K-Town and Sadlack's - A Tribute

I was born in Raleigh, North Carolina on July 22, 1977 at the Old Rex Hospital that once sat at the corner of Wade Avenue and St. Mary's Street. My earliest childhood memories, as long-time readers of my blog may be able to affirm, are saturated with the landmarks and buildings of the capital city that have been around much longer than I. Over the years some of these buildings still stand, some have seen remodels or changed locations entirely; others are long gone. One of my long standing stories that I tend to tell from time to time is that when I first got my license in 1993, against the express instructions from my parents not to do so, I drove straight into downtown Raleigh and began what would become my 20 year run of hanging out at Cup a Joe on Hillsborough Street (And it should come as no surprise, this is where I sit now, writing this to you).

36 years of Hillsborough street... I have many memories... some highlights...

1983, NCSU wins the NCAA championship... my dad, an NCSU Alumni decides he must take his family on a cruise up H-boro to celebrate with his comrades. My mom's car at the time, an ancient royal blue escort, is splashed and coated with red latex paint on the passenger side. In my skewed kid-memory, the streets and everything surrounding is snow-white with toilet paper, anything not covered in TP is on fire.

I persist in begging my parents to take us to “That place with the cherry on top!” ...an ice cream parlor on the corner of Dan Allen called Swanson's(?). I distinctly remember once making the decision to order “bubble gum” ice cream and being furiously irritated as there were actual pieces of gumballs in it and ice cream shouldn't be work.

Riding back towards the fairgrounds from the old Darryl's on the corner of Hboro and Oberlin and my dad points out the prostitutes waiting around at the corner of Chamberlain.

My mom works in her salon on Saturday mornings and dad take my brother and I on his errands to local hardware stores, etc., and we typically stop for lunch at Char-Grill beside the old church and eat our Jr Steakburgers on the tailgate of the truck.

Home from college (ECU) to hang out with friends still in town... They have decided to do acid, I am the DD, as I am too scared to try it. We walk up and down Hillsborough, from the Electric Co Mall to Sadlack's... My friend swears the bricks are full of water and the sky is full of angels.

A quiet Tuesday morning and no one is in Cup but me, a few older guys that seem to live here, and my friend Dawn. Several moments go by with no cars on the road and a lone tumbleweed rolls down the center of Hboro St.

IHOP on the corner of Ashe at 3am with an ex-boyfriend... A homeless man comes in and proceeds to drink all 4 tabletop syrups and lies down on the floor beneath the booth and falls asleep.

Endless hours of Frankenstein pinball at the Fast Fare or Funhouse pinball at the pizza place beside Foundation's Edge.

A gutterpunk named Suede tries to sell us cassette tapes he found in the trash behind Schoolkid's.

My friends have somehow managed to shimmy their way onto the roof of Cupajoe and are throwing jumping jacks from the roof and shooting off roman candles.

And now most of these places are gone. The Comet, The Brewery, Pantana's, to name a few. And now one more to add to the list... Sadlack's. It is a painful loss, but before the doors shut, in true hometown honor-system, Raleigh rallied and sent this quasi-shabby, shitsqualor manor of mayhem and drunken foolishness off to the great dive bar in the sky in ...er.... well... style...? A full week (or so) of what I called “Last Call Rock Shows.” I did my best to show face and throw some more cash in the till before it was all over.

Sadlack's sat at the corner of Enterprise and Hillsborough, across from the iconic NCSU Belltower. In my teens and early 20s Sad's was actually not the place you would hang out... In fact, I was warned against it by my father. My crowd were usually at the Comet or Stingray (later on, everyone migrated to Jackpot and then eventually downtown to Landmark/Neptunes/Captial Club). Sadlack's throughout the 80's and 90's had a pretty rough reputation. And before the Great Remodel a few years back had perhaps the smallest, most terrifying bathrooms I've ever experienced. Being situated only a block or two from all the Ghetto-blaster room-for-rent Shrader properties and around the corner from the blood for cash donation center, the assumption was that Sadlack's was basically the vortex for all the homeless or may-as-well-be-homeless gutterpunks and lost souls. The joke goes that Sad's is where Cup a Joe went after close or that it was the official AA Meeting afterparty. It wasn't until my friends decided to quirkily gentrify (sorta kinda) Maiden Lane (and inadvertently, temporarily all became coke addicts,) did I start half-heartedly wandering up to hang out on the patio. Then the glorious advent of Hopscotch and the convenient fact that I had moved into a duplex near the Rose Garden, within walking distance myself, saw me spending more and more time with Raleigh's own island of misfit toys.

