The King of Poop is Dead

And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.  His heart exploded—during the opening song for Sesame Street.

Oh, that’s misdirected. It implies that I detest him for being a Creepy Uncle. I would like to emphasize that my judgement is one based upon my experience of his music.

The world of music has not diminished one iota with the death of Michael Jackson.  I know a lot of folks actually liked this mad-hatter, but even his best work—that with the Jackson Five—was quite pale compared with something like Sly and the Family Stone (take special note of Fresh).

He certainly made a lot of money for folks who already had a lot, but this in and of itself is not a very interesting accomplishment.  Even remarks on, “His incalculable musical legacy” (on their home page).  Well, duh.  My musical legacy is incalculable.  A musical legacy is not something subject to calculation.  True by default is hardly impressive.

I’m a little sad only because the prediction of the sagacious South Paw Jones (in his work “The Last Remaining Beatle”) did not come to pass:

Please don’t think me callous for speaking ill of a dead man.  My criticisms of his music were much more caustic while he was alive.

Remember: never trust a fishmonger with warm hands (where has he been keeping them?).

Later.  Sly Stone is calling me.

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