Man in the Music

by Joseph Vogel

  Much more was at stake than an album. Jackson and Sony co-owned the ATV catalog after a merger orchestrated in 1995. In that deal, Jackson earned $110 million and expanded the catalog’s holdings (his own catalog, Mijac Music, was not included in the deal). Given the toxic situation with Mottola, the artist wanted to split with Sony but retain his master recordings and his half of the ATV catalog. After reviewing contracts with his attorneys, he was confident that all he owed Sony was one more album (which he determined could simply be a greatest-hits collection). Then he was free. But Mottola pushed back, insisting that there were clauses in his contract that prevented him from leaving and refused to grant him his terms. Some believed Mottola was trying to squeeze Jackson, knowing the artist was deeply in debt. It was not merely an act of personal retribution; it was an attempt to secure half of Jackson’s royalties, as well as his share in the ATV catalog.

  In the summer of 2002, an exasperated Jackson decided to go public with his case. He attended fan rallies in London and New York protesting against Sony. He called Tommy Mottola a “devil” and a “racist.” Mottola, incidentally, was ousted at Sony the following year as the corporation tired of his controversial tactics, bad press, and Sony Music’s commercial decline. But there was little sympathy for Jackson’s cause. He was painted by the press as a washed-up artist who simply couldn’t come to terms with the fact that his latest album was a failure.

  The reality was more complicated. Invincible was certainly never going to repeat the success of Thriller. But Jackson’s dispute with Mottola cut deeper than mere commercial disappointment. Since his days at Motown, he had worked tirelessly at his craft and put his heart and soul into his career. In the process, he had made billions of dollars for record companies. With Invincible, he felt he had been abandoned and betrayed.

  The issue of race further exacerbated the situation. Michael Jackson was well aware of the history of black artists in the music industry. From Chuck Berry to Little Richard, Bo Diddley to Jackie Wilson, Jackson saw revolutionary African American artists not only slighted in proportion to their accomplishments, but also exploited by white-owned record companies. This is one reason Jackson—like Prince—was so adamant about owning his master recordings.

  Michael Jackson felt so strongly that his case was part of a larger issue of institutional racism and exploitation that he joined the Reverend Al Sharpton’s National Action Network, a nonprofit civil rights organization founded in 1991, that summer. “Record companies have to start treating their artists with respect, honor, and financial justice,” the artist asserted. In a speech in Harlem in June 2002, the artist further elaborated:

  It’s very sad to see that these artists really are penniless, because they created so much joy for the world. And the system, beginning with the record companies, totally took advantage of them….And I just need you to know that this is very important, what we’re fighting for because I’m tired—I’m really, really tired of the manipulation….I’m here to speak for all injustice. You gotta remember something, the minute I started breaking the all-time record in record sales—I broke Elvis’s records, I broke the Beatles’ records—the minute it became the all-time bestselling album in the history of the Guinness Book of World Records, overnight they called me a freak….They called me a child molester. They said I bleached my skin. They made [up] everything to turn the public against me.

  Jackson’s comments were largely dismissed at the time as the grievances of a bitter and desperate artist. And he was, in fact, responsible for a number of self-inflicted wounds. He was steeped in debt after years of excessive spending and careless management of his business affairs. His focus had become erratic due, in large part, to his ongoing dependence on prescription drugs. And his expectations—both artistic and commercial—were often impossible for anyone to meet.

  But regardless of how or why Invincible fell short of expectations, there was truth to the broader point he was making. He had risen out of Gary, Indiana, to become the most successful recording artist in history; he had purchased the Beatles’ catalog with his own shrewd business acumen; and he had made record companies, including Sony, a lot of money over a lot of years. All he wanted, he insisted, was what he had earned.

  A POST–HIP-HOP UPDATE OF OFF THE WALL

  Given this complicated context, the music on Invincible remained largely unknown outside Jackson’s die-hard fan base until the artist’s death, when many people returned to it and were blown away by how strong much of the album was.