Now, I know to the untrained eye, (or those unfamiliar with Karla-speak) you may misconstrue that I am talking smack about Sadlack's and those that chose to spend their time there – I'm mostly trying to explain why it took so long for me to warm up to it. And how once I figured out it was basically, second only to Cupajoe for me, Homeroom for Underdogs and how I started aligning myself with them folks. God knows I love an underdog.

The announcement of the closing came so long ago, so long before I left for Costa Rica in fact, that I had almost forgotten it was coming. And it wasn't until the last few weeks, once we officially saw the 3rd-ish incarnation of Schoolkids close beside it, that reality began to sink in. It was really happening. Suddenly things started happening... The Raleigh music scene remembered its rusty roots of afternoon no one shows on the patio, NCSU alumni who spent their sunny Saturday afternoons came out to reminisce, and the same old freakshow drunks who'd been there since the dawn of time were in full force. I made three “official” stopovers.

Dexter Romweber – 12/22/13

Dex, of Flat Duo Jets fame, started off with an early solo set around 6pm. I hadn't 100% planned on this show, but I was in the general vicinity and I was rocking a solo Sunday Funday and didn't quite feel like wandering down to Landmark, so I made a detour and I'm glad I did. Dexter played for a bit, rested a bit and then picked it back up. I saw great friends and got some serious toe-tapping on. Later I snagged his setlist, which was actually written on the back of an old power bill, which seemed almost intrusive but I got his permission to add it to my ever-increasing setlist collection.

Scores from the past couple weeks in the door of my car. This is getting out of control. kinda.

MARTEEEEEEN!

Kenny Roby & Friends – 12/28/13 (aka The Official Shit-Starts-Gettin'-Rowdy show)

Now this was epic. A Saturday night show, packed to the gills with who's who of the long standing Triangle Americana scene and old school Six String Drag fans. This was a two-fisted tallboy show; a-hootin' and a-hollerin', unexpected covers, surprise special guests and encore after encore kinda gig. Easily one of the best shows I've seen since I got back to town. Toe tapping gave way to eventual gratuitous head-bobbing, morphing seamlessly into full scale dancing, eventually seeing us dancing on the tables, then ...aw fuckit, down front, in front of everybody danceparty!!! There was more love and good vibes on that patio than I have seen in a Raleigh crowd... man, you know, I almost said “years” but honestly? I think EVER?

Damn the Man

I ARE FAN

Gettin' Goner With It

Yeah, That happened!!

More shows were scheduled after this one, (including the Backsliders on New Year's Eve that I very briefly stopped in for one last adieu,) but in my heart I knew nothing would ever come as close to this as sheer live show perfection at Sadlack's and I wanted it to be my last memory of the place, not the shambles I knew it would become as the evening wore on and revelers would tear the place to pieces, nuts and bolts, the way they did on the “first” last night of Jackpot when folks were walking past Q's place on Morgan carrying pool sticks and bar stools. My last memory of the night is watching as some friends lit a Chinese fire lantern loose and it floated dreamily into the sky.

photo courtesy of Johnny of House of Swank

photo courtesy of Johnny of House of Swank

photo courtesy of Johnny of House of Swank

January 1, 2014 saw the end of Sadlack's. The facebook page was flooded with love, support and memories. Local publications published tributes and locals took photos of the boarded up windows in memorial to good times gone by.

Three days later, one of my dear friends, Carole, celebrated her birthday with her husband, friends, and family. Early the next day we learned the terrible news that Matt, her husband, her truest love and longest friend, our friend, our love, had passed away tragically, unexpectedly... I had been, as I tend to do, procrastinating with writing this "tribute to Sadlack's" post, (perhaps waiting for the flood of other media outlet articles to fade out,) but in the wake of this devastating news I knew that the best thing I could do for myself and perhaps for my friends who are hurting as much as I am for these two people who have touched so many lives in such a deep and loving way, was to dedicate this post to them. As with what has been the case with the majority of the posts found in this blog, I sit here holding back tears, spewing catharsis. 

