I have pretty much sworn off of any further MJ coverage. The shady doctor(s), the questions about the will, the unsubstantiated drama and of course, Joe Jackson – it’s all just too much.
But then I saw this cover of Vanity Fair, which he shares with Farrah and hits stands on Wednesday. I almost burst into tears because I think it’s finally setting in.
I listened to Michael and his brothers all the time, even before the events of June 25. The brothers Jackson stay on constant rotation in the whip, on my morning walks, on the Bose. Always.
But I’m beginning to realize that no matter how many times I play Heartbreak Hotel (oh, excuse me, This Place Hotel ) or I Wanna Be Where You Are or Speed Demon or Butterflies or Heaven Can Wait or Another Part of Me or Lady in My Life or Dancing Machine or Stranger in Moscow or Blame it on the Boogie or Get on the Floor or Let Me Show You, he’s gone.
The music will live on, forever, but Michael is really gone.