  A handful of critics recognized this before the feud with Tommy Mottola erupted. “The fact that [Michael Jackson] is a great musician is now often forgotten,” observed veteran music critic Robert Christgau in his 2001 review. “I use the present tense because a) his skills seem undiminished and b) as only Frank Kogan has listened dispassionately enough to remark, he’s doing new stuff with them—his funk is steelier and his ballads are airier, both to disquieting effect.” All Music Guide’s Stephen Thomas Erlewine described it as a “sparkly, post-hip-hop update of Off the Wall.”

  The album had an arc similar to Dangerous, beginning with a string of rhythm tracks, transitioning into some mid-tempo cuts, peaking with transcendent ballads, and then coming full circle on the final songs. Yet, for many listeners, the tracks didn’t all feel as if they were made of the same cloth, as those on Dangerous did. It didn’t have the same natural flow.

  A common critique had to do with length. As great as the material was, the album still felt like it could have been trimmed by about three songs. Another critique had to do with sequencing and coherence. All of Jackson’s main collaborators—Rodney Jerkins, Teddy Riley, Dr. Freeze, Brad Buxer, R. Kelly, Floetry, and Babyface—were talented; but together, the work sometimes seemed to lack a framework. Jackson himself later acknowledged that he might have overworked and overthought the album.

  A connected issue was that—in contrast to Bad, Dangerous, and HIStory, which were almost entirely written by Jackson—the artist contributed only two full compositions on Invincible. The rest he helped develop, but they came from others—several songs have more than five songwriters. Why Jackson decided to outsource so much of the album is unknown, but it does have an impact on the content.

  Still, in spite of its flaws, Invincible, by most standards, is a very good album. It has now sold more than ten million copies. For fans, the sixteen-track collection is a treasure trove of underrated material that represents Jackson’s last fully realized work. Under different conditions, songs like “Break of Dawn,” “Butterflies,” and “Whatever Happens” all could have been hits. Now, years removed from the controversy and baggage that accompanied the album’s release, listeners can simply enjoy these songs for what they are, from the electronic stomp of “Unbreakable” to the Gothic crunch of “Threatened.”

  THE SONGS

  1. “UNBREAKABLE”

  Written by Michael Jackson, Rodney Jerkins, Fred Jerkins III, LaShawn Daniels, Nora Payne, and Robert Smith

  Produced by Michael Jackson and Rodney Jerkins

  “Unbreakable” unveils the sound of the new-millennium Michael Jackson. As with previous techno-industrial sonic forays (“Dangerous,” “Scream”), the track begins with a prelude of electronic noise, almost as if the music is discovering how to create itself. The artist allows the tension to build with what sounds like an engine idling, an animal growl, and an approaching stomp, before the song explodes into the opening hook.

  A late addition to Invincible, Jackson loved “Unbreakable,” and pushed hard for it to be the album’s lead single, but Sony ultimately opted for “You Rock My World.” It was a strong opening statement, sonically and lyrically. “ ‘Unbreakable’ is so striking,” wrote the Los Angeles Times in its 2001 review, “that savvy stereo retailers could use it to demonstrate the wonders of their latest sound systems.” Indeed, the song’s keyboard hook—steely and relentless—stomps throu
gh the speakers as Jackson bites into the lyrics. “When you bury me underneath all your pain,” he sings in one line, “I’m steady laughin’, while surfacing.”

  The song is about strength and resilience. As he explained in a 2001 interview: “I’ve been through hell and back. I have to be honest, and still I’m able to do what I do and nothing can stop me. No one can stop me, no matter what. I stop when I’m ready to stop. You know, and uh, I’m just saying [in ‘Unbreakable’], you know, I will continue to move forward no matter what.” Not only do the lyrics convey that; so does the grind of the beat. Even in the chorus, where Jackson often offered lighter contrast, his vocals are gravelly and clipped. He does provide a moment of softness, going into falsetto in the pre-chorus bridge, but the song was clearly intended to convey a sense of struggle and endurance.

