Michael Jackson

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  In truth, the relationship between Michael and Quincy rapidly deteriorated during the recording of Thriller, especially when Quincy would not give Michael a co-producing credit on ‘Billie Jean’ and ‘Beat It’. The demonstration tapes Michael had recorded of both songs – before Quincy worked on them – sounded almost exactly like the final product. Michael felt it was only fair that he be given co-producing credit, and additional royalties as well. Quincy disagreed, much to Michael's chagrin.

  Closer inspection of Thriller as a whole revealed an ambitiously crafted work that moved in a number of directions. The suburban, middle-of-the-road calm of ‘The Girl is Mine’ was the antithesis of the rambunctious ‘Beat It’, another highly charged Jackson composition in which Michael augmented his crossover rhythm-and-blues style by employing a harder-edged rock-and-roll sound. Some reviewers felt ‘Beat It’ was a shameless quest to attract hard-rock fans; the track featured Eddie Van Halen, whose band Van Halen was a preeminent rock group, on searing guitar bridges. While the tune was more of a marketing concoction – in the past, Michael had never shown any particular fondness for straight-out rock and roll – ‘Beat It’ would still find acceptance among rock fans.

  On the other hand, if the funky ‘Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'’ sounds like a distant relative of Off the Wall's songs ‘Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough’ and ‘Working Day and Night’, the similarity occurred because Michael wrote them all during the same period. In ‘Startin' Somethin'’, Michael pointedly revealed his feelings on gossips and unwanted babies, and all to a bulleting bass and shuffling percussion. The tune's centrepiece, a climaxing Swahili-like chant, gave the song an international flavour. It was difficult to listen to Michael as he spat out angry lyrics about hate and feeling like a vegetable and not wonder about his state of mind at the time.

  There were other stand-outs: the moody and introspective ‘Human Nature’, written by Steve Porcarro and John Bettis, was an expansive pop ballad whose sheer musicality kept it from being mushy. The funky ‘PYT’ (standing for ‘Pretty Young Thing’), credited to James Ingram and Quincy Jones, and the sultry ballad ‘Lady in My Life’, by Rod Temperton, were both efforts to beef up Thriller's R&B direction. ‘Lady in My Life’ was, by the same token, as close as Michael had come to crooning a sexy, soulful ballad since his Motown years. Perhaps that was why it required so many takes before the lead vocal was to Quincy Jones's liking.

  The title track, ‘Thriller’, was its own animal. The song said much about Michael's fascination with the supernatural and the lurid. ‘Thriller’ is a typical Rod Temperton song – melodic, with a fluid bass line and big, mind-imprinting hook. The lyrics had excitement and intrigue, and the song concluded with a stately rap by the master of the macabre, Vincent Price. ‘Thriller’ would have been even more compelling as the title track of a concept album, but Thriller, the album, had no actual focus. It was just a bunch of great songs. Even the album's cover art, a photograph of a casually posed Michael uncharacteristically dressed in white jacket and pants, seemed incongruous. However, it's the picture many people refer to when discussing his plastic surgery, saying, ‘If he had just stopped there, he would have been fine!’

  With Thriller, Michael and Quincy had successfully engineered glossy, authentic versions of pop, soul and funk that appealed to just about everyone. However, no one in the music business expected the public to take that appeal so literally. At some point, Thriller stopped selling like a leisure item – like a magazine, a toy, tickets to a hit movie – and started selling like a household staple. At its sales peak, CBS would report that the album was selling an astounding 500,000 copies a week.

  To the press, Quincy acted as if he knew Thriller was going to be huge. ‘I knew from the first time I heard it in the studio, because the hair stood straight up on my arms,’ he said. ‘That's a sure sign, and it's never once been wrong. All the brilliance that had been building inside Michael for twenty-four years just erupted. I was electrified, and so was everyone else involved in the project. That energy was contagious, and we had it cranked so high one night that the speakers in the studio actually overloaded and burst into flames. First time I ever saw anything like that in forty years in the business.’ What in the world was he talking about, speakers bursting into flames? Quincy is nothing if not a good showman. In truth, of course, he had predicted two million in sales, a moderate hit, for Michael, and much to Michael's dismay.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Michael crowed to John Branca when it was clear that Thriller had taken off in an astronomical way. ‘I knew it. I just knew it.’ John could only smile.

