Some media outlets lavished praise on Immortal (Billboard gave the show its Creative Content Award and MTV called it “a high-energy tribute to the legend”5), while others were ambivalent (“The Cirque show breathlessly flies [but] there is cheese,” noted the New York Times6). A few were downright negative (“It takes only a few consecutive duds to damage a legacy, and if Immortal is the best they can do, the show’s title will end up sounding sadly ironic,” concluded the Los Angeles Times7).
But the ticket sales story was clear: Immortal was the highest-grossing concert tour in North America during the first six months of 2012, topping major pop acts like Taylor Swift. The totals look even more impressive over time. By the end of 2013, the show had racked up gross ticket sales of more than $350 million, making it one of the ten top-grossing concert tours in history.
The economics of the aerial extravaganza compare favorably to those of an actual Jackson tour. An artist’s cut on a big arena show like Immortal is typically about 30 percent to 35 percent. If the show grosses $1.5 million on a given night, that leaves $250,000 for the estate after splitting proceeds with Cirque. Had Jackson launched an arena tour, his gross would likely have been higher—let’s say $2.5 million. But he spared no expense on his shows (remember the Russian military airplanes?) and took home only about 10 percent of the $165 million he grossed on his last tour. A 10 percent cut of $2.5 million per night is $250,000, about what his estate gets for Immortal.
Of course, the estate and Cirque have to pay down about $50 million in startup costs over the life of the show, and Jackson might have gone on to play 80,000-seat stadiums (though that would have required a hefty setup fee, too). But judging by this back-of-the-envelope math, the Cirque show’s impact on the bottom line of Michael Jackson, Inc. is similar to what a successful tour by the living King of Pop might have achieved.
In death, however, Jackson was able to do something he never could have been able to do in life: perform shows in two different locations at the same time.
* * *
Planning for the One show began just as Immortal was getting started. Branca went to see the other Cirque shows in Las Vegas two or three times apiece and attended the Beatles’ Love!—his chief competition—seven or eight times. He brought that knowledge to subsequent planning sessions for One.
“I said the whole show has to be an immersion,” says Branca. “The audience has to feel like they’re in the show.”8
That meant plenty of extravagances. In addition to the creative components—plot, music, acrobatics—Cirque’s latest joint venture with the Jackson estate required its own permanent home in Las Vegas. After The Lion King ended its run at Mandalay Bay in 2011, the space underwent an extensive renovation and returned two years later as the Michael Jackson One Theater.
The 1,804-seat venue was fitted with banks of speakers arranged in different programmable zones. Each member of the audience would also be surrounded by sound from three individual speakers (two behind the head, one blasting from the front). Branca also suggested building three floor-to-ceiling video screens on either side of the stage and having acrobats dance up the walls during “Billie Jean” (initially he wanted them to moonwalk across the ceiling, but that proved to be logistically impossible). The estate and Cirque brought on Jamie King, who had danced with Jackson on the Dangerous Tour, to write and direct the show (he helmed Immortal as well).
“I started my career with Michael and spent two years on the road onstage by his side,” says King. “This was the education of a lifetime because I learned everything about performance from the greatest live performer ever. You can have the best technology in the world, the best stage and sound design and the sets, but unless you have a real understanding of how to deeply impact the audience, nothing else matters.”9
As such, King aimed to capture Jackson’s spirit in One through four objects: his dancing shoes, his sunglasses, his black fedora, and his sequined glove. The show’s dancers gain mystical powers from each as they move from one scene to the next, each segment resembling a live music video acted out in gravity-defying detail.
The sequences reflect the diverse subject matter of the Jackson songs they accompany. For the introspective “Stranger in Moscow,” a lone acrobat ascends a silk rope, performing midair flips and twists so effortlessly that it seems he’s surrounded by water; at the end of the sequence, snowflakes fall from the ceiling, somehow winking off into oblivion before they hit the seats. During the jarringly sensual “Dirty Diana,” a lady in red executes a similar feat on a giant stripper pole.10
And, after hints of his spirit appear throughout the first half of the show, a life-sized representation of Jackson appears toward the end. The phantom King of Pop—a hologram-like illusion—performs “Man in the Mirror” before transforming into a Jackson 5–era version of himself, and finally evaporating to tremendous applause. Though it’s far from the genuine article, the spectral Jackson helps bring the singer to a new generation of fans.
