Michael Jackson, one of the world’s most prominent producers of weird and freaky shit, died this morning of a heart attack in Los Angeles. He was fifty years old.
Although he first rose to fame for his musical talent – first as a child, as one of the Jackson 5, and then writing and performing timeless hits like Billie Jean, Thriller, and Stop Pressuring Me About The Creepy Stuff I Keep Doing – it was his bizarre and inexplicable antics in later years that really struck a chord with the public and made him a star.
“You could always rely on Michael to come up with something unexpected and disturbing,” friend and producer Quincy Jones told the LA Times.
“Whether it was sleepovers with other people’s children, tearing his face apart with horrendous plastic surgery, clearly fake marriages, naming his two sons “Prince”, dangling one of them out of a window, commissioning unbelievably kitsch works of “art” – Michael Jackson was undoubtedly the King Of Batshit Insane. I will miss him terribly, as will everyone else who made a great deal of money off him.”
The world’s tabloid editors are today in mourning.