Carole has been a deeply important person in my life for many years, floating in and out like a guardian angel when I am my deeply saddest and most lost; seemingly knowing exactly what to say and the right way to say it to pull me out of wherever it is my soul is trying to retreat. Not to say that I am some deeply enigmatic and nihilistic soul with no way through my crabby crustacean shell, but the universe (G-d? Who knows anymore?) has always found a way to set such transcendental and casually rational souls such as Carole into my path. One of my fondest memories is a random evening when she and Blinker showed up at Jackpot in full clown regalia after I had just barely met her and she enveloped me in one of the warmest and best hugs I can recall in real life, as if she had known and loved me her whole life.

Matt was someone I met when I staarted to meet Raleigh Kids outside of high school overflow. I had started spending my time with the notorious Rob Roy and he spent lots of time with this group of folks that circled around the kids Jenny (Wood!), Chris, Nancy (Brown!) and Matt, (who we called K-town, as he was from Kinston). Rob called him his “lawyer” ...Matt once posed as his attorney to get him out of a traffic ticket ages ago (this may have been a joke, but we still called him K-Town: Attorney at Law for years.) Time passed, folks moved on, “cliques” faded, merged, melted into one... I'd find myself at parties with crews of folks I'd never pick out of a lineup to know each other. I'd be on Bart's stoop on Chamberlain with hippies, punks, hipsters, art fags and sorority girls and I never knew how we all knew each other, but it was there that K-town came back into my life and Carole became a life-preserver and one of my soul's strongest advocates.

I am having trouble keeping it together now, as I am writing this in public and it's not in my best interest to break down at Cupajoe, so I will end this by saying that not since losing our dear friend Sean “Old School” Johnson a few years back, has my soul ached so badly for the loss of a friend. I have no comforting words for Carole or their family at the moment, (as I am stuck somewhere between the extreme anger/helpless grief phase myself,) and I don't ask you for yours. I would just ask that whoever you are, whether or not you know these two beautiful people, that you take a moment to revel in their love and feel blessed to know that such people like this existed on this planet in your lifetime. And if you get a moment, send a loving burst of hope and comfort to Carole, the kids, and their family.

Services for Matt will be this Saturday afternoon, the 11th, with a reception to follow at their home. Feel free to contact me at karlaanne@gmail If you would like to coordinate carpooling or need directions.


Donations for the family can be made here.

Wreckless Eric - Whole Wide World

There is only one thing in the world I think about more than music, which should be baffling to some people, but when I confess what that thing is it should come as no surprise: Love. I think about love a lot. A LOT, a lot. What it is, what it means, what it could be, what it should be… What I want, what I have, what I need, what I feel. What I deserve, why do I deserve it? Is “deserve” even the right thing to say? Does anyone DESERVE love? Is it a human right or is it a privilege? What is the ratio to human suffering and the retribution in the form of someone worshiping the crap out of you? Have I suffered enough? Is there such thing as karma? Am I repaying some karmic debt from some terrible thing I did in the past in the form of being forever alone? Why? Isn’t my faith enough to combat this self-imposed solitary confinement? Am I doing it to myself? Am I just too stupid to know how to love correctly? Why am I my favorite person on earth and yet I am no one else’s favorite person on earth?

There are a thousand other questions… I won’t burden them with you for now.

I will admit I never heard this song until Will Farrell’s movie “Stranger Than Fiction”; a movie I loved so much I bought instantly on DVD. I find myself watching it over and over again, as I do with certain low budget-ish indie-esque quirky love stories (i.e. Dream for an Insomniac, The Pillow Book, Garden State, etc… these are my very favorite kinds of movies) If you knew this song before this movie, you win this cool-points battle, cool kid. I didn’t. I will not be ashamed to admit that. But that scene, when Harold just randomly starts playing it and Ana comes out and just falls all over herself for him; yeah that. I want that. I remember watching that scene for the first time and literally saying out loud; “Oh god! I want that!!!” (I want that, by the way.) This song personifies everything I want a man to feel about me.

So I was walking in to work this morning and this song randomly popped into my head, so I was walking along, whistling the tune, when I realize. Damn, I’ve really never had that. How have I never had the kind of love I deserve, to this point? How do I keep missing the mark? I have such a good, clear vision of what it is, what it feels like, I know exactly how to love someone else, but why has no one ever figured out how to love me? Why hasn’t anyone bothered? I’m so …. Loveable? How is it even possible that no man has written a love song about me? How have I never gotten a love letter, like a hand written “you are perfect” love letter? How has no one ever written me a poem? How have I never gotten a mix cd from a man? How is this even possible? ME? Of all people? Me, the girl who has made more mix cds than friends, the girl who makes such perfect mix cds I should practically put this skill on my resume. Never has it happened; it blows my mind.