“Kids who didn’t grow up with Michael are now discovering Michael through these two shows, Immortal and One,” says King. “His spirit is still with us and his music will live forever.”11
It seems Jackson’s earning power will, too. Even as Immortal continues to crisscross the globe, One has been drawing near-capacity crowds at an average ticket price of about $140. That translates to gross ticket sales of nearly $10 million per month,12 or roughly $3 million for the estate after taking out expenses and Cirque’s share (costs are much lower for a resident show than a traveling one). As such, it could add another $30 million to $40 million to the estate’s bottom line per year.
In the five years since Jackson’s death, the estate’s earnings are already more than halfway to his $1.1 billion solo career tally, and at the current pace should pass that mark within ten years of his passing—about one-third of the time it took for Jackson to reach it in life (though it may take at least another ten years for the estate to match his inflation-adjusted $1.9 billion career total).
“The cash flow on an annual basis is tremendous,” explains Donald David, one of the lawyers who handled the postmortem finances of Tupac Shakur. “Sure, it’s going to decline eventually, but it’s going to be a huge amount in the foreseeable future. [Jackson’s] kids are going to have grandkids before that money’s gone.”13
Jackson’s estate has pulled nine figures in each full year since his death. Is it possible that its annual take will eventually head south of the $100 million mark? Sure. Immortal will run its course, and One won’t always be the shiny new toy in Vegas. Even Jackson’s Sony/ATV earnings could take a hit if Paul McCartney regains some of his songwriting copyrights over the next decade due to the quirks of US copyright law, as some have predicted.14 Under that scenario, however, he’d recover only his half of the Lennon-McCartney songs, and only in the United States.
On the publishing front, the Beatles’ songs are just one very profitable piece of an immense puzzle for Jackson’s postmortem empire. A consortium of investors led by Sony/ATV (and Jackson’s estate) bought EMI Publishing for $2.2 billion in 2012, boosting the size of the company’s catalogue to 2 million songs—a total that makes Sony/ATV the world’s largest publishing company.15
That’s one of the many goals Jackson was unable to accomplish toward the end of his time on Earth but did, finally, from beyond the grave. He was also able to get out on the road, release new music, and start picking up endorsement deals again. The massive sums of cash generated have secured the very assets he so often worried about losing. Were it not for the demons, internal and external, that marred his final years—and had he been surrounded by a better and more consistent team in his later years—his story might have had a different ending.
* * *
Backstage after the debut of One, the dancers and acrobats are elated. Vegas veteran Robin Leach, in the audience that night, would later call the show “Cirque’s best spectacular in its nearly thirty-year history.”16
More impo
rtant, the performers had made a terrific impression on their fire-breathing billionaire boss.
“Guys, you were fantastic,” says Laliberté, looking dapper in dark jeans, sneakers, and a crushed-velvet blazer. “I think it will be here for a long, long time.”17
Laliberté, however, will not.
“Okay,” he says with a shrug. “Flying to Cannes.”
He bids the dancers adieu, then ambles over to Branca. They exchange a few words and back-slaps, and go their separate ways. As far as the lawyer is concerned, they’re just getting started.
“I’m making it up,” Branca begins, imagining what the Cirque du Soleil partnership might look like a few years down the line. “Immortal has now been certified as one of the three biggest rock tours of all time. Joins U2 and the Rolling Stones!”18
As for the One show? Vegas spectacles, much like pop superstars, tend to have short lifespans. For every ongoing show like the Beatles-themed Love! there’s a Viva Elvis, which lasted less than three years. Still, Branca is optimistic.
“Mystère is going on nineteen years,” he says. “That was [Cirque’s] first one. Eighteen years and it’s still running eighty percent of capacity. The Beatles show is six years.”
Whenever Immortal wraps up, Branca wants to see the final performance in Vegas in the theater next door to One.
