizing, much as in “Heal the World.” Then a string of historical events are read (mostly by the engineers who worked on the album). Recording engineer Matt Forger put this elaborate section together. The track concludes with a final sequence of quotes, including JFK’s famous speech (“Some men see things as they are…”), the awe-inspiring moments of the first moonwalk, and Thomas Edison’s introduction of sound recording (“I am the Edison phonograph, created by the great wizard of the New World to delight those who would have melody or be amused”). That’s a lot to pack into six minutes and thirty-eight seconds.