  With the song mostly complete in the spring of 2001, a gap remained for the rap solo that Jackson wanted. It was ultimately filled with a never-before-released performance from the late Notorious B.I.G. “It was my idea to put a rap part on the song,” recalled Jackson, “and [Rodney Jerkins] said, I know just the perfect one—Biggie Smalls. He put it in and it worked perfectly. It was a rap that was never heard before.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. The deceased rapper’s solo had originally been featured on “You Can’t Stop the Reign” by basketball star Shaquille O’Neal (both of whom, incidentally, had been featured on HIStory). Jackson also included R&B singer Brandy on background vocals. According to Jerkins, Jackson wanted beats that “hurt”—beats that hit with force. That’s what can be heard on tracks like “Unbreakable.” “When you play his new CD, compared to somebody else’s CD,” Jerkins said, “you may have to turn it down ’cause it’s banging so hard. That’s what [we] went for….Michael is such an inventor of sound….He wanted some new stuff that the ears haven’t heard yet.”

  2. “HEARTBREAKER”

  Written by Michael Jackson, Rodney Jerkins, Fred Jerkins III, LaShawn Daniels, Mischke, and Norman Gregg

  Produced by Michael Jackson and Rodney Jerkins

  That innovation continued on “Heartbreaker,” a showcase for Jackson’s percussive prowess as well as his love of interesting new sounds. With its ricocheting beats and stuttering glitch effects, it is a digital-era update of his rhythm tracks from Off the Wall.

  Critics took note. The New York Times described it as a “multi-tracked marvel” filled with “electronic noises that ratchet and sputter like a truckload of joy buzzers on a rough road.” Frank Cogan at The Village Voice found “extraordinary beauty” in it. “He and Rodney Jerkins…pull in fuzzes and buzzes and whirs—the edginess of techno—truncated clangs, little frog-croaking bass notes….I don’t know if it’s a beauty I’ll ever care about. The beauty in previous Michael Jackson albums found me. But sometimes this took a while.”

  The song is a good representation of the fresh, unique sounds that Jackson kept challenging Rodney Jerkins to go “out in the field” and create. “A lot of sounds on the album aren’t sounds from keyboards,” Jackson explained. “We go out and make our own sounds. We hit on things, we beat on things, so nobody can duplicate what we do. We make them with our own hands, we find things and we create things. And that’s the most important thing, to be a pioneer. To be an innovator.”

  The percussion also utilizes Jackson’s grunts, gasps, and intricate beatboxing. It can feel busy and claustrophobic, but the layers of syncopated rhythm reward close listens. There are also some creative effects—as when the beat drops out and mimics a kiss traveling through air during the phrase “she blew a kiss.”

  Jackson stretches out his voice a bit in the chorus (“That girl, can’t taaaake her”), before returning to whispered, staccato-style verses. In the bridge, he builds a staircase of harmonies that deftly set up the rap solo, performed by Jerkins protégé Fats.

  Lyrically, it is a song about seduction. But the music is the star here, not the story—particularly as the track begins to break down in the final minute and a half. Strings snap, vocals glitch, sounds fade in and out. It’s as if the music is dying and regenerating—becoming something new. Jackson beatboxes and ad-libs. It’s raw, organic funk against a collage of techno-beats and synth effects. The artist, apparently, had heard songs like *NSYNC’s “Pop” and decided to show the kids how it’s done.

  3. “INVINCIBLE”

  Written by Michael Jackson, Rodney Jerkins, Fred Jerkins III, LaShawn Daniels, and Norman Gregg

  Produced by Michael Jackson and Rodney Jerkins

  “Invincible” completes the opening trio of Jerkins collaborations. A steel gate opens the track before giving way to a crackling metallic beat. The sound exudes a kind of rugged hip-hop minimalism. Fats makes another appearance here on the rap solo, dovetailing nicely into the texture and flow of the song as Jackson punctuates his flow with a raspy lamentation (“Why ain’t you feelin’ me”).

  The title track isn’t about the artist’s invincibility, but rather about a failed relationship and a woman who will no longer return his affection. “His singing is sassy, defiant, and forceful,” noted music critic Robert Hilburn.

  Yet there is also a sense of sadness and resignation—perhaps, in part, due to the cold clank of the beat and the lack of harmony or dynamic melody. In contrast to most Jackson songs, the chorus provides little release—the heavy rhythm and staccato lines persist throughout the song. Even the word invincible is chopped into three pieces.