“Under one roof you’ve got One at the Michael Jackson theater, you’ve got the Immortal show at Mandalay Bay, so people can come down and buy two nights,” he says. “I mean, come on. No artist has ever had two shows under one roof.”
Two concerts centered on the same person at the same time in the same place, setting a precedent for the entire industry? Sounds relentlessly ambitious, with boldness bordering on narcissism, a dream that can only be realized by studying the greats and becoming greater. Sounds like an artist powerful enough to earn more than $700 million from beyond the grave—more than any living solo act over the past five years. Sounds like Michael Jackson.
* * *
Back in Gary, Indiana, the sun is setting over 2300 Jackson Street, and in just the past half hour, three carloads of people have stopped to make a pilgrimage to the King of Pop’s childhood home.
One car contained a family of four, all of whom filed out and quietly paid their respects. Another, full of grown men, stopped across the street, its inhabitants reluctant to get out. A third produced a trio of women who spoke excitedly to each other in German.
“Did you come all the way from Germany for this?” I asked one.
“No,” she said, “That would be crazy!”
“She probably would,” her friend countered.19
They’re just a few examples of Michael Jackson’s global reach. For every record Jackson sells in the US, he still moves two abroad. It’s conceivable that a slice of this fan base would make the trek to Gary to see a memorial grander than the house at Jackson Street, which could bring a much-needed influx of cash to a struggling city. But funding would have to come from outside.
“We are certainly open to ideas,” Mayor Freeman-Wilson told me earlier in my visit to Indiana. “Particularly ideas from people with money. . . . Am I open to it, would we embrace a concept from people who have the money to implement it? Absolutely. Our partnership would probably incorporate providing land for something like that. . . . The greatest entertainer of all time is a Gary native. That’s a real source of pride for us.”20
For now, groundskeeper Greg Campbell remains focused on the monument at hand. He’s been sweeping the concrete path in front of the house since I arrived, showing no signs of stopping. He’s keeping it immaculate for the hundreds of daily visitors who’ve shown up at the house following Jackson’s death—in particular, for one guest who’s been on the scene nearly every day.
“The amazing thing about this, man, when we first started working over here, there was a bird,” he says. “And he would always come over the front sidewalk and just look. Then when I’d leave and be walking all over the city somewhere, that same bird would be following me.”21
Campbell smiles.
“He’d come and just stare at the house,” he says. “So I’m thinking that might be Michael’s reincarnation.”
Regardless of where the King of Pop’s spirit resides, one thing’s for sure: Michael Jackson, Inc. is alive and well.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
On a steamy June afternoon in 2012, I found myself standing on the stage at New York’s Apollo Theater—alone with a rare, tangible piece of Michael Jackson’s legacy. I had just interviewed four of his brothers, but now the auditorium was empty, except for the small slab of wood sitting atop a faintly glimmering pedestal. It was the same piece of the lucky Tree of Hope that the members of the Jackson 5 had rubbed before their first gig at the Apollo nearly half a century earlier.
I glanced over my shoulder and back across the darkened seats. Nobody else in sight. Tentatively, I crept toward the pedestal, waiting for an Indiana Jones–style booby trap. But there were no blow-darts, no boulders falling from the rafters as I ran my hand over the talisman and hoped for some luck on my authorial journey.
Apart from the obvious obstacle of never having an opportunity to interview Michael Jackson, the conception of this book was much the same as my experience with the Tree of Hope that day in Harlem. The idea of a business-focused biography of Michael Jackson was sitting there on a pedestal for me; all I had to do was walk up and put my hand on it. But it took quite a while to germinate, and, as with most books, the process was far from easy. I couldn’t have done it without the help of a number of people along the way.
For planting the seed, I’d like to thank Donald David, a trusted source and an attorney who once found himself on the other side of the negotiating table from Michael Jackson. For helping it grow, I’m so grateful to my agents: Ed Victor, for his sage advice, and William Clark, for finding a great home for this book. Many thanks to Leslie Meredith at Simon & Schuster’s Atria for her keen editorial eye, words of encouragement, and tacos along the way—and to Donna Loffredo, Yona Deshommes, and the rest of the team as well.
