Man in the Music

by Joseph Vogel

  It wasn’t just the lyrical content; musically, too, it was unique. That stark drumbeat; that killer bass (played by Louis Johnson), accented by another synth bass (played on a Yamaha CS-80). The ominous strings underfoot, accented by stabbing violins. The track feels so raw, yet the orchestral elements give it a certain elegance. Jackson’s vocal, meanwhile, conveys uncut passion and anguish. Listen to how he goes up into his falsetto in the second part of the chorus (“claims that I am the one”), lending the words a sense of desperation.

  “It’s been said before,” reaffirmed Rolling Stone in 2009, “but it’s worth repeating: ‘Billie Jean’ is a masterpiece, and one that doesn’t lose its strange, dark power, no matter how many times you hear it….Sinuous, paranoid and omnipresent, [it is] the single that made Jackson the biggest star since Elvis.” Music critic Mark Fisher called it “not only one of the best singles ever recorded, it is one of the greatest art works of the twentieth century, a multileveled sound sculpture whose slinky, synthetic panther sheen still yields up previously unnoticed details and nuance nearly thirty years on.”

  “Billie Jean” reached #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in March 1983 and remains one of the most instantly recognizable, and critically acclaimed, songs around the world.

  7. “HUMAN NATURE”

  Written and composed by Steve Porcaro and John Bettis

  Produced by Quincy Jones

  “Sequencing an album is one of the joys in being a producer because it’s like making a movie,” reflected Quincy Jones. “That’s why I had ‘Human Nature’ right after ‘Billie Jean’ on Thriller. Because ‘Billie Jean’ was in three parts, like a mantra. The other one is like a kaleidoscopic harmonic collage, with all the harmonies running around the place. The ear loves that—it loves to feel that growth and change and movement.”

  He’s right. After the film-noir shadows and tension of “Billie Jean,” “Human Nature” is an explosion of color. Its shimmering synth strings and evocative lyrics take the listener to a vibrant city as experienced for the first time—in all of its wonder and excitement and possibility. “Looking out / Across the nighttime,” Jackson sings in the opening verses, “The city winks a sleepless eye / Hear her voice / Shake my window / Sweet seducing sigh.”

  The song is about yearning and desire. The city beckons to him and he responds (“If this town is just an apple / Then let me take a bite”). Its pull is magnetic, seductive. He wants to get out (“Four walls won’t hold me tonight”) and see, feel, smell, and touch. As he wanders the neon streets, he is both observer (“She likes the way I stare”) and observed (“Electric eyes are everywhere”). He walks in the twilight between reality and dream, in that euphoric haze that accompanies being in love—whether with a place or a person (or both).

  Quincy Jones famously outsourced the lyrics of the song to John Bettis, and the result couldn’t have been more perfect for Jackson, particularly at this stage in his life and career. According to Bettis, Jackson took him aside in the studio and thanked him for writing lyrics he could relate to so personally. Jackson was equally enamored of the music, describing it as “music with wings.” The metaphor is apt, as the strings do seem to capture the fluttering of a bird or butterfly in flight. According to synth programmer Michael Boddicker, that effect was created by Steve Porcaro, using “a Yamaha CS-80 with glide (chromatic instead of portamento) at the head—it’s got that nice little CS fuzz around the sound.” Porcaro, of course, was also the song’s composer. He had no idea a sketch demo inspired by his daughter would evolve into one of Michael Jackson’s most beloved songs.

  In its 1982 review, The New York Times called “Human Nature” Thriller’s most striking song. Music critic David Stubbs, likewise, describes it as “a thing of unnatural beauty, with Jackson’s vocal shiver arousing an electric frisson across the skin of the song and the sheen of the ’80’s production triggering [a] sort of ecstatic, self-perpetuating, hall of mirrors effect.”

  For all the sparkling scenery and incandescent effects, Jackson’s vocal is the highlight of the song—and ranks among the best vocal performances in his entire catalog. In certain ways, it resembled his ethereal delivery on “I Can’t Help It,” yet somehow reached even greater heights—not only in the sensual shiver he gives the verses, but with those utterly sublime falsetto cries at the end.

  “Human Nature” has been covered by numerous artists, including jazz legend Miles Davis, who recorded the song for his 1985 album, You’re Under Arrest, and performed it regularly in concert. Jackson also featured the song in his shows, including the Bad World Tour and the Dangerous Tour.

