The Invisible Man Returns

As the grammy show progresses, things go better and worse than expected. The good news is that Jackson turns in an inspired performance that also serves as a timely reminder of an almost forgotten truth about him: namely, that whatever his eccentricities, Jackson acquired his fame primarily because of his remarkably intuitive talents as a singer and dancer — talents that are genuine and matchless and not the constructions of mere ambition or hype. Moreover, it is also plausible that in certain ways, Jackson's phenomenal talent may not be completely separable from his eccentricity. That is, me same private obsessions and fears and reveries that fuel his prowess as a dancer and songwriter and singer may also prompt his quirkiness, and perhaps without all that peculiarity he would be far less compelling to watch.

In a sense, Jackson's opening moments on the Grammy telecast — in which he delivers a slow–paced, Frank Sinatra–inspired reworking of "The Way You Make Me Feel" — are exemplary of his famed quirkiness. He seems self–conscious and strained pulling off the song's cartoonish notion of streetwise sexuality, and his overstated hip thrusts and crotch snatching come off as more forced than felt. And yet when the music revs up, all the artifice is instantly dispelled. Jackson seems suddenly confident and executes startling, robotic hip–and–torso thrusts alongside slow–motion, sliding mime moves that leave the audience gasping.

But it is in his next song, the social–minded, gospel–inflected "Man in the Mirror," that Jackson defines for himself some surprising new strengths. It is a deceptively straightforward delivery, and yet its simplicity prompts Jackson to an increasingly emotional performance. By the song's middle, he isn't so much singing or interpreting as he is simply surrendering to the song. At one point — spurred on by the majestic vocal support of Andrae Crouch and the New Hope Baptist Church Choir — Jackson breaks into a complex, skip–walking dance step that carries him across the stage and back. He then crashes hard to his knees in a posture of glorious, testifying abandon, sobbing fervently as Crouch comes forward and dabs the sweat from his forehead, then helps him back to his feet.

It is a moment that reminds some viewers of James Brown's famous stage routine, but in truth, Jackson has taken the move from the same sources that Brown appropriated his from: archetypal gospel shouters like Claude Jeter and James Cleveland.

But a few minutes later, as Jackson takes his seat in the front row between Frank Dileo and producer Quincy Jones, his triumph comes to a fast, sobering end. As many observers expected, U2's album The Joshua Tree takes the Album of the Year Award, and before the evening is out, Jackson will also lose all the remaining awards that he is nominated for.

Perhaps Jackson's most telling response comes during an uproarious incident when Little Richard, presenting the Best New Artist Award, playfully castigates the academy for neglecting him throughout his career, stating, "You all ain't never gave me no Grammys, and I been singing for years. I am the architect of rock & roll." Jackson is among the first spectators to his feet, bouncing up and down and clapping hard.

Maybe it's only the hilarious spirit of the moment, but maybe it's something more. In a way, Jackson is Little Richard's vengeance. He is the brilliant, freakish black prodigy who would not tolerate being snubbed, and so he figured a way to win pop music's attention and acclaim. But as the late James Baldwin once wrote, "[Michael Jackson] will not swiftly be forgiven for having turned so many tables, for he damn sure grabbed the brass ring, and the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo has nothing on Michael." Tonight, Jackson may have learned the hard lesson behind Baldwin's words: What can be won big can also be taken away — and losing it is sometimes harder than never having had it in the first place.

The next few days are an uncertain Time around the Jackson camp. Nobody is anxious to go on record discussing Jackson's disappointing losses, but according to some sources, it is clear that it was a rough occasion. The across–the–board Grammy shutout is an inarguable sign that at least some of Jackson's once formidable popularity has eroded.

Still, Frank Dileo puts the best face possible on the downturn. "Michael reminded everybody in the world," he says, "what a great performer he is. In effect, he told them to forget about all the trash they read about him. As far as I'm concerned, his performance hushed up a lot of critics. And as for a few of those academy voters, well, I hope they watched it too."

And how did Michael feel?

"I'm sure he felt the same way. I know he did. But he went to bed and woke up the next day and said, 'Hey, what's the agenda? Let's do a show.' "