The Comfort Rooms

King Of Pop

It's written all over the news. Mr. Jackson, at age 50, has now passed on from mortality into the next phase of his existence. Just when I thought the news ended with Farrah Fawcett dying from cancer this early morning, here comes a much bigger story. The King of Pop is dead.

I just realized the magnanimity of this event. If decades ago, our dads had the Elvises and The Beatles, now, we got a Michael Jackson, dead. Steven Spielberg was right. Michael Jackson was in the league that belonged only to the likes of Fred Astaire, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley and The Beatles. It is great my generation witnessed an artist as magical as he was. He was a living urban legend as we hear all sorts of stories surrounding him. His nose? Cleft chin? Ivory white complexion? Though his ever-changing physical features made him the butt of jokes the past two decades, the enigma that was him never seemed to make his star falter.

Without him, the Jackson Five would have never been. Janet Jackson would never be the artist that she is now. Usher, Ne-yo, Chris Brown, Justin Timberlake and a host of other male artists would have sounded and moved differently.

Pop music would have never been the same. MTV would have never been the same. We wouldn't have known of songs like Smooth Criminal, or Man In The Mirror, or Billie Jean, even Thriller.

The King is gone. Pay him his respects.

This post was written by: Jerick Baluyot

Jerick Baluyot is a professional blogger, writer and digital marketing specialist. Follow him on Twitter