Planet Homo

Walter Cronkite dies at 92

Walter Cronkite, the former CBS news anchor whose steady baritone informed, reassured and guided the nation during the tumultuous 1960s and 1970s, died today, the network announced. He was 92. Full obituary here.
For those of an age who remember, Cronkite walked us through history, lending assurance in the uneasiest of times. Beginning with  the Kennedy assassination, it was his confidant though occasionally emotional voice that we heard from 1962 to 1981 on CBS, that become the voice of reason and respect.
And that's the way it was.

Notes on a Funeral

The funeral of Michael Jackson. Watching it from numerous points of view, it was interesting to follow some thoughts on Facebook, as Brooke, Magic, Smokey, Jermaine and the child scored points while Al Sharpton seemed to annoy everyone. Perhaps it was the hour, it was morning and everything seemed oddly out of place. Mariah Carey sang what felt like a raw voice. One half expected commercials. Salon did a great job in having Mary Elizabeth Williams write a minute-by-minute account of the show:

2:35 p.m. John Mayer does Lite FM guitar version of "Human Nature." Eyes closed.

Jackson rolls over in coffin.

2:30 p.m. Kobe Bryant and Michael Jordan offer a dignified reminder of Jackson’s charity work, and assure his children they’ll always have family.

As they depart the stage, let us take a moment to note that we will likely not see another lineup of grieving brothers in sunglasses and single, sparkly gloves in our time.

Unless it catches on.

Read it all here.

Final Rehearsal

Notes on a Private Moment of a Public Death

  Michael Jackson dead at fifty. There are so many shocks contained in that statement: when did he become fifty? With no disrespect Jerry Lee Lewis is 73, Little Richard is reportedly 76, Eric Clapton is a surprising 64, Brian Wilson is 67. It is largely the improbability of the event that is the most shocking. As the circus winds its way up to Neverland or the Staple Center, the story itself is on the verge of exhaustion. Air travel is a great time to reflect and listen and I did coming back from Mexico City.

It must be noted that as to question of where were you when you heard the news of Michael Jackson’s death, it is a strange story. In the sub-tropical jungle of Alta Vista in Mexico, a location known as a highly spiritual junction with ancient petroglyph markings, a guide who spoke very little English broke the news as we headed down an extremely long road.  For over two hours the question lurked in every step: was this real? Only upon arrival in the Puerto Vallarta, did verification come from a somewhat lackadaisical hotel manager.

Celebrity deaths affect us in different ways. Farah Fawcett, who died the same day, did not provoke the same disbelief and sadness, perhaps because we were much better prepared for her departure. Jackson’s death seeped into dreams and it has taken days to accept. There was and is, something astonishing about his death. Where were the psychics? (LeToya Jackson claims to be psychic.)

Michael Jackson had a fierce, gifted energy, and though I cannot claim to own any CDs (ironically, I do now) I was in many ways a fan. It began for me on that night in 1982, when on television, live from the Apollo Theatre Michael took the stage and the world by storm. It was as if he had come out of nowhere at least for me. I was never a fan of the Jackson Five, the music, the songs, even Michael voice just  seemed adolescent. And it was. That night at the Apollo was Michael’s coming out party; he made the transition from boy to star in three short minutes. And it remained that way: we always had to watch, no matter what, Michael was a star, in so many ways. He was compelling as public figure: a changing face and image, court battles, peculiar marriages and always, his stage presence. There was only one Michael Jackson.

Musically, Michael’s music was driving, kinetic and relentlessly rhythm driven. His songs were operatic moments. What I always remember about listening to Michael Jackson was that his sound was the best in the world: the best producer, musicians, engineers and songwriters that money could buy. The production values were and still are are, simply the best. And then there was the voice,  His singing voice was the polar opposite of his speaking voice. The speaking voice was always demure, shy, slightly feminine and predictably young. The singing voice was defiant,  aggressive and confident. For some curious reason, I t was hard to believe Michael Jackson in interviews. His speaking voice seemed disingenuous. But the singing voice, even if if it was singing about a loving a girl or saving the world, somehow, you believed every second of it.

As a songwriter, it was difficult to understand his process He was not known to play piano or guitar, although he was rumored to play bongos as a child. And yet he managed some of the greatest pop songs ever written, though unlike most pop songs, they are not particularly karaoke-kind. His songs were ultimately written for his unique voice and talent, even when he wasn’t the songwriter. The other factor, which mentioned is usually mentioned in a casual way is the Michael’s producer on his major hits was the legendary Quincy Jones. Without Quincy, one can seriously doubt we would have been so moved by his music.

