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The Revolutionary.
Rest in peace, Mr. Shakur.
Always an inspiration and a true human exemplary of the dichotomy that exists as a black man and artist in America.
(via thatmodelgirl)
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Can’t believe a year has passed. We miss you, MJ.
A year ago today, I was getting ready to leave the house for my radio internship when I heard a stunned cry come from the basement where my mom was ironing and watching TV. Within seconds, she sprinted upstairs and stood in front of my dad and me with a look of utter disbelief on her face. “It’s MJ,” she said, “He’s … he’s in a coma.”
As I drove to work, I was sitting in rush hour traffic when I turned the radio dial to the Top 40 station I worked at to hear “Thriller” coming through my car speakers. At that moment, I knew the King of Pop was gone. I put my head down on the steering wheel and began to cry.
Michael Jackson was a genius. Regardless of the societal troubles he faced throughout his very turbulent life, he was a musical mastermind whose voice and feet impacted performing arts internationally in a way that we will never see (at least in my lifetime) again.
I can’t begin to describe the impact of Michael’s music on my life. One of my earliest memories is of my dad putting the Thriller and Off The Wall vinyl records on in the living room when I couldn’t have been older than four years old, teaching me how to moonwalk and the “Rock With You” choreography. I learned how to point out a nasty guitar solo by listening to “Dirty Diana”. And I fully understood the emotional impact of music after hearing “Human Nature” through my headphones, dabbing at my eyes in the backseat during a family road trip in elementary school.
Now that this year has come and gone, I pray that the media will stop with the disrespectful exposes on Michael’s life and let him truly rest in peace. Let’s remember the music.
- k.ray.radio
