There Goes Gravity: A Life in Rock and Roll

by Robinson, Lisa

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  Suzanne was put in charge of the Jackson Five’s first tour. “When we started out,” she said, “we could go everywhere. We could go shopping, go get hamburgers, go to rehearsal. And within a very short time, we could go nowhere. We would come out of the hotel and 500 kids came storming at us and we had to dive into the car. It was both exhilarating and frightening. And eventually it became just frightening.” According to Lionel Richie, who was in the Commodores and opened the Jackson Five’s debut tour, “What I learned most on that tour, was whatever you do, if you sing, dance, juggle, whatever it is, you do it in the first song. Because they may not stick around for the second one. This little kid [Michael] did everything in the first song. I kept waiting for Suzanne to tell me that Michael was a midget, because it couldn’t be anything else. Then I realized, that’s a real ten-year-old kid [except he was twelve]. I would watch him play with water balloons backstage. Then he’d walk onstage and turn into this full grown entertaining monster.”

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  In my interviews in the 1970s and 1980s with the other Jacksons, I was told that when Michael still lived at home with his family, he only ate fruits and raw vegetables every day. The family didn’t drink, except some wine and champagne when guests came over or brandy when someone was sick. Until they were eighteen, their mother Katherine, a devout Jehovah’s Witness, took the children to Kingdom Hall and made them go preach from door to door—often wearing disguises. When they came of age, she let them choose their religion. In the 1980s, in a lengthy talk to promote her solo album Control, Janet Jackson told me that the nasty tabloid press coverage of Michael was just part of show business. “Michael told me that when you hear bad things about yourself,” she said, “just put your energies into something else. Put it into your music—it’ll make you stronger.” Still, I told Janet, people think he is weird, what with all that plastic surgery, the chimpanzee companion, the hyperbaric chamber and whatnot. Janet defended the facial reconstruction. “So many stars do that, but the press picks on certain people. I think if more people could afford it they’d do it too. I see nothing wrong with it. Aging is a sad thing. I don’t see anything wrong with staying young as long as you can.” Michael’s older brother Marlon, to whom he was closest when growing up, told me, “Sometimes [the stuff they write about Michael] hurts. But the main thing is they’re keeping the name going. Regardless if it’s good or bad news. If they stop talking about you, then you’re in trouble.” As for the constant stories about Michael having had no fun as a child while the other brothers participated in sports and dates, Marlon disagreed: “That’s not true, he did the same things we all did. But we all rehearsed constantly, we rehearsed together, and that’s how we got to where we are today.”

  • • •

  Michael had a completely different voice (the high, whispery one) when talking in public than he did when he was talking to a lawyer or a record company executive (normal, forceful). I heard both. During the 1980s, I was friendly with CBS Records Group president Walter Yetnikoff, who often told me that Michael called him incessantly about his record sales, marketing and promotion. “Possessed” was the word Yetnikoff used to describe Michael’s involvement in his day-to-day business. On February 7, 1984, CBS threw a huge party at the Museum of Natural History for 1,200 guests to celebrate the mega-million success of Michael Jackson’s Thriller (which, at somewhere between 65–110 million worldwide sales, is still the biggest selling album in history). The invitation to the party was printed on a sequined glove. President and Mrs. Reagan sent a telegram. Walter Yetnikoff introduced Michael as the greatest star ever. And a few days later, Walter told me that Michael was conflicted about touring again with his brothers.

  In November 1983, boxing promoter Don King had hosted a combination luncheon/press conference at Tavern on the Green in New York City to announce the Jacksons’ 1984 “Victory” tour. Don King came out and talked about the Jacksons and himself: how wonderful the tour would be and how fabulous their association was. He introduced the Jackson parents and the celebrities in the room: Dustin Hoffman, Andy Warhol, Roberta Flack, Ossie Davis, Ruby Dee and a few boxers. King went on about how it would be the biggest grossing tour of all time, the biggest this, the biggest that. He quoted Shakespeare. He introduced the Jackson brothers. Michael introduced his sisters and the brothers’ wives. It was a cross between a press conference for a heavyweight title fight and a revival meeting.

  During the “Victory” tour, Michael traveled separately from his brothers. He sent Don King a letter stating that no one could communicate with anyone on Michael’s behalf without prior permission, and that only Michael’s personal representatives could collect money paid to him for his participation in the tour. Basically, Don King could not hire anyone to work on that tour without Michael’s approval. Michael referred to the “Victory” tour as the “Last Hurrah” and “The Final Curtain” for the family group. There were rumors of brotherly discord. Jermaine did not feel that he, Jermaine, was getting enough attention. Jackie Jackson wasn’t on the tour because he broke his leg when his furious wife drove her car into him after discovering his affair with Paula Abdul. But Jackie still got paid a percentage of the tour grosses. On August 4, 1984, I took Van Halen’s lead singer David Lee Roth—then at the height of his band’s success—to see the Jacksons’ show at Madison Square Garden. Before the show, we met Michael in a private area of the Garden’s rotunda. I was surprised at how different Michael looked since the last time I had seen him. I was taken aback too, by how much makeup he wore—it rubbed off on my clothing when we hugged hello. But mostly, I was amused by how fully aware he was of just exactly who David Lee Roth was—probably even down to the number of records Van Halen had sold and their chart positions.

