The Paradox of Time and Memory

I am older than John Lennon or Kobe Bryant will ever be. Lennon was 40 when he was shot to death in front of his apartment building in 1980; Bryant was 41 when he died in a helicopter crash earlier this year. They are gone too soon, but also forever young.

You don't feel the passage of time until it slaps you in the face. Watching the first two episodes of ESPN's "The Last Dance," I realized that most college students today were not even born when the events depicted in the film took place. That time when the Chicago Bulls won six NBA titles during an eight year span felt so exciting, so vibrant, so electric--but it is history to today's young adults, much like the Beatles or the Boston Celtics' 1960s dynasty are history to me and to members of my generation.

Someone who watched John Lennon and the other Beatles during the 1960s did not think of Lennon at that time as a tragic figure whose life would be cut short--but members of my generation had barely learned who he was before he died, and thus the international outpouring of grief that followed his death is inextricably connected to my thoughts and memories about his life. As a child, I was struck by the cruelty of Lennon being killed in the prime of his life shortly after he had released an upbeat song titled "(Just Like) Starting Over." I knew that Lennon had been in the Beatles, and I had some idea of who the Beatles were, but I didn't feel the Beatles the way that I would later feel Prince. Put another way, I did not have the illusion of knowing the Beatles the way that I had the illusion of knowing Prince; after all, Prince--through his songs--accompanied me in real time through a wide variety of life experiences spanning over 30 years.

I lived through the Kobe Bryant era, even participated in it as a writer/interviewer, so when I think of Bryant I think of the best player of the post-Michael Jordan era--the player who came closest to matching up with Jordan (you can disagree with that assessment, but that does not change the way that I personally experienced that era). Interviewing him in Cleveland, or in Indianapolis, or during NBA All-Star Weekend, I could never have imagined that he would be frozen in time as forever young--but children now, and children yet to be born, will perceive Bryant not as a living person, but as a historical figure who died young, like Dr. King and John Lennon. Dying young is an inescapable part of their legacy.

You can learn history, but no matter how much you know, no matter how empathetic you are, no matter how sensitive you are, it is difficult to feel history the way that you feel the life you live, the events that impact you in real time. Every time I hear Dr. Martin Luther King's famous "I've Been to the Mountaintop" speech I cry, but those are tears spilled because I already know how the story turns out; if I had heard that speech when he gave it, I would have felt inspired instead of tearful--and if I had been alive when he was assassinated, the immediate, visceral feeling of loss would be different than the feeling one gets from learning about Dr. King's life, and finding out for the first time how he died.

Dr. King had a vision that he might not be destined to have a long life, and he shared that vision with his followers in "I've Been to the Mountaintop." Lennon had no visions of personal martyrdom; in fact, he sought to avoid that fate, once telling an interviewer, "It's hard to be Gandhi or Martin Luther King or to follow them. I don't admire politicians particularly, I think they're showbiz people, but people who put their thing on the line, like Gandhi, and threw the British out by not shooting anybody...those are the political people I admire. But I don't want to be shot for it like Gandhi, and I don't want to be shot for it like Martin Luther King. I don't want to be a martyr. I don't believe in martyrs, but I admire their stance." Those words sounded one way to a listener in real time, but they sound different when you read them after Lennon was shot--just 12 years after Dr. King was assassinated.

Lennon also said, "If I'd conveniently died in the mid-70s after the Rock 'n' Roll album or Walls and Bridges, they'd all be writing this worshipful stuff about what a great guy and wasn't he funny with a Tampax on his head [during Lennon's infamous "Lost Weekend" period]. You know, all that stuff, it's all right when you're dead. They'd all be saying, what a great guy, and wonderful, wonderful. But I didn't die, so that infuriated everybody, that I would live and do what I want to do. Which is look after me and the family--that was the central concern--to be a family and not lose that was more important than the creation and records and rock 'n' roll and being in Billboard."

Lennon was dead two months after he uttered those words, leaving behind his widow Yoko Ono, their five year old son Sean, and his 17 year old son Julian (from a previous marriage).