  8. “P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)”

  Written and composed by James Ingram and Quincy Jones

  Produced by Quincy Jones

  The first thing you notice on “P.Y.T.” is Jackson’s confidence. In his last spoken intro, on “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough,” he sounded timid, uncertain. Now he knows what he wants from the outset (“a girl just like you”).

  “P.Y.T.” once again shifts the tone on the album—from pensive to playful. P.Y.T. stood for “pretty young thing,” slang originating in black culture to describe a sexy young woman. It was Jackson who first came up with the song idea. His demo, melodic and wistful, was ultimately scrapped at the insistence of Quincy Jones. But the title was kept.

  Jones reached out to James Ingram, one of the main featured vocalists on Jones’s 1981 album, The Dude, to rewrite the song. Prior to The Dude, Ingram was a session singer making $50 a song. He had been astonished the first time Jones reached out to him; he was even more stunned when he was invited to write a song for Michael Jackson. For “P.Y.T.,” Jones explained what he was looking for—he wanted something with more funk and flair. Ingram, best known for his soulful baritone ballads, seemed like an odd choice on the surface. But he delivered.

  Jackson delivered as well. Ingram remembered watching him record the song at Westlake Studio—he’d never seen someone actually dance to the point of working up a sweat while recording a vocal. “Now me, I may bob a little bit,” said Ingram, “but I’m holding all my breath for the microphone…and Michael came out of the studio sweating. He said, ‘James, am I singing all right?’ I said, ‘Man, you killed it….’ There’s nobody that could do what he does.”

  It was a good sign, though—Jackson had apparently gotten over his frustration with Quincy Jones for cutting his version of “P.Y.T.” and was having fun with the song. That energy comes through on the record. From the bouncy synth bass, to the “na na na na” call-and-response (sung by sisters Janet and LaToya), to the pitched-up vocals (that’s Michael), “P.Y.T.” was a Saturday night party—sheer pleasure from start to finish.

  In spite of (or perhaps partly because of) the song’s dated phraseology (“tenderoni,” “sugar,” “take you to the max”), the song has aged as well as anything on Thriller. A Top 10 hit in 1983, it is still a staple of parties, clubs, and playlists. It has also been sampled by numerous artists, including Kanye West for his hit single “Good Life.” Why has this synth-funk workout—widely considered “filler” by critics in 1982—become such a beloved classic? “It’s all about the chipmunks,” offered music critic Oliver Wang. “The production has a compelling charm already; it’s not as forceful as ‘Beat It’ or as slick as ‘Human Nature,’ but those squiggly synths and chewy bass lines do their work well. But besides the robo-accented ‘P.Y.T.’ hook, what seals the deal is that helium-pitched voice after the bridge.”

  Whether the “chipmunk theory” holds up or not, there is no doubt that the song’s playful elements are a large part of its lasting appeal. The fun is simply infectious. But there are more subtle details to appreciate as well. Listen to the cool dissonant counter-harmonies performed by James Ingram and Howard Hewett in the verses, or Ndugu Chancler’s drumming in the first bridge. And then, of course, there’s Jackson’s vocal, flirtatious and a
rdent—but still with that boyish purity. Not that he couldn’t take it to the max when he wanted to. “The breakdown in ‘P.Y.T.,’ ” wrote music critic Rob Mitchum, “with its ecstatic call-and-response and sultry panting, remains the funkiest goddamn thing since James Brown’s ‘Hot Pants.’ ”

  9. “THE LADY IN MY LIFE”

  Written and composed by Rod Temperton

  Produced by Quincy Jones

  “The Lady in My Life” has often been classified as a “Quiet Storm” ballad. The term originates with Smokey Robinson’s critically acclaimed 1975 album, A Quiet Storm, which unveiled a moody new iteration of soul. It subsequently became a radio format associated with a certain kind of slow-tempo, smooth R&B—sultry slow jams that often expressed both physical and spiritual intimacy. Think Luther Vandross, Al Green, James Ingram, Lionel Richie, and even some Stevie Wonder.

  Jackson hadn’t done a song like this before. His one ballad on Off the Wall—“She’s Out of My Life”—was about heartache, not connection. Indeed, only a handful of songs he recorded on later albums come anywhere close to its sensual conviction. It concludes Thriller on an intimate note. A lot of songs from the album were played at parties and clubs in the ’80s; this is the song that people played in the bedroom at night.