  Michael had a keen eye on the competition. He’d often pick my brain about other shows I’d seen and the musicians I talked to. When Michael had his own solo success and moved away from the family, he was far more candid about his feelings and our talks became more conspiratorial. If Michael told me his brothers were married but please don’t print that, I didn’t print that—even though we both agreed that it was ridiculous. I was, after all, initially writing about him for a teenage fan magazine. In 1982, Eddie Van Halen played a guitar solo on “Beat It” on Michael’s Thriller album. It may have been producer Quincy Jones’ idea. Then again, it very easily could have been Michael’s. In 1987, Michael used Billy Idol’s guitarist Steve Stevens on “Bad.” And in 1992 for Michael’s Dangerous album, Guns N’ Roses guitarist Slash did the solo on “Black or White.” These were all guitar players I knew well. It showed how much Michael was aware of other scenes—especially rock. In 1987, Steve Stevens told me, “One of the things I stipulated about doing the track with Michael was that he be there in the studio when we did it. The first thing Michael said to me was that he liked my suit. He was really musically literate, down to things that most people might leave to the engineer. He knew exactly what he wanted.”

  But while many people justifiably felt Michael—and unfortunately, Madonna—were the artists of the 1980s, to me, no one was more talented or important during that decade than Prince. In 1987, Prince released Sign O’ the Times, a double album that included the incredible title song about AIDS. One night David Lee Roth, the then eighteen-year-old model Christy Turlington and I went to dinner at Indochine. Christy told me she wanted to meet Dave. I told her she really didn’t. But she insisted that she had been a Van Halen fan and she wanted to meet him. After an hour or more at dinner, listening to David Lee Roth laugh at his own jokes, we departed for Mick Jagger’s house on the Upper West Side. Mick alternately flirted with Christy (who dragged me into a closet, whispering that he was too old for her) and played us the Sign O’ the Times album. Mick asked me my opinion. I said I thought it was amazing. He agreed, and told me that Rod Stewart or someone had told him if Prince was white, they’d all be in trouble.

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  There is no questio
n that Michael Jackson was acutely aware of Prince’s talent, his sexuality, and his ascent. I am convinced that just the knowledge of Prince had a lot to do with why Michael—who couldn’t play guitar himself and wasn’t about to enlist one of his brothers for the role—sought out those guitar superstars for his solo albums. And possibly, it had a lot to do with the onset of Michael’s onstage crotch-grabbing. While many of us considered this gesture blatant and more than slightly creepy, Michael’s fans apparently did not. In addition, shows like Yo! MTV Raps and rap music in general undoubtedly influenced Michael to get “edgier” with his music. In September of 1988, Michael performed for three nights at the Meadowlands Arena in New Jersey the same week that Prince did a two-night stint at Madison Square Garden. Whoever booked these shows at the same time must have had a wicked sense of humor. (And, in fact, in 2009, when Michael was planning his fifty shows at London’s O2 arena, it was known that he was intent on beating Prince’s record at that same venue. Prince, however, only did twenty-one nights there; Michael could have booked a more workable twenty-two shows and still “won.”) In 1988, their concerts were totally different: Michael concentrated on his dancing, while Prince, who performed in the round, employed choreography of a different sort. He had several women writhing around him, miming a ménage à trois situation. Prince’s lyrics and onstage patter were overtly sexual—until the second half of his show when Prince turned to God, and invoked a lengthy, religious discourse. Michael steered clear of religion. And despite all that slithering around with a female dancer and a “love” ballad with his then-backup singer Sheryl Crow, Michael’s image was asexual. Maybe these images were incorrect. I noted at the time that perhaps Prince read the Bible in private and Michael was wild, but I doubted it. Still, both were huge, reclusive, mysterious stars. (And today, Prince is reportedly a devout Jehovah’s Witness.)