  By the end of 1983, Thriller would sell a staggering thirteen million copies in the United States and nearly twenty-two million worldwide. At the time, the all-time best-selling album was the original soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever, with worldwide sales of twenty-five million since its 1977 release. It wouldn't be long before Michael toppled that record; he had already achieved one milestone: until now, no other solo album had sold more than twelve million copies.

  In addition to his personal achievements, Michael had single-handedly revived a moribund recording industry. When people flocked to the record stores to buy Thriller, they purchased other records too. As a result, the business had its best year since 1978. As Gil Friesen, then-president of A&M Records said at the time, ‘The whole industry has a stake in Thriller's success.’ Michael's success also generated new interest in black music in general.

  Ultimately, Thriller would go on to sell more than fifty million copies wordwide; it would spend thirty-seven weeks at number one on the Billboard charts, which was amazing. In the UK, it also hit number one and stayed on the charts there for an incredible 168 weeks! (The release of Thriller marked the first time an album was number one in the USA and the UK at the same time.) Also, prior to Thriller, no other album had ever spawned seven Top Ten singles: ‘Billie Jean’, ‘Beat It’, ‘The Girl is Mine’, ‘Human Nature’, ‘Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'’, ‘PYT’ and ‘Thriller’. All of the songs sold hugely, right around the world.

  CBS made at least sixty million dollars just on Thriller. Michael fared well too. According to, John Branca, Michael had ‘the highest royalty rate in the record business’. That rate escalated along with the sales, but averaged 42 per cent in the wholesale price of each record sold, or about $2.10 for every album sold in the United States – thirty-two million dollars on Thriller's domestic sales alone. Roughly fifteen million dollars more was made in foreign sales. Those figures, of course, did not include the royalties for the four songs he penned on the album.

  Michael Jackson was, at twenty-five, a very wealthy young man. He had certainly come a long way from that 0.2 per cent royalty rate Motown once offered him.

  The more Thriller was heard – and it was possibly the most played record of all time, both privately and on the radio – the better it sounded. Michael and Quincy had achieved their goal: to many listeners – whites, blacks, highbrows, heavy metal fans, teeny-boppers, parents – Thriller was the perfect album, every song an exercise in pop music production, every arrangement, every note in perfect place. This achievement made Michael more than a hero; the music industry promoted him to higher ground, almost sainthood. Of course, in entertainment circles these days, even the most untalented artist who sells huge amounts of product becomes a ‘visionary’. However, Michael's phenomenal sales, along with his astounding talent, established a precedent of excellence with Thriller – and one that he would secretly attempt to surpass for the rest of his career.

  Hayvenhurst

  Joseph Jackson is known among his friends and associates as a man given to overextending himself by investing in unsteady business ventures outside of the careers of his children. Of course, some of the investments have been profitable. For instance, a limousine company he owned did manage to turn a profit. More often, though, Joseph would lose his investment and then some. For instance, he once started his own record company, which cost him a small fortune. He had als
o invested a great deal of money in producing and managing singing groups, perhaps to prove that he could do for others what he had done for his sons. However, none of his acts ever amounted to much, if anything. And who in his circle would ever forget ‘Joe-Cola’, his own soft drink – which also failed in the marketplace? One had to give him credit for trying, though. He was never afraid to take a chance, invest in what he thought might be a good idea and take it all the way to fruition. After all, that's how he got The Jackson 5 to Los Angeles, and to Motown, wasn't it?

  By the beginning of 1981, however, Joseph was having financial problems serious enough to warrant his wanting to sell the Encino estate. It's a tribute to him that he never attempted to siphon money from his children's income to solve his own financial problems. ‘I'd say we were among a fortunate few artists who walked away from a childhood in the business with anything substantial – money, real estate, other investments,’ Michael would say. ‘My father set all these up for us. To this day I'm thankful he didn't try to take all our money for himself, the way so many parents of child stars have. Imagine stealing from your own children. My father never did anything like that.’