 Michael Jackson was in the end, that thing that celebrity becomes—­aloof, eccentric and unwilling to see the rules that most of us play by. His sexuality, which has been discussed very little in the press, should have been something detected in his music. Maybe it was. “Remember the Time” is an urgent, passionate song. It is laced with numerous “girl” as are almost all Jackson songs. But biographical? One wonders.

That Jackson was a kind of pederast is not in doubt. To what extent, we may never know. What is certain is that in his lyrics, one never suspects adult love. It was part of his persona, one that he created, of never growing up. What has escaped the public’s attention in this tragedy is Michael Jackson’s responsibility in creating it. Diprivan? His superstar appetite wouldn’t allow for a normal sleeping pill?

I am going to confess that I cried at times, and I’m not sure why. Walking through the parks in Mexico City, people would have televisions playing his videos, with small groups huddled watching. It was just sad, completely, painfully sad. For most us, he represented an era, a time, and a sound.  Yet he came and went with a larger message.  A message about celebrity, the unrelenting desire to change one’s appearance (where were these so-called good friends?) because being genuine was never part of his personality in his later years. There has been a chorus recently of  “leave him alone”, which suggests that we end speculation and investigation into his life as we mourn his death. Why should he get off so easily? It wasn’t as first reported, a heart attack. It was a man, apparently deep into drugs most of us have never even heard have. So yes, while we mourn, we should not forget this was not an act of God, no matter what anyone thinks.

"MIchael was Homosexual..."

 This is to be expected. Days after Michael Jackson's death, the ponderings, investigations and wonderings of every person with a keyboard are beginning. Of note though, is this entry from the Dailymail in London.
Writer Ian Halperin suggests a story about Michael Jackson that is extremely revealing. Entitled, " 'I'm better off dead. I'm done': Michael Jackson's fateful prediction just a week before his death", the story explores Jackson's decline in his final weeks. But there is also this:
It is clear to me that Michael was homosexual and that his taste was for young men, albeit not as young as Jordan Chandler or Gavin Arvizo.

In the course of my investigations, I spoke to two of his gay lovers, one a Hollywood waiter, the other an aspiring actor. The waiter had remained friends, perhaps more, with the singer until his death last week. He had served Jackson at a restaurant, Jackson made his interest plain and the two slept together the following night. According to the waiter, Jackson fell in love.

The actor, who has been given solid but uninspiring film parts, saw Jackson in the middle of 2007. He told me they had spent nearly every night together during their affair – an easy claim to make, you might think. But this lover produced corroboration in the form of photographs of the two of them together, and a witness.

Other witnesses speak of strings of young men visiting his house at all hours, even in the period of his decline. Some stayed overnight.

Read the story in its entirety here.

Luke Smalley RIP

Luke Smalley, the art photographer famous for his playful images that explored the intersections between fashion and masculinity, died unexpectedly on May 17, at the age of 53.

Smalley’s work cultivated an aura of lighthearted manliness by lifting from an array of masculine ideals — 20th-century fitness manuals, vintage school portraits, antique exercise equipment. Although Smalley was not a household name, he was revered among leading men’s-wear image makers, most notably his frequent collaborator and friend, the designer Kim Jones. (In 2004, Smalley teamed up with Jones on a book chronicling American youth culture, and a year later for a fashion story in T.)

 Smalley’s work appeared in progressive men’s fashion publications such as Dazed & Confused, V Magazine, Vogue Hommes International, Another Man and Arena Homme Plus. His two books, “Exercise at Home” and “Gymnasium,” were showcases for his tongue-in-cheek take on adolescence. (A final book on his work, “Sunday Drive,” will come out later this year.) While certainly homoerotic, Smalley’s images were never perverse. Instead, through the imaginative use of props, costumes and staging, Smalley helped bridge the gap between whimsy, sensuality and machismo — a viewpoint men all too seldom see reflected in popular culture

Final Exit: Bea Arthur

Beatrice Arthur, best known as the acerbic Maude Findlay on Norman Lear's sitcom "Maude" and as the strong-willed Dorothy Zbornak on the long-running "The Golden Girls," died Saturday. She was 86.
While often rumored to be a lesbian, Bea was actually married twice and to Gene Saks for 25 years.
What she was in fact, was funny. A dead-pan kind of humor that tended to stall the moment with laughter, Arthur was primarily a stage actress when Norman Lear spotted her in an off Broadway musical, "The Shoestring Revue" in 1971 singing "Garbage". Lear brought her to Hollywood where she had a guest role on "All in the Family" as Maude, a loud-mouth cousin to Edith Bunker. She soon had her own show, "Maude" which ran for six years. In 1985, she returned as Dorothy on "The Golden Girls", which ran from 1985 to 1992, twice winning the Emmy for best comedy.