Before You Judge Me Read online

  Just as Michael turned to Chopra for one sort of wisdom, he looked to Rabbi Shmuley Boteach for another. The idea of having a personal spiritual guide had enormous appeal to Michael, whose sense of altruism battled his sense of entitlement.

  At this time—the third week in May—Michael knows full well that he is entitled to look and feel his best. Elvis experimented with prescription drugs until the experiments turned bad, but that was over thirty years ago. Medicine has evolved. Medicine has improved. Dermatology has improved. Over decades, Michael has learned an enormous amount about medicine, especially dermatological care. He knows which drugs and treatments work for him and which do not. He also knows how to compartmentalize the various treatments he receives. For instance, Conrad Murray, his at-home primary physician, is not advised about the heavy doses of Demerol that Michael is getting from Arnold Klein multiple times a week. Meanwhile, Michael sees no reason to tell Klein that Murray is now sedating him with propofol on a nightly basis.

  Michael feels best when he is in control. Just as he is able to manage his music, his choreography, and his total stage presentation, he can manage his health.

  His health is of great concern to AEG. Seeing how many rehearsals Michael has missed and how unfocused he appears, the promoters decide to push back the first This Is It show from July 8 to July 13. That gives him eight weeks to get ready.

  The new start date is a relief. Michael can finally exhale. He knows that these extra five days are exactly what he needs. When it comes to the big performance, he will be ready. He is programmed to rise to the occasion. He sees a clear path ahead. Right now, though, that path leads back to the offices of Arnold Klein. On three consecutive days—May 19, 20, and 21—Michael revisits the doctor for an assortment of skin treatments and his steady dose of Demerol.

  Somewhere in the drug-induced twilight zone, Michael moves back and forth between a carefree world where everything is falling into place and a world where everything is falling apart.

  Now he is cheerful and ebullient. His children are by his side. His children are safe, beautiful, well behaved, a tribute to their loving father. They are sheltered in a spacious estate, guarded by highly trained security professionals, given books and games and films to nourish their minds.

  But soon his cheerfulness leads to anxiety about the rehearsals he’s missing and the looming commitment to entertain the world in London. The shows must be magical. For a few fleeting seconds, he can see the magic in his mind’s eye. He pictures the opening number, “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ . ” He stands on a pitch-dark stage. Above him is a globe made of glass. The globe will slowly start to turn, floating around his body before moving out into the audience, glowing like a comet—flitting here, flitting there, flitting everywhere. And then, with a graceful extension of his arm, Michael beckons the luminous globe. Like a shooting star, it zooms back to the stage and lands in Michael’s open hand, where, in a burst of radiant colors, it explodes, its fragments disappearing into the night.

  Michael sees the show continuing. Somewhere in the middle of the performance, there’s nothing onstage except a mattress set on fire. The groove drops on “Dirty Diana,” a song from Bad that describes the exploits of a desperate groupie lurking by the backstage door with hopes of seducing a superstar like Michael. Diana is cast as an erotic pole dancer who, whenever her feet touch the stage, sends up shooting flames. She pursues Michael with fierce purpose. Her weapons are gilded ropes that, for all his evasive moves, seem to ensnare and bind Michael to the bedposts of the burning bed. A red diaphanous curtain descends. Michael has been caught, apparently tied up like captured prey. But then the curtain rises to reveal a plot twist: it isn’t Michael who’s tied up like captured prey—it’s Dirty Diana. Michael has triumphed once again.

  When Michael conveys these ideas to Ed Alonzo, a magician who is helping to create some of the show’s most spectacular stage moments, it is with the exhortation that these illusions stun and stir his fans to the point of frenzy. Michael wants the audience to be caught in a hysterical state of wonder and delight.

  He wants to live in a state of wonder and delight. To do so, Michael knows that it’s best to avoid the news. He doesn’t want to hear about the suicide bombings in Iraq, the mutilation in Somalia, or the devastation in Afghanistan. These are situations that baffle Michael. He can’t comprehend why—in the name of love—murderous ethnic animosity can’t come to an end. Even more baffling are natural disasters like earthquakes and floods that kill hundreds of thousands of people.