I should clarify. Yes, men have loved me. Men have loved me well; socially acceptably, restrainedly, technically correctly, cautiously… but I don’t want that. I want the right man to love me the right way. I want someone to go the whole wide world just to find me… so then I say this, (I type this,) and I hear the voice of my conscience and my father and certain friends saying things like “you should be reasonable and you should accept that men are the way they are.” I hear every ex of mine say, "You live in a fantasy land." Or something like that. I would rather live in a 'fantasy land' than on a planet where that kind of love doesn't happen. I don’t want a sane, rational, calm love. I know it exists! I know it as well as I know that *I* exist, or god exists; I can feel it. Look at this song, for Christ’s sake. There are men that feel like this. Look at every incredible love song written by a man. Look at Ian Curtis or Shane MacGowan. Look at Lord Byron or Nicholas Sparks, even. Listen to Explosions in the Sky, dammit. There are men that are capable of great loves and very capable of expressing that love without hesitation or fear. I want this man. I have a habit of saying that I need a man to have bigger balls than I have. And for someone to have literally no physical testes, I have certainly dated my fair share of weak men.

About a year ago, actually a year ago this month, my ex, Gigi, and I split. We had a good run, but there was about a million things wrong with our relationship, which I really don’t feel like going into right now… after a month or two of going wild and being free I started having that “oh god, why did I dump my boyfriend, I might have screwed up” feeling. I ran into a good friend who had me make a list. I made this list. This is part of the “story” as I related it on my private journal at the time, 3 days before my last birthday:


I’ve been in love before. Lots. I have loved more in my little lifetime than most people do in five lifetimes. There is nothing on earth I have pursued or fought harder for than true love. I have loved men who pulled my pigtails, men who didn’t know I existed, men who knew I existed and exploited me, men who abused me, men who tried to hold me while I wriggled free, men who loved me some but not enough… I almost got married once, but we were kids. I can look back on that and see how we both dodged a hellacious bullet, but I mostly think I missed my only chance there. I was with Gigi for almost 3 years. We ended things at mostly my insistence because I thought we were going nowhere and at the secondary insistence of my friends who KNEW we were going nowhere and that someone who would love me how I needed was out there. I knew it too. I got single, I got laid. I met some guys, I dated one young guy and had a really good time and dumped all my emotional garbage on him that I never dealt with after Gigi. I got really close to losing my mind for a minute there. I kept talking to a good friend of mine who kept insisting I meet this one guy because he was my ‘soul mate.’ I knew who he was talking about but I let old ugly me take over and insist that I had no chance with this guy. Through some impossibly coincidental circumstances that I, at the time, took as fate (which was the prognostication of my entire spiritual downfall let me tell you,) we wound up dating. I literally did everything by the unspoken girl rule book, aka ‘He’s Just Not That into You,’ every Cosmo mag EVER, everything your mama ever told you about how to get a man and every bit of bad bar bathroom advice from your girlfriends all in one. I played it cool, I acted indifferent, I stayed calm, I didn’t run my mouth, I didn’t get carried away, I let things happen, I was a cool customer. But somewhere lurking in the shadows, as always, was the ‘OMG MAGIC! TRUE LOVE! TAKE A CHANCE, THIS COLD BE IT!”

We had a few really amazing nights together, then one REALLY amazing night together and I realized that I was falling stupid head over heels for this guy. So what did I do? Got drunk and told him, of course. And what did he do? Run for the hills, of course. There are some really stupid circumstances surrounding this situation. One of which is this: either right after or soon before Gigi and I split I was hanging out with one of my hippie mama outcast weirdo’s at the coffee shop and she told me to make a list of everything I could ever possibly want in a man, as if I created him in a lab, make it as outlandishly impossible as I wanted, just dream out loud…. I made the list. This man was the list. NO ONE SHOULD BE THAT LIST. IT DOES NOT EXIST. IT IS ME WITH A DICK… …I am so pissed that I am getting pissed about it. He was so different; I don’t want to get over him. I want the phone to ring. I want magic. I had the opportunity to see him again last weekend and I was a fucking coward and I drank myself into blackout status. Don’t remember the majority of the night, just that I finally told him that I loved him and he pretty much patted me on the head and said “Aww, you’re just drunk!” and then proceeded to let me drive home…? In what universe is the logic that I am too drunk to understand what love is, mean that I am in any way capable of driving? This thought fucks me up too much to continue right now.