  Jackson may have been aiming for something experimental and new here, but the effect, particularly at this position in the album, can be grating on the ear. While the opening suite of Jerkins tracks are each impressive in their own right, as a whole they lack the sonic personality of previous Jackson albums.

  4. “BREAK OF DAWN”

  Written by Elliot Straite (Dr. Freeze) and Michael Jackson

  Produced by Michael Jackson and Elliot Straite (Dr. Freeze)

  The color finally arrives in track 4. Michael Jackson described “Break of Dawn” as “a beautiful, strolling in the park kind of song. There’s a good summer feel about it.”

  “Rarely since Thriller has the performer exuded so much warmth,” observed music critic Sal Cinquemani. “The subtle harmonies and simple arrangements…not only recall the time period but wisely update it.”

  Jackson first worked on the song with Dr. Freeze in 1998. Of the handful of tracks they began recording that year, “Break of Dawn” was the artist’s favorite. “[That] song was his baby,” said Dr. Freeze. Jackson was drawn to the song’s transporting quality, as well as its sensuality. Dr. Freeze boasted that “it was the first time he talks about making love in a song.” That wasn’t entirely true—songs like “Rock with You,” “Lady in My Life,” and “In the Closet” go there—but it was rare for Jackson to sing about sexual intimacy so openly.

  The song is a celebration of the senses. “Hold my hand, feel the touch,” he sings, “Of your body cling to mine.” Jackson’s vocal is passionate and intense, enunciating each word to make it register to maximum effect. As the song unfolds, the artist draws the listener into a vivid fantasy. “Let me groove you,” he sings, “Let me soothe you”—here dropping into a lower register, sinking fully into the song’s sensuality.

  While Dr. Freeze was essentially finished with the song by late 1998, Jackson further embellished it with both Rodney Jerkins and Teddy Riley. With its exotic ambience and dramatic storytelling, the song offers an intoxicating escape.

  5. “HEAVEN CAN WAIT”

  Written by Michael Jackson, Teddy Riley, Andreao Heard, Nate Smith, Teron Beal, E. Laues, and K. Quiller

  Produced by Michael Jackson and Teddy Riley; Coproduced by Andreao Heard and Nate Smith

  “Heaven Can Wait” is every bit as lush and smooth as “Break of Dawn” but explores a different emotion. It has more of a nighttime feel; there’s more
of a sense that something beautiful might end. Jackson’s vocal, accordingly, contains a hint of melancholy and longing. Music critic Mark Anthony Neal described it as “one of Jackson’s best vocal performances since Thriller’s ‘Lady in My Life.’ ” “Heaven Can Wait” had the potential to be a big R&B hit had it been released as a single. According to Teddy Riley, the artist expected it to be the album’s second or third release.

  Riley originally wrote the song for his own group, Blackstreet. When Jackson heard the demo, however, he fell in love with it and begged Riley to let him record it. “When I did that song with him,” Riley recalled, “he held his heart and he said, ‘Teddy, is this mine?’ I said, ‘It’s yours if you want it, Michael.’ He’s like: ‘I want it, let’s go get it!’ He was so excited….He said, ‘I want that song. I need that song in my life.’ ”

  Riley and Jackson started work on the track right away, laying down the lead vocal and harmonies. Meanwhile, orchestrator Jeremy Lubbock was called in to arrange and conduct the elegant, wistful string part. Within three days, most of the song was in place.

  The result was a gorgeous mid-tempo piece that wastes no time unveiling its rich harmonies. It contains echoes of the Bee Gees and Boyz II Men, but with a dash of Jackson’s unparalleled rhythmic acumen. In the verses, the artist scales on top of a stuttering beat, as background vocals—sung by Jackson and Dr. Freeze—accent and shade his pleading.

  The song is about eluding death. The narrator has finally found love and joy, but now fears it will be taken from him. “Tell the angels no,” he sings, “I don’t want to leave my baby alone.” This paranoia and dread are, of course, Jackson trademarks. But here, it is not just about him: “Just leave us alone,” he begs at the end. “Please leave us alone.” The singer doesn’t fear death itself as much as he fears separation. He can’t bear the thought of being taken—or having someone he loves taken from him. The song is a supplication to the heavens for more time to love and be loved.