  If God is all-loving and all-powerful, why does he allow—or even cause—the loss of innocent life, especially the deaths of helpless children? Why does God tolerate political slaughter? This is a question that Michael has posed to all the gurus he has sought for comfort.

  “Why didn’t something in heaven stop the Holocaust or some of the great genocides that happen in the world, from the lynchings and slavery to all the great problems?” he once asked Rabbi Boteach.

  The usual answers—that God is enigmatic, that his ways cannot be known, that we must live on faith—only partially satisfy Michael. Yet he cannot imagine himself not believing in God. He has always believed in the Great Creator. When he looks at the glorious wonders of the world—the mountains and forests and deserts and oceans—or at the majesty of space—the stars and constellations, the galaxies within galaxies—his heart says that they are all God’s handiwork. How can it be otherwise?

  On one hand, unanswered questions. On the other hand, undeniable evidence.

  As an adult, Michael has concluded that, unlike when he embraced fundamentalist theology as a child, he must now live with uncertainty. That is an uncomfortable conclusion. He would love to return to an earlier conviction, a time when all the answers were spelled out, and the fate of the world—as well as his own soul—was made clear. That’s no longer possible.

  In what he has called his favorite song, “Earth Song,” the hymn from HIStory, Michael does more than pose a series of questions about the ways in which man has mutilated his environment. He also confronts the Christian God, the one who has pledged his “only son” to a world of peace. Michael bravely asks God whether he really cares about the dying dreams and the atrocity of “children dead from war.”

  In “Earth Song,” often called Michael’s most stirring anthem, the questions resonate, without answers. God remains distant, silent, unknowable.

  Having lived for half a century, all Michael knows is that the struggle continues: the struggle to protect the planet; the struggle to protect his children and himself; the struggle to satisfy his enormous material needs and material obsessions; the struggle to please everyone around him, including his family and fans; and the struggle to locate enough peace of mind to assure him the rest of a blameless child.

  20

  Do or Die

  Sunday, May 31, 2009

  Michael knows that there’s a big, splashy article about him in the Los Angeles Times. He knows this because, even though his advisors are careful not to hand him newspapers and magazines that treat him critically, he spends a great deal of time on the Internet. In addition to doing his eBay shopping, for which he buys impulsively with a variety of pseudonymous accounts, he cannot resist reading about himself, especially critiques that appear in major publications.

  The Times piece, an attempt to assess Michael’s current situation some six weeks before the This Is It kickoff concert in London, focuses on Tom Barrack, the billionaire who bailed out Michael over a year ago and brought in AEG. Barrack is optimistic, telling the paper that Michael “could make $500 million a year if he puts his mind to it.”

  Although the article’s tone is mostly upbeat, there are quotes that bother Michael. One is from his former lawyer, John Branca, who says, “The paradox is that Michael is one of the brightest and most talented people I’ve ever known. At the same time, he has made some of the worst choices in advisors in the history of music.” The lawyer characterizes his separation fro
m the singer as his own choice, not Michael’s.

  Randy Phillips of AEG tells the paper about initially approaching Michael in 2007, when the artist “wasn’t ready” to realize a comeback. But now that he is ready, there is also a proposal for a three-year tour after London, going from Europe to Asia to the United States. Michael’s sole commitment is the fifty O2 concerts, but clearly AEG is hoping for much more.

  “We could have done two hundred shows if he were willing to live in London for two years,” says Phillips.

  Reading the remainder of the article, in which there is talk of risk, makes Michael uncomfortable. AEG is paying more than $20 million to produce the concerts—double the original estimate—and of the fifty performances, the promoter has been able to secure insurance for only twenty-three. “In this business,” says Phillips, “if you don’t take risks, you don’t achieve greatness.”