Part of the first, which is not explained in the journal entry above, no one ever saw that list except me and my best friend until him, now you. As me and this guy were dating, I started feeling brand new about it all, about life in general, it was off the charts exceptional. Not just him, but the way I *felt* about him, the way my body and my heart my very being reacted to his existence and presence. The calm and confidence I felt when I was near him or thought about him. I asked my best friend about it, and she simply said “well yeah, because he’s ‘the list’.” I thought about it for a minute and pulled the list out of my wallet, where I had toted it around like a good luck charm for almost a year and read through the list. By the time I got to the bottom I was crying because I knew I had found him. It is an amazing yet almost horrifying feeling when you realize you’ve met the love of your life. Maybe it’s what parachuting feels like? … The best and worst feeling ever. It was all within the same week that I realized I had found him and I loved him that he broke up with me. I was a wreck for a long, long time. (I had a really shitty summer this year. Lost my faith, my coping abilities, too much weight, etc...) Sometimes I still backtrack; mostly now-a-days I propel myself recklessly forward, taking whatever chance life throws at me to prove me wrong about him. So far, no luck, but it doesn’t mean I won’t give up giving up on him. I’m trying, still. One day it’ll stop being him I compare every man to forever. I’m really ready for that to happen. But the point of this is… the list.

When he ended things, we sat on my couch and cried like idiots and I decided to show him the list. I can’t say what he felt when he read it; I just know we were both emotional wrecks that day. I did my best to stay strong and make the hurting me hurt him less. I loved him that much. So I kept my head up and waited until he left to lose it. but after he read the list, he either that day or in a later email said something to the effect that I needed to add one more to that list… a final bullet point that says more or less that the man of my dreams has to be “ready and willing to accept the kind of love that I have to offer.” So yes, that. I have thought about that a lot. It’s something my best friend and I have discussed many times. So the thought that this guy was "everything but" has helped talk me down off that “but he was THE ONE” ledge many times… but the right word or song or thought or memory triggers him like a leg cramp; I am paralyzed with the loss. I’ve stopped talking about him and reconnecting him to everything and everywhere I go (much to the relief of my friends, I’m sure) I’ve stopped crying myself to sleep and finding myself driving in circles on the beltline listening to horribly heartbreaking love songs. I stopped hurting and started dating. I’m moving ahead slowly, doubting every step in the opposite direction from him, but I have no choice, so I keep walking. Some days are terrible, some days are awesome. Most days are just another day without him, but what are you going to do, right?


So what I NEED is the right person feeling that much for me. And I could have any guy being in love with me, but I want THE guy to be in love with me. The one I love back… The perfect one, the man from before plus one - how can something so seemingly simple be so hard? I still fervently believe the man of my dreams will be that list; he will be gratefully excited and ready to accept my intense level of love, he will write me unprompted love letters and show up with red tulips because it’s a Tuesday and he loves to make me smile, he will push through a crowd of strangers to get to me across the room because he is so excited to see me, he will sing acoustic version of glam rock pop songs to me on a barely tuned guitar in a dimly lit living room; he will love me so much it leaves me shell shocked and drunk without the drink.


on second thought, I think I might actually hate this song.

Antony and the Johnsons - Another World

goodbye, jeremy.




see you in the next world, angel... xoxox

Michael Jackson - Billie Jean

created: Friday, May 29, 2009, 11:36:39 AM
modified: June 26, 2009, 2:30:24 PM

This is going to be a round-about way to get my point across here, but try to keep up.

When trying to think through how I was going to start this off, this was my actual thought process:

- I love Michael Jackson, I don’t care who knows it.
- Why would anyone condemn an artist for his personal life when his music is so amazingly funky?
- It’s not personal, it’s business. Meaning, I don’t care what he does on his own time, as long as ‘PYT’ and ‘Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough’ remain on permanent rotation on my iPod.
- That makes me think of “You’ve Got Mail” which was; let’s admit it, a precious movie.
- I don’t want people to think I got my “it’s not personal, it’s business” philosophy from a movie, but it will help to add perspective to the situation.
- I think MJ is a strange person, but I don’t think he is a criminal. Regardless of my vague opinion of his personal life, I will always love him because he is the funkiest human being in the universe.
- I have more memories associated with Michael Jackson than most any other artist, because Thriller came out when I first started obsessing over music.