  “The Lady in My Life” was written by Rod Temperton. According to Quincy Jones, it was originally intended for Frank Sinatra. Given the song’s elegant beauty, it is easy to see why. Wrote music critic Steve Hochman, “ ‘Lady’ shines for its classic simplicity and nuanced craft. [It is] a verse melody straight from vintage Burt Bacharach (the muted trumpet early on leaves no doubt) topped with a chorus that’s almost a Stevie Wonder homage.”

  But there’s no way Sinatra could have rendered the song the way Jackson did. Quincy Jones famously asked Jackson to “beg” in the song. “It’s an expression we use,” explained Jones, “which is a certain kind of a passion—it’s a very, very sensual feel. Michael has an innate sensual feel inside but he doesn’t think of it as that.” Jackson was so shy he requested the curtain be closed and the lights turned off while he sang. The track began, and he put his heart and soul into it.

  The way recording engineer Bruce Swedien captured that vocal makes it sound as if Jackson is right next to you. Listen to him sing, “Girrrl, you’re every wonder in this world to me,” at the end of the first verse—the lift and clarity and feeling in it gives goose bumps. The song originally had a second verse, but it was cut when they were forced to trim the album down. That meant the song went immediately from the opening verse and chorus to the bridge and extended outro.

  It’s fortunate that the outro was saved, because it is one of the highlights of the entire album. “Jackson’s closing minute-and-a-half ad-lib should be required listening for anybody needing a lesson in the Soul Man tradition,” asserted Mark Anthony Neal. “Even those folks who tired of Jackson’s over-the-top antics in the years following the release of Thriller continued to give him dap for what remains, alongside ‘She’s Out of My Life,’ one of his most sophisticated and nuanced vocal performances.” Listen to the shiver in his voice in the lull at the 3:45 mark, or the passion in those final ad-libs (“All over, all over, all over, all over, baby”). It was Quiet Storm at its finest—authentic, soulful, and palpably sensual. And if you were like most listeners, after the song faded, you flipped the cassette and started the album all over again.

  3

  BAD

  (1987)

  We worked on Bad for a long time. Years. In the end, it was worth it because we were satisfied with what we had achieved, but it was difficult, too….You can always say, “Aw, forget Thriller,” but no one ever will.

  —MICHAEL JACKSON, Moonwalk, 1988

  The initial backlash against Bad was predictable. Nothing could match the phenomenon of Thriller. In its wake, Michael Jackson reached the pinnacle as a recording artist and entertainer, setting just about every record, and winning nearly every honor and award imaginable. Within a few short years, however, he was being labeled “Wacko Jacko” as the press speculated wildly about everything from his cosmetic surgery and changing skin color (Was he bleaching his skin?) to his sleeping habits (Was he really going to bed in a hyperbaric chamber?). This shift in public perception had a huge impact on the way Bad was received. Many critics and consumers couldn’t separate the music from Jackson’s new image and the sensational stories coming out about him.

  Still, Bad became a massive worldwide hit, producing five consecutive #1 hits (a record that has yet to be topped). While it wouldn’t reach the stratospheric sales numbers of Thriller, it did sell more than ten million copies in the United States (the album was certified diamond by the Recording Industry Association of America in 2017) and thirty-five million albums globally, making it one of the Top 25 bestselling albums of all time.

  Moreover, Bad charted new territory for Jackson as a songwriter and an artist. Many of its songs were like cinematic dream capsules, taking listeners on a thrilling car chase (“Speed Demon”), into exotic locations (“Liberian Girl”), behind backstage doors (“Dirty Diana”), even to the scene of a mysterious murder (“Smooth Criminal”). “Jackson’s free-form language keeps us aware that we are on the edge of several realities,” observed Rolling Stone’s Davitt Sigerson, “the film, the dream it inspires, the waking world it illuminates.” Sonically, Bad expanded on the sounds of Thriller, using cutting-edge synthesizers to chart a new frontier for pop and R&B.

  Jackson’s final album with Quincy Jones, Bad contains some of the artist’s most memorable work. It wasn’t the commercial juggernaut that Thriller was (as no album by any artist has been before or since), but, creatively, with nine of the album’s eleven songs written and coproduced by Jackson, it represented a big step forward in his artistic evolution.