  Joseph may have been a lot of things, but he wasn't was a thief. He took care of his children's investments, and if they lost money – and all of them did, except for Michael and Janet – it may be because they have inherited Joseph's penchant for bad investments. It wasn't because they didn't receive money that was owed to them.

  Joseph found the perfect buyer for his Encino estate: his own son, Michael.

  One might wonder if Joseph first examined the ramifications of his offer to Michael before he made it. No doubt, once he changed roles from owner to tenant, his relationship with Michael would change as well. Barring unusual circumstances, in most familial situations, the heads of the family provides the lodgings; when the children become adults, they move on to their own homes. Changing roles in a basic way can often contribute to family dysfunction. Joseph had always held fast to the theory that a father should be able to control his children – no matter what their ages, their desires, their expertise. Being so determined to be in charge, it's surprising that Joseph never realized how threatened he would eventually feel by having to live in his son's house – especially when it had once been his own. Of course, Joseph was dealing with Michael, and he knew and understood Michael's gentleness towards Katherine, if not towards him. He knew that Michael wouldn't kick them out of the house. In the end, Michael paid about $500,000 for his equity in the estate. Katherine and Joseph owned the other half. Eventually, Joseph would sell his quarter to Michael, leaving 25 per cent to Katherine. One might also wonder if he had considered that the next time Katherine wanted to evict him, it might be a lot more likely that he would have to leave since she and Michael owned the estate, not him.

  Once he took over part-ownership, Michael decided to completely demolish and rebuilt the house. The address may have remained the same, but the new estate – Michael's estate, which took two years to finish – became palatial in scope. What sweet and poetic justice it was that Michael was able to destroy the house in which he had so many bad memories and, from its ashes, raise a new one, perhaps fresh with possibilities for the future. While on tour in England a few years earlier, he had become enchanted by the Tudor-style mansions he saw in the countryside. When finished, the estate was – and still is, today – indeed, special.

  The brick-laid drive opened to an ornate three-tiered white fountain in front of a Tudor-style home. All of the windows of the house were made of leaded stained glass with bevelled panes. When Michael was in residence, the Rolls-Royce that Tatum O'Neal helped him select sat parked in front of the four-car Tudor-style garage opposite the home. (Michael was still uneasy about driving; he would much rather take an hour-long detour than have to drive on the freeway in Los Angeles. ‘I can't get on them,’ he complained, ‘and I can't get off them, either.’)

  A large ‘Welcome’ sign appeared above the garage doors. In the centre of the garage structure stood an oversized clock with Roman numerals. Upstairs, on the second floor of the garage, a visitor entered a three-room picture gallery with hundreds of photographs of the Jackson family on the walls and even the ceilings.

  Outside, graceful black and white swans could be found languishing in backyard ponds. A pair of peacocks; two llamas; two deer, a giraffe and a ram were also in residence. The animals, kept in stables at night, were allowed to roam freely during the day. Muscles, the eight-foot boa constrictor, was, he told me, ‘trained to eat interviewers’. Once, Katherine was straightening out the living room when she discovered Muscles under one of the couch cushions. She let out a scream that might have been heard all over Encino.

  Next to the garage, Michael constructed a mini-version of Disneyland's Main Street U.S.A., including the candy store. There was a replica of a robotic Abraham Lincoln, which spoke, just as the Lincoln attraction did at Disneyland. Whenever Michael went to Disneyland, his ‘favourite place on earth’, there would be total chaos because of his fame. Therefore, he preferred the Disney employees to lead him through the back doors and tunnels of the attractions. In Encino, he built his own little world of Disney, a precursor to the expansive amusement park he would one day build at Neverland. Other puppet characters were added to the private amusement park. ‘These are just like real people,’ Michael explained to the writer who looked at them askance. ‘Except they don't grab at you or ask you for favours. I feel comfortable with these figures. They are my personal friends.’