Lennon appreciated the past, and his past, but he did not find it productive to wallow in nostalgia:

The adults that were the 20-year-olds in the 60s have all turned into what we were supposed to saving ourselves from: asking for the 60s to come back with the Beatles and the Kennedys--they probably even want a war so's we can have an anti-war movement...We don't need the 60s and we don't need the Beatles we don't need the Kennedys. Let's leave them where they are, in a nice memory...I don't hate the 60s--I have great memories. When the 60s music comes on the radio I enjoy it. Same thing when the 50s music comes on--it takes me back to being 15, [the] 60s takes me back to being 20, the 70s take me back to being 30, and the 80s are going to take me back to being 40. But nostalgia is fine on Sunday, not every day of the week.

Michael Jordan does not seem like a nostalgic person--he has too much confidence in what he can do right now to spend much time dwelling on what he did in the past--but it is interesting that "The Last Dance" footage languished in the proverbial vault for two decades before Jordan gave his approval for the film to be made and to be publicly distributed. Jordan embraces living in the moment, but at some level he is also thinking about how he will be remembered--and possibly controlling that, to the extent that he can control it. Of course, Jordan has every right to shape how his story is told, and I agree with Sam Smith that it is great to hear from Jordan talking about the past after so many authors--including Smith--provided their takes on Jordan's career.

I often think about the "Wiseguy" episode "How Will They Remember Me?"--and it is hard to believe that the episode first aired over 30 years ago! Vinny Terranova found his father's old journal, and reading his father's thoughts long after his father had passed away brought to the surface a full range of emotions for Vinny about his childhood, his relationship with his father, and his current occupation as a government agent tasked with infiltrating the mafia. Vinny's father desperately wanted to leave something behind for Vinny to remember him by, he wanted Vinny to be proud of him, and he wanted to control how he would be remembered--but we cannot control how we will be remembered, or if we will be remembered at all. If Dr. Martin Luther King, John Lennon, Prince, or Kobe Bryant had died at a much younger age--before they became famous--none of them would be remembered at all (from a historical standpoint), but if they had lived to be 80 or 90 then each would almost certainly be remembered differently, because they would have become elder statesmen in their fields instead of icons who are forever young. Would the passing of time change them, or change us?

That is the paradox of time and memory.

"Michael Jackson's This is It": Fitting Requiem for an Artistic Genius

I just saw "Michael Jackson's This is It," an entertaining and poignant look at Michael Jackson's last performances: his rehearsals for what he planned to be his final worldwide tour. If Jackson had not died suddenly and unexpectedly at the age of 50 just days before the tour would have started then we likely would never have seen the rehearsal footage, because it was originally supposed to go into Jackson's private library; I suspect that the perfectionist in Jackson might have been somewhat self conscious about the world seeing him practice but that the part of him that loved his fans would have understood how much it means to them to see and hear him perform his classic hits one last time.

The footage makes it very clear that Jackson still had his singing and dancing chops and that his final tour would have been an ambitious, bold extravaganza, featuring new audio and visual takes on his greatest hits while preserving the essence that made those songs so popular; in one practice session for "The Way You Make Me Feel," Jackson patiently worked with the musical director and other musicians to literally make sure that every single note sounded exactly right. Jackson said that he wanted each note to sound precisely the way that it did on his albums because that is what the fans expect--yet he also jazzed up (or funked up) certain parts of some songs as well, making them sound familiar and yet new at the same time. You don't have to be a musical expert to quickly notice that Jackson not only had a highly tuned ear that detected the subtlest difference between musical notes but also that he was very good at explaining/demonstrating exactly what he expected the other musicians to do. Jackson made his points softly, with a generous sharing spirit; he involved others in the creative process as opposed to simply dictating to them what to do. On several occasions when a dancer or musician messed up, Jackson quietly offered a correction and said, without any evident frustration, "That is why we have rehearsal."

During one segment, Jackson and others worked out the sequence in which various effects would happen. Jackson wanted to give a hand signal as a cue to start one effect, but the director asked Jackson how Jackson would know the right time to give the signal because Jackson would not be able to see when the preceding effect behind him had finished. Jackson thought for a beat, then said that he would know when to make the cue by "feel." That simple reply is a touchstone of his genius and made me think of how a grandmaster once said that Bobby Fischer could throw a chess piece in the air and it would land on the right square: one aspect of genius is an innate "feel" for how something should be done, indeed how it must be done--and yet it is very important to understand that this innate "feel" must be honed by thousands of hours of practice in order to fully blossom. Fischer arguably had the most talent but it is inarguable that he worked extraordinarily diligently.