  When asked about Michael’s health, Phillips says that the artist has passed “a rigorous medical examination.”

  Things get murky when Tohme Tohme again identifies himself as Michael’s manager and speaks of the benefits of the association with Barrack and AEG, while implying that past advisors were less than scrupulous.

  But when Frank Dileo speaks to the paper, he assures readers that he is in charge and that Tohme Tohme has been dismissed.

  Furthermore, Cannon & Company, the accounting firm hired by Michael in 2008, has reportedly also been fired.

  There’s mention of other figures, some considered suspect, who have reemerged to either boost Michael’s confidence or cash in on his comeback, depending upon one’s point of view.

  The article’s implication is plain: Michael’s camp is in disarray. Among those weighing in on the high drama of his business affairs, the only two characters who speak with convincing authority are the supreme moneymen: Tom Barrack and Randy Phillips. And it is Phillips who underlines the article’s central theme. “The concerts, Phillips acknowledged, are a do-or-die moment for Jackson,” writes the paper, before quoting Phillips directly: “If it doesn’t happen, it would be a major problem for him career-wise in a way that it hasn’t been in the past.”

  Michael perceives this as a warning. Phillips is unhappy that Michael has missed so many rehearsals and is warning him about the consequences. Warnings do not please Michael. Warnings do not motivate him. They anger him. The idea of a “do-or-die moment” does not sit well with him. Why should he, of all people, be threatened by promoters who stand to make millions off him?

  That phrase—“do-or-die”—haunts him through the day and into the evening. It is Sunday, Murray’s day off. The doctor will not be there to give him the “milk of amnesia” that knocks him out. That means taking other medicines and hoping against hope that they will work.

  Bone-weary, Michael struggles to renew his sense of hope, a precious commodity that, night after night, slips away.

  21

  How Did It Get So Late So Soon?

  The words from Dr. Seuss, one of Michael’s favorite writers, are both apt and sad: “How did it get so late so soon? / It’s night before it’s afternoon. / December is here before it’s June.”

  June has arrived in a mad rush. Things are changing overnight. Everyone is in a hurry to make sure these shows come off.

  On June 1, rehearsals move from CenterStaging, the facility in Burbank where the ten-thousand-square-foot soundstage can no longer accommodate the colossal production, to the Forum, in Inglewood.

  The next day chef Kai Chase is rehired by the man who fired her, Michael Amir. Just as no reason was given for her dismissal, no reason is given for her recommission. Having been absent from the Carolwood estate for one month, she is shocked by the difference in Michael’s demeanor. Four weeks ago, he seemed energetic and strong. Now he appears lethargic and weak.

  Grace Rwaramba has resurfaced in London, where she claims to be once again working for Michael, this time scouting out a house for him and the children to live in for the duration of the This Is It shows. There’s no indication from Michael that Grace has, in fact, been rehired.

  Meanwhile, Michael remains preoccupied with his frail health and his need to sleep. He continues his practice of seeing other physicians—Allan Metzger and plastic surgeon Larry Koplin—who reportedly refuse to give him the powerful drugs he seeks.

  Concerned about Michael’s visits to so many doctors and his absence from rehearsals, Randy Phillips of AEG comes to Carolwood, where he, his assistant Paul Gongaware, Frank Dileo, Conrad Murray, and Michael discuss the current state of the artist’s health. The meeting is tense. Michael makes it clear to Phillips, the moneyman, that everything is cool. While it’s true that he has missed many rehearsals, he reminds the group that he has been diligently working on his dance routines on a daily basis at home with choreographer Travis Payne. Michael has it under control. He knows the schedule. He knows what needs to be done. And he knows how to do it.

  A few days earlier, when he was leaving CenterStaging, he didn’t sound as confident. Addressing a number of fans, he was visibly upset when he said, “I don’t know how I’m going to do fifty shows. I’m not a big eater. I need to put some weight on. I’m really angry with them [for] booking me up to do fifty shows. I only wanted to do ten, and take the tour around the world to other cities, not fifty in one place. I went to bed knowing I sold ten dates, and woke up to the news that I was booked to do fifty.”

