After blessing the entire world with six years of relative silence, the self-anointed
King of Pop, Michael "I Love Myself" Jackson is back to torture us all with a new album -
We hunted around the Pigdog Journal newsroom for someone that would listen to Invincible
and write a review for us, but no one volunteered... even when threatened. Then our
health insurer called and said that they wouldn't reimburse any claims made by PDJ
employees that were the result of listening to Invincible - just too dangerous they said.
No problem, the PDJ doesn't normally allow little things like facts and ethnics get in
our way, (which is only different from every other news journal on the planet in that at
least we admit we make shit up) and it seems perfectly natural to me to write a slander
piece on Michael's newest efforts based solely on my "respect" of his collective body of
I mean, this is the "man" (a very generous description of Michael, if you ask me) that
has had numerous alleged and undefined relationships with people that aren't quite old
enough to vote. Or even to read. Then there is Michael's other alleged oddities. Like
his lightening hue. His shrinking nose. His fear of germs. His yearly facial
reconstructions. The decade
where he wore that stupid looking cast. The oxygen tent. The chimp Bubbles, who slugged
MJ and got sent to chimp jail. The affair with Liz Talyor. The Neverland Ranch. The brain
surgery watching. The millions of stuffed animals. The Shields/Ross/O'Neal
"girlfriends". The marriage to Elvis' daughter. It just goes on and on and on ... each
story more bizarre then the last.
Back in the early 80's I had a good friend that really thought Michael was the shit. I
always gave him grief for his musical taste, because I thought, even at his "artistic"
peak that Jackson's music was just shit. Then, in 1982, Thriller came out and 40 million
morons bought this utter piece of scat, filled with trite songs, vapid lyrics, overdone
melodies, it was insipid and banal and it had that horrible nails on the backboard voice
of Michael's. Of course, whipped into a frenzy by the market and public relations
geniuses, the unthinking, unwashed masses loved this intellectual equivalent of a two
hole outhouse just after twin 400 pound hungover hillbillies are finished making their
daily joint deposits. Jackson's popularity soared even higher when he made music videos
for each of his hits and became MTV's first star - back when MTV actually used to show
videos. This became the prototype for the entire lightweight, cheesy, overproduced
top 40s music churned out by the very untalented but exceptional good-looking boys and
girls bands of today.
All this adulation went straight to Michael's head and with the size of his ego approaching
that of Napoleon's, Michael proclaimed himself the King Pop much the way Napoleon snatched
the crown from Pope Pius VII and declared himself Emperor of France. Several million
Frenchman and Europeans suffered and died before Napoleon abdicated and was exiled to St.
Helens. Sadly, even that amount of bloodshed would be unlikely to convince Michael
Jackson that listening to his music is like eating some mythical Helium candy,
impossible to see, dry to the taste, fleeting in its existence, utterly unable to satisfy
your musical hunger, more a fragment of your imagination then something real and
So having heard all to often some of Jackson's early works what do I think of them?
I think they are poop.
And never having heard Invincible, what's my view?
I think it is poop.
And there you are PDJ, a review of Invincible as only the PDJ can do it.
If you'd like to read some more about Michael try here and here.