While it certainly would have been wonderful to see Jackson successfully complete his concert tour, I find it fascinating to get a glimpse of his behind the scenes work ethic; when I go to NBA games one of my favorite things to do is watch the players warm up--not just the cursory warmup that takes place minutes before tip-off but also the practicing that they do before the doors open to the general public: I will never forget watching Reggie Miller's extensive, highly programmed shooting routine, starting with layups and then moving outward progressively. Miller is one of the greatest long-range shooters ever but he practiced layups before every single game! Miller had a tremendous "feel" for shooting but he honed that "feel" with his diligent attention to detail. I only saw Michael Jordan in person twice--once in a preseason game during his first comeback and once in a regular season game during his second comeback--and what struck me most about those two games was the shots that Jordan practiced beforehand: he concentrated mainly on turnaround jumpers in the post/midpost and free throws; Jordan had obviously shot those shots thousands of times previously but he never stopped working on perfecting his touch from his primary scoring areas. Jordan neither wasted time with shots that he would not shoot in a game nor did he neglect to practice any shot that he likely would take. This summer, Kobe Bryant--who has been the most complete player in the NBA for years--worked out with Hakeem Olajuwon to learn low post moves. Jordan, Bryant and Miller could be described as basketball geniuses but they understand that their "feel" for the game must be constantly honed. Hall of Fame quarterback Steve Young expresses a similar sentiment when he speaks of the "craft" of quarterbacking.

Jackson worked hard during the rehearsals and yet he seemed to experience great joy; he talked about preserving his voice for the upcoming tour but he could not resist singing through complete songs at full force, much to the delight of the assembled dancers, musicians and work crew--Jackson lightheartedly chided them for giving him so much love that he felt obligated to sing instead of simply walking through the choreography.

Some of Jackson's collaborators seemed understandably star-struck; on a couple occasions, he had to gesture to a dancer to complete a move instead of simply watching what Jackson did. Jackson encouraged everyone to express their talents fully; he told lead guitarist Orianthi Panagaris that a certain guitar solo was her "time to shine" and that she should hit the highest note that she could muster.

Jackson emphasized that he intended for his concert tour to not only entertain but to also spread the important message that we must love each other and we must tenderly care for our ailing planet before it is too late. Music and dance emanate from a place deep within the human soul and that is why the artistry of great musicians and dancers resonates so powerfully. I have always thought that in Jackson's Egyptian-themed "Remember the Time" video the real power rested not with Eddie Murray's Pharoah character--a leader whose mere gesture of disapproval could lead to someone's execution--but rather with Jackson's character (a sort of court jester), because Jackson had the ability to inspire wonder from all those around him; even if the Pharoah's henchmen had captured and killed the Jackson character anyone who had seen him perform for Pharoah would have never forgotten him, so the Jackson character was truly immortal--much like Jackson himself is. In "My Philosophy," KRS-ONE very poetically expressed that creators have enduring power far superior to the power held by political and business leaders: "Who gets weaker? The king or the teacher?/It's not about a salary, it's all about reality/Teachers teach and do the world good/Kings just rule and most are never understood/If you were to rule or govern a certain industry/All inside this room right now would be in misery/No one would get along nor sing a song/'Cause everyone'd be singing for the king, am I wrong?"

Jackson clearly experienced "flow" during these rehearsal sessions. It is our loss that he is no longer with us to continue to create music--and his sister Janet Jackson made a poignant comment shortly after his death when she said that to the rest of the world Michael Jackson is an icon but to her he is family--but it could also be said that Jackson died while doing what he most liked to do and at a time when he was still able to perform at a high level; unlike the last images of a bloated Elvis Presley, who--though still young--had already seen his best days, "Michael Jackson's This is It" shows an artist who still possessed vibrancy, creativity and energy. Jackson's rehearsal performances are achingly beautiful and at times they moved me to tears--tears of joy from watching a great artist in a "flow" state, tears of sadness that he is gone and even tears of relief in the sense that Jackson has been released from the internal demons and external critics who hounded him.

"Michael Jackson's This is It" will only be in theaters for a two week run starting October 28, so if you want to see it on the big screen then you need to act quickly.