  It seemed as though that issue was already resolved. Now, on June 2, another issue that Michael thought was behind him is back in the news. Contrary to what Michael has written to Leonard Rowe, Rowe’s backer, Patrick Allocco of AllGood Entertainment, is claiming that Michael is committed to a reunion concert. The promoter has complete confidence that, in his words, “the historic show we have been planning for more than a year” will be realized. Eight days later, though, Allocco changes course and, seeking to bar the upcoming This Is It shows in London, sues Michael and Frank Dileo, once an Allocco ally, for $20 million in lost profits and another $20 million in punitive damages.

  Whether as a result of AEG’s warnings or his own sense of responsibility, Michael begins attending rehearsals on a more regular basis. From June 1 through June 11, he never misses a day at the Culver Studios, where director Kenny Ortega is filming video adaptations of Michael’s most famous songs, for use in the This Is It shows.

  The high-tech wizardry—called the Dome Project—captures Michael’s imagination. In reshaping “Smooth Criminal,” he loves inserting himself into the film noirs of Edward G. Robinson and Humphrey Bogart. It’s a way of re-creating the golden age of Hollywood, with Michael as the centerpiece of each story. His kids are there to watch the filming. Paris tells Ortega that this is the first time she’s seen her father on a movie set. For his part, Michael is concerned that his children behave themselves—and they do. He’s proud.

  When he arrives home after working on these video adaptations, he feels renewed. He loves the filmmaking process. He relishes revisiting and resculpting videos, especially those made during the heady days of Thriller. He remembers that it was Quincy Jones, already a Hollywood star as a soundtrack composer and music producer, who introduced him to Steven Spielberg. Quincy and Michael were toiling away at Thriller at the same time that Spielberg was working on E.T. Both projects turned out to be among the most successful pop culture products of the twentieth century. Michael and Steven saw each other as magicians—one with music, the other with film. After Quincy produced and Michael narrated E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial, the audiobook and soundtrack album on which Michael sang the theme song “Someone in the Dark,” Steven and the artist became fast friends and for years spoke of making movies together.

  Michael thinks back on those extravagant plans, all of them unrealized. He has never made a full-length feature. Captain EO, with its $30 million budget and groundbreaking technical innovations, was only seventeen minutes long. His idea to produce Peter Pan—and perhaps play the lead—remains, like most of his fantastical film proj
ects, an unfulfilled dream. At the same time, he takes pride in the fact that the startlingly inventive nature of his short films has changed the course of pop music. In the early eighties, on the sheer strength of his phenomenal popularity, he broke the color barrier on MTV. As time went on, his videos had a distinctly autobiographical bent. While it’s true that he hired distinguished directors, given the scope and cohesion of his cinematic work, Michael could easily be considered an auteur.

  He also remembers the accolades he received for his acting. In “Bad,” for example, the brilliant Martin Scorsese–directed video, he holds his own against a riveting Wesley Snipes. Michael plays a shy and studious ghetto kid who attends prep school on scholarship. In his first major screen appearance, Snipes plays a B-boy bully. To verify his manhood and authenticate his black identity, Michael must perform in urban street style. The proving ground is a Brooklyn subway station. “What are you going to do,” asks Snipes, “dance us to death?” The answer is yes. In short order, Michael puts to death the myth that he is not black enough, not down enough, not daring or dangerous enough. Not only do his lock-and-pop moves have all the flash of the sharpest cutting-edge Soul Train dancers—some of whom, like Shalamar’s Jeffrey Daniel, helped train him—but his assertion that first and foremost he is a soul singer has never been more convincing. When he scats the sound “shamone” over and over again, soul music fans immediately hear the reference to Sister Mavis, who employed that exact vocal filler in her rendition of the Staple Singers’ sacred-secular pop hit from 1972 about the joys of heaven, “I’ll Take You There.”