  WATCH THE THRONE

  A great deal had changed in America since Michael Jackson released Thriller, including the artist himself. The rap on Jackson in the Thriller era, for the most part, was that he was a good role model—wholesome, innocent, safe. That was good and—well—bad.

  As Jay Cocks wrote for Time in 1984, “Many observers find in the ascendancy of Michael Jackson the ultimate personification of the androgynous rock star. His high-flying tenor makes him sound like the lead in some funked-up boys’ choir, even as the sexual dynamism irradiating from the arch of his dancing body challenges government standards for a nuclear meltdown. His lithe frame, five-fathom eyes, long lashes might be threatening if Jackson gave, even for a second, the impression that he is obtainable. However, the audience’s sense of his sensuality becomes quite deliberately tangled with the mirror image of his life: the good boy, the God-fearing Jehovah’s Witness, the adamant vegetarian, the resolute non-indulger in smoke, strong drink, or dope of any kind, the impossibly insulated innocent. Undeniably sexy. Absolutely safe. Eroticism at arm’s length.”

  By 1985, Michael Jackson suddenly seemed a bit conservative next to emerging pop stars like Prince and Madonna. In many ways, Prince, in particular, was heralded by critics not just as a rival but as a corrective to Jackson. Prince, they said, was real rock and roll—brash, experimental, dangerous. Where Jackson’s work was clean, polished, and parent-approved, Prince’s was raw, subversive, and explicit. In fact, it was the Purple One’s 1984 song “Darling Nikki” that infamously galvanized Tipper Gore, wife of then–Tennessee senator Al Gore, to lead a charge against “dirty music” that ensured “Parental Advisory” stickers were placed on albums deemed offensive.

  Prince released 1999 the same year as Thriller. The landmark two-disc LP produced hits like “1999” and “Little Red Corvette.” Still, it seemed that Prince might remain more of an underground phenomenon and critical darling than a mainstream, commercial force. Then came Purple Rain.

  For all their differences, Prince and Jackson shared much in common: both were born in Midwestern cities in the summer of 1958; bot
h were preternaturally talented; and both were driven by a blazing competitive ambition. Prince wanted to reach the heights of Thriller with Purple Rain. He nearly got there with his 1984 blockbuster soundtrack, which spent a staggering twenty-four consecutive weeks at #1 and sold close to fifteen million copies in its initial run. Prince also became the first artist since the Beatles to have the #1 album, single, and movie, all at the same time (the Beatles achieved the feat with A Hard Day’s Night in 1964). Initially dismissive, Jackson developed a grudging respect for Prince and began thinking of ways to outdo him on his next album.

  The 1980s was the era of the Big Pop Star. After Thriller and Purple Rain came a string of juggernauts, each taking aim at Jackson’s throne: Bruce Springsteen, Whitney Houston, George Michael, even Michael’s sister Janet.

  But perhaps the biggest challenger, along with Prince, was Madonna. While Jackson never felt quite as musically competitive with Madonna as he did with Prince, the Queen of Pop likewise led music into new territory, taking full advantage of MTV to promote a sexy, street-savvy image that took the world by storm in the years between Thriller and Bad. Like Prince, Madonna was bold and provocative. Her blunt sexuality, epitomized by her infamous performance of “Like a Virgin” at the 1984 MTV Music Awards, angered parents but delighted her fans. She became a master of pushing boundaries and capturing public attention, while her landmark albums—Madonna (1983), Like a Virgin (1984), and True Blue (1986)—carved out an edgy and exciting new brand of pop.

  In the wake of such rising competition, Jackson knew his image had to change. That was the impetus behind his radical transformation for Bad. It was edgier than the Thriller era, but also stranger. A common response was simply to stare. Not only was he more androgynous (with heavy eyeliner, makeup, and increasingly feminine features) and racially ambiguous (with lighter skin and a narrower nose), he embodied an unusual combination of styles. The black leather, buckles, and boots tapped into strains of glam punk, hip-hop, and metal. But he didn’t fit neatly into any of these scenes. He defied categorization in just about every way imaginable. It drove critics crazy. But from Jackson’s perspective, that was part of the game plan. He couldn’t remain stagnant. He wanted to keep people interested and guessing.