I decided to keep my day job while writing Michael Jackson, Inc., and I was able to do double duty because of the support I received from everyone at Forbes—for that, I’m especially grateful to Dan Bigman, Randall Lane, and Lewis D’Vorkin. Thanks also to Sue Radlauer for her sleuthing skills, Abe Brown for helping me scale a paywall, Hannah Elliott and Morgan Brennan for some deeply helpful introductions, and everyone on the Forbes softball team for their eternally solid (and liquid) companionship.
I will always be thankful to Mary Ellen Egan and Stewart Pinkerton for giving me my start at the magazine, to Lea Goldman for asking me one day if I liked hip-hop, to Neil Weinberg and Matt Schifrin and a host of others for their faith in me. For their constant support outside of work, many thanks to Ezra Markowitz, Melissa Ocana, Madeline Kerner, Lara Berlin, Rob LaFranco, Charlie Warner, Julia Bradford, the Mosses, and the Commish.
It wouldn’t be fair to single out sources; there are more than a hundred of them, and they all deserve my gratitude for their generosity with their time and memories—this book wouldn’t have been possible without them. I hope I’ll get a chance to thank each one of them individually.
This book was mostly written at home in New York, but I churned out a significant chunk while staying with friends, family, and strangers during numerous reporting trips (and on more than a few “vacations”). So, big thanks to Jon Bittner and Rebecca Blum in Rhode Island; James, Mary Beth, Neil, Bridget, and Irma O’Malley in Texas; Joel, Maggie, Joslin, Jaden, and Addison Peck in Illinois (Lee and Naomi, too); Bebe, Alec, and Lee Seymour on Cape Cod; various innkeepers in Ireland; the Peter Pan Bus; airplanes; Gus La Rocco and Terry Fixel in Florida (and Sam La Rocco for her thoughts on chickens). Thanks also to Marcus Leonard—for accompanying me to scenic Gary, Indiana, and to the city’s only bar—and to Matt Lachman, the most gracious host in all of Los Angeles and an excellent editorial sounding board and friend
to boot.
I was able to (mostly) maintain my sanity while writing this book because of dear friends who lured me out of my apartment from time to time. There were delicious dinners with Jon Bruner, Bethany Kerner, Andrew Cedotal, Nicole Villeneuve, Mike Seplowitz, and Dan Hammond; moules frites with Choppy; Roma Pizza with Dan Adler and Kelly Reid; beers and burgers with Borbay; and bowties and booze with Mike Safir and Peter Schwartz.
Major thanks to those who read early drafts of this book, particularly the aforementioned Andrew and Neil, Richard Hyfler, and the artist formerly known as Nick Messitte-Greenberg. His willingness to deliver utterly unvarnished, deeply vulgar, and incredibly constructive criticism proved invaluable. I might have had to stop sleeping altogether if it weren’t for the incredible contributions of researcher Natalie Robehmed, who helped out with tasks that ranged from mundane (fact-checking) to arcane (tracking down Billboard charts from magazine issues older than either of us). I look forward to reading her books someday.
Special thanks to my parents, all three of them. In addition to giving birth to me, Suzanne O’Malley showed me what it meant to be a reporter. Dan Greenburg taught me that if you love what you do, you never have to work a day in your life. When it came to writing, he always emphasized the art of revision; the same can be said for Judith Greenburg, whose edits I liken to visiting a verbal ENT (at some point, a whole lot of really terrible stuff that you created gets extracted, it kind of hurts, and then you wonder how the hell it got there in the first place). Thank you for everything!
Most of all, I would like to thank Dr. Danielle La Rocco. When we started dating in 2008, she knew she was getting roommates—Bruner, Choppy, Adler (and possibly Claude)—but didn’t know she’d end up living with Jay Z and Michael Jackson, too. The latter’s ghostly moonwalk followed Danielle and me through a year in which we adopted a digitally challenged kitten, endured a hurricane, and moved to a new apartment.
Michael Jackson, Inc. Page 25