This last point segue into my original reasoning for choosing Billy Jean as the maidenhead MJ post, they may be more, or I may be able to fit it all in this post, in a roundabout way.

In 1983, MJ released thriller. We were kids; we were obsessed with it, like most everyone in the country at that time. I was in either Kindergarten or first grade at the time. This album was the first of many that I took with me Show and Tell. I brought the vinyl in to show the class the amazing photograph of Jackson lying on his side, clutching the baby Bengal tiger. But mostly I wanted to show off how awesome I was for having this new and exciting release. (This was then followed by Showing and Telling of Cyndi Lauper’s “She’s So Unusual” and The Police’s “Synchronicity”.)

Shortly after I showed off the album (or either it was soon before?) was the Motown 25 special wherein MJ dazzled the universe with His Moonwalk. The next day, we kids were in a frenzy. The entire day was spent talking about sparkly gloves and falling over ourselves in an attempt to recreate this magic backward-ness.
……………
This is where I stop and pause. I have a tendency to start a post for this blog and then stop for a couple days to make sure I am remembering everything I mean to say about a particular song. In this instance, I started this post a little less than a week ago. Last night, we lost our king. I am so bewildered and so unbelievably sad about this tragedy. At this point, no one knows the circumstances surrounding his death, and I doubt I will be deterred by whatever the reasons may be, controversial or not.

Yesterday, I sat with a table of friends, all about the same age as me, some up to 5 years younger and 4 years older than me. We were all, technically, children of the eighties, why was I the only one who was so obviously upset by this? I was watching the streaming report on cnn.com when the coroner made his official announcement that he was gone. I began to cry. Everyone looked at me like I was a special needs kid. I didn’t really care too much about that. I called my one true friend who knew how upset I was and knew exactly why. I tried, very calmly, to explain to my boyfriend why I was upset. This is the paraphrasing of why. These are the things my best friend already knows. This is why I love her.

I started to explain this a few paragraphs up… and the whole purpose of this blog in general should explain, that I was a child who was greatly influenced by music. My entire life has been a “musical journey”. I have a passion. I may not be a musician myself, other than playing a few instruments for personal pleasure, and I may not be a painter or a photographer, or an artist in a traditional sense, but I consider myself a person who takes great pleasure from the aesthetics of life. The main cynosure of my pleasure receptors for the appreciation and obsession of the arts is primarily focused on music. I find the greatest pleasures, pains, passions, experiences, loves, hates, and most significant moments of my life have been a great soundtrack composed by the men and women who created these masterpieces just for me. My heart is in this goofy little blog. My heart is in the songs. My heart is with the artists.

There is the simple beginning. My father was a music nut. We played records, rather than watched Saturday cartoons. Dad would quiz me on bands like Steppenwolf and the Four Tops to amuse his buddies when I was 4 or so. Dad was the one who let a 7 year old me stay up to watch the first ever MTV awards until 11pm. It was dad who helped me buy my first ever vinyl, Thriller, and dad who bought me my first ever CD, Dangerous. I grew up with Michael Jackson. In a long line of musical passionate responses, my first realization that music was more than just a “thing”, was the way my body, my toes responded to Billie Jean. I never forgot that, and I never forgot him. I was never not a Michael Jackson fan. Even through all his personal drama, I always knew his music would never let me down.

I can remember when Thriller (the video for the song) first came out, and the special about its making, came on MTV and how it played all day long. I can remember when the same thing happened for Black or White. I can remember so many performances, so many videos, so many songs I knew as well as myself. So many funky, just technically perfect pop songs. So many people overlook the beauty of pop music. How a good, happy song, just for the sake of hearing a good song that makes your head bob, changes your mood. This all round-abouts into my (and Oscar Wilde’s) argument about art for art’s sake. Just because a song isn’t profound, heartbreaking, life-changing, doesn’t mean it’s not a good song. Some songs are just awesome because they are awesome. This was Michael Jackson’s music for me. He was an amazing artist and performer, and his music was great.

I am sad because so many people forgot this and it took his death for the american media remember that they loved him. So many people forgot how amazing he was and let the media destroy him. I can’t imagine the hell his personal life has been for the past few years. I pray he is at peace.