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  Michael couldn’t have chosen two crazier guitarists to work with than Eddie Van Halen and Slash. When I first met Eddie in 1982, he wouldn’t do interviews; he left that to his lead singer, the occasionally amusing blabbermouth David Lee Roth. Because Eddie refused to do interviews, he was the one I wanted to talk to. One night in 1982, I was at the “new” Peppermint Lounge in New York City with Debbie Harry, David Bowie, and Paul Simonon of the Clash. We were there to see Iggy. David Lee Roth walked in—all flowing blonde hair and leather chaps and a shirt opened down to his waist. He flaunted masculine confidence and a king of the jungle persona—until he walked over to Bowie and Paul Simonon to tell them how much he admired them. I might have been the only person at our table who actually knew who David Lee Roth was, and, as he babbled on, everyone just stared at him and said nothing. Embarrassed, he eventually skulked away. The next day, his publicist phoned repeatedly, asking me why I wouldn’t interview Dave. Because, I said, I wanted to talk to Eddie. Finally I agreed to go to dinner with Dave if later, I could interview Eddie. We went out at midnight one night—to a variety of New York “nightclubs” (Danceteria, the Mudd Club) and seedy spots (Hellfire, Diamond Lil’s) that I thought might shock him. Everywhere we went, he was greeted effusively by the patrons. I was surprised that he was so much more famous than I had previously thought. He dared me to accompany Van Halen on their tour bus through the South. And so, in November 1982, I found myself in Huntsville, Alabama, on a day off with Eddie’s then-wife, actress Valerie Bertinelli, at a mall, purchasing wooden Christmas tree ornaments. I started to enjoy Van Halen’s show, although, after years of observing Jimmy Page and Keith Richards up close, I wasn’t all that impressed with Eddie’s over-the-top guitar histrionics and onstage knee slides. Dave was smart and he often could be amusing. But it was off-putting to witness all those nights when the roadies went into the audience to pick out girls to “meet” Dave after the show. I have hours and hours of tape from that tour of a very coked-up Dave and an equally “inspired” Eddie; at one point they asked me to co-write their autobiography. There was many a night, at many a truck stop, when Eddie and Dave would be hopped up out of their minds, screaming at each other in some parking lot about something or other while the rest of us—the other members of the band, tour managers, crew—would have to sit and wait on the bus for hours. Hours. Then, in 1985, they broke up. And, more than twenty-five years later, they briefly reunited. And there’s not a shred of doubt in my mind that even if sober, they had the same problems with each other in the 21st century that they had with each other then.

  As for Slash, in 1988, after Guns N’ Roses first hit big, they came to New York City for a show at the Felt Forum. On an off night, I took Slash down to Phebe’s on the Bowery for some drinks and a chat. Thirty or forty shots of Scotch later (him, not me), I had to have someone help me and his then-girlfriend carry him into a taxi for the return trip to the midtown Rihga Royal Hotel. I remember asking him how old he was—he mumbled twenty-three. I told him that if he wanted to make it to twenty-four, he needed to cut back on the drinks. Guns N’ Roses and Slash and drugs and drinking have been well chronicled elsewhere, and I digress. The point: Michael always knew who the hot guitarists were, he employed them, and the results were some memorable—albeit the wild, noodling type—guitar solos. All of which made Michael’s songs sound more modern.

  On February 15, 1985, in a phone interview from Los Angeles, Michael asked me why I didn’t come to L.A. more often. I told him it was too bright, that I wore black clothes and the lint became too noticeable. He was surprisingly candid about his dissatisfaction with many aspects of the Jacksons’ “Victory” tour. I asked him if, especially after his massive solo success, working with his family again had been a problem. “Well . . . it depends,” he said. “I never really wanted to use a lot of the people we had, but it became a voting thing. It was unfair to me, you know? I was outvoted a lot of times. I always like using A-1 people who are considered the best in their field, I’ve always tried to do everything first class. But it was a different story with the family. And the fact that it was the biggest tour that ever happened, and my success has been so overwhelming, it’s as if they’re waiting to throw darts at you. You know [Barbra] Streisand once said—I taped it, on 20/20—she said when she first came out, she was new and fresh, and everybody loved her. They built her up and then . . . they knocked her down. And she felt, ‘Oh, is that it?’ You know, she’s human, she can’t take it, she can’t just forget about it.” I said that backlash often follows success. “Yes,” he said, “and Steven Spielberg’s going through that. . . . But I’m a strong person. I don’t let any of it bother me. I love doing what I do.” I mentioned that some of his fans were upset because the ticket prices on the “Victory” tour were high. “You know, none of that was my idea,” Michael said, exasperated. “I was outvoted. I mean, mail order tickets—I didn’t want that. Our production was so big it had to pay for itself, but still, even then, I didn’t want the ticket price so high. But I was outvoted. Don King . . . all of it. It’s tough, especially when it’s your family. It’s hard to see your brothers and look in their eyes and see they’re upset with something. Or they won’t talk to you. But I’m going to do bigger and better things in the future. I’m compelled to do what I’m doing and I can’t help it, I love performing. I love creating and coming up with unusual new things. To be a kind of pioneer. You know, innovative. I get excited about ideas, not about money. Ideas is what excites me.”

  I asked Michael if he was as insulated and isolated as people thought. “Well, a lot of that is true,” he said, “but I get a chance to have fun. I show films and I play games and have friends over sometimes. I love children and stuff. I get to play with them—that’s one of my favorite things to do. Performing is fun, I miss that, but I’ve been writing a lot of good stuff lately and I’m excited about the songs I’m coming up with. I put my soul, my blood, sweat and tears into Thriller. I really did. And not only Thriller, I was doing the E.T. [soundtrack] album at the same time. That was a lot of stress. And [when we first] mixed the Thriller album, it sounded lik
e crap. It was terrible. I cried at the listening party. I said, ‘I’m sorry, we can’t release this.’ I called a meeting with Quincy, and everybody at the [record] company was screaming that we had to have it out and there was a deadline, but I said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m not releasing it.’ I said, ‘It’s terrible.’ So we re-did a mix a day, we rested two days, then we did a mixing. We were overworked. But it all came out okay.”