  Winding brick paths decorated with exotic flowers and neatly cut shrubs led to secluded corners of the large estate where Michael would often wander alone to meditate. The swimming pool was huge and inviting. Water spouted from four fountainheads carved like bearded Neptunes on a retaining wall. A waterfall spilt in front of two lovebirds, the ceramic fashioned in elaborate, colourful tile work. Cool-looking water cascaded down into the main pool, and then flowed into a bubbling Jacuzzi.

  On the ground floor of the main house was a thirty-two-seat theatre with plush red velvet seats and equipped with 16-millimetre and 35-millimetre projectors. The walls and the curtain in front of the screen were teal blue. Michael spent countless hours in the theatre; there were always Fred Astaire movies ready to be screened, as well as Three Stooges films. ‘I put all this stuff in here,’ he observed, ‘so I will never have to go out there,’ he said, indicating to the outside world.

  There was also a wood-panelled trophy room where many of Michael's trophies were displayed in mahogany cases. All of the Jacksons' gold and platinum albums cover the walls. The family joked that if LaToya ever managed to get a gold album, there will be no place to hang it. (So far, that has not been a problem.)

  Amid the magazine covers and other memorabilia, there was a six-foot-long diorama of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. ‘One day I got a call from Mike,’ recalled Steve Howell, who was employed by Michael as a video historian. ‘“Come by with the video equipment, you'll never guess who's comin' over.” “Who?” I asked. “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs!” He'd hired Disney's costumed actors. I said, “Oh, okay, cool.” Nothing was unusual when you worked for Michael.’

  Steve's video of that day shows a childlike Michael, twenty-six years old at the time, playing with the dwarfs in the trophy room and being serenaded by Snow White. From the expression on his face, one might think it was one of the happiest days of his life.

  A circular white marble staircase with a green carpeted runner led to the upstairs quarters: a gym, and four bedroom suites, each with its own bathroom. Michael's bedroom was large and cluttered. ‘I just want room to dance and have my books,’ he said. He had no bed; he slept next to the fireplace on the floor, which was covered with a plush green rug. Some of the walls were covered with fabric. Pictures of Peter Pan hung on others. There were wooden shutters over the windows, which he usually kept closed. The room was always a mess, not slobbish, just messy – books and records were everywhere, videotapes and m
usic tapes piled high. Fan mail was stacked in the corners.

  Also in the bedroom were five female mannequins of different ethnic groups – Caucasian, Oriental, Indian and two blacks. They were posed, looking with blank eyes at visitors. Well dressed and life-sized, they looked like high-fashion models, wearing expensive clothing. Michael said that he originally planned to have one room in the house specifically for the mannequins, but he changed his mind and decided to keep his plastic friends in his room. Katherine must have been relieved.

  ‘I guess I want to bring them to life,’ Michael explained. ‘I like to imagine talking to them. You know what I think it is? Yeah, I think I'll say it. I think I'm accompanying myself with friends I never had. I probably have two friends. And I just got them. Being an entertainer, you just can't tell who is your friend. So, I surround myself with people I want to be my friends. And I can do that with mannequins. I'll talk to them.’

  Dr Paul Gabriel, a professor of clinical psychiatry at New York University Medical Center, has a theory about Michael's penchant for mannequins – which he still has today, as seen on Martin Bashir's 2003 documentary about him: ‘That's a special eccentricity, in the category of narcissism. We like to think we're beautiful. We make images of ourselves. Children are very narcissistic. They see themselves in their dolls, and that's what this is about for Michael Jackson. After age five or six, they begin to give some of that up, but he apparently never did that.’

  Later, there would be a crib in the corner of the bedroom, which was where Michael's chimpanzee, Bubbles – who became a celebrity himself – slept.

  Michael's bathroom was impressive, all black marble and gold. The sinks had brass swans for faucets.

  A winding stairway led from the bedroom up to a private balcony on which Michael had an outdoor Jacuzzi for his own use.