Michael Jackson: The way he made us feel

A QUARTER to seven on Friday morning and a journalist friend and I are discussing, the way journalists do, cynical-sounding but not really meaning to be, how poor Farrah Fawcett probably thought she'd got the world's front pages to herself – only for Michael Jackson to choose that day to shuffle off, backwards, mechanically, but gliding, and seeming to capture the "Eureka!" moment in robot development, as only he could.

I have always teased this friend, advanced in years, for forgetting that he ever saw the Beatles play live. Well, I can't do that any more. For a second – only a second, in my defence – I'd forgotten that I saw Jackson: 1992, Glasgow Green, the Dangerous Tour.

Why had it slipped my mind that I'd stood on baked mud, not quite out of range of the burger-van fug, and witnessed the King of Pop? Because much of what came after that balmy August night for Jackson was nothing to do with music. It was so strange and wacko and at times barely credible that we very nearly forgot music as magnificent as Jackson's. How heartbreakingly sad that his death is what gets us talking about that music again.

"Freak". In such an unforgiving age for pop culture, that would have been the reaction of many, any time before the grim news came through from Los Angeles, to glancing up at a screen and seeing a replay of the Thriller video for the zillionth time. The reaction now is a long-overdue revival of the word "genius".

Seeing the 15-minute zombie song-and-dance spectacular for the first time, it was as if he'd invented the pop promo, maybe even moving images themselves. Certainly every video up until that point was instantly rendered naff, drab and tedious – it was as if all those ugly bands strumming guitars were the undead. The truth, however, is that Jackson had been burying established pop tradition almost from day one.

He was the beautiful smiley-faced boy who, at an age when he perhaps should have been watching Scooby Doo cartoons, was leading the Jackson 5, propping up Motown during their difficult early Seventies, and working on the moves which would soon confirm him as the world's greatest entertainer. In the realm of family bands, those Osmond boys didn't stand a chance.

If there's a more delirious, joyful sound in pop than the descending chorus of I Want You Back then I haven't heard it. And if there's a sweeter image than 11-year-old Michael trying out a grown-up's afro hairstyle for size and demonstrating how some of James Brown's raunchiest steps could be adapted for kids, then I've never seen it. At Glasgow Green 17 years ago, the giant screens played old home movies of the Jacksons while the star underwent another costume-change, and even in 1992 – at that point the condition of his nose was what preoccupied National Enquirer the most – it was obvious he'd left the boy far behind.

Even if, later than '92, Jackson didn't look especially black, he was the first Afro-American to enjoy crossover success on a global scale. When the Thriller album was released in 1982, Olivia Newton-John, possibly even whiter in spirit than the Osmonds, was the No1 act – despite the fact she was urging us: Let's Get Physical. But with just the bassline intro to Billie Jean, Jackson seemed to be making pop music sexy for the very first time.

Billie Jean certainly marked a first for MTV. No black artist had featured on the music channel before. "That broke my heart," Jackson told Ebony magazine in 2007. "But at the same time it lit something. I was telling myself, I have to do something where they... I just refused to be ignored. So, yeah, Billie Jean. When they played it, it set the all-time record. They were asking me for everything I had, they were knocking my door down. It opened things up for Prince and all the other black artists."

Prince is the same age as Jackson was; despite his own weird ways he's always seemed older. With his Peter Pan obsession, Jackson always wanted to stay young, partly to compensate for the boyhood stolen from him by a bullying father and a relentless touring schedule, and maybe it's true that his music never really developed from the career high of Thriller – that the Bad and Dangerous albums were paler versions, in keeping with his changing physiognomy, before the Invincible album became his grand folly, the most expensive ever made.

But Thriller was an epic achievement, the Sgt Pepper or Pet Sounds for any kid, black or white, who had heard tales of previous generations sitting cross-legged on the floor and almost analysing their favourite records out of existence but who couldn't understand such behaviour: they just wanted to dance.

We haven't talked about the brilliance of Jackson's music for a while but we will now. Beyoncé and the young black superstars of today will applaud his genius; Justin Timberlake, Usher and pop's current living tragedy, Britney Spears, will declare they owe it all to him. And maybe Jackson's producer, Quincy Jones, will reveal how the music was made.

"Doop, dakka dakka doop." In 2007, Jackson tried to explain the songs he first heard in his head. He'd read how Walt Disney created his cartoons and tried to use similar techniques. Most intriguing of all, he said: "From when I was a little boy I studied classical composition and it's Tchaikovsky who's influenced me the most." All of this is fascinating and deserves wider debate – but tragically there will be no more contributions from Jackson.

In 1992, a crowd of 30,000 saw him play Scotland for the first time in 16 years, unaware that he would never return, that his life would then go so gruesomely wrong. In front of an arsenal of special-effects including thunder-flashes, lasers, geysers and a molten shower, their idol sang all his hits amid crotch-grabbing yowls and, of course, lots of moonwalking. He exited the stage on a James Bond jetpack and the public address confirmed: "Ladies and gentleman, Michael Jackson has left the stadium."

"Corny finale," I thought at the time. Now I say: "Gig of my life." v

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JACKSON'S FIVE

I WANT YOU BACK

Jackson's 45 years as a musical icon started right here. Aged 5, and performing with his four brothers, Michael took the lead, and took to the stage like he'd been born to do it. The mix of Motown magic from Berry Gordy's pen and Michael's impish confidence and sweet vocals launched a lifetime in the spotlight.

BEN

A tear-jerking tribute to a rat gave Jackson his first taste of solo stardom. A song that was originally intended for Donny Osmond became a prepubescent, quivery-voiced 13-year-old's ticket to stardom.

BILLIE JEAN

Of the singles from Bad, Thriller may have captured the seminal shift in pop music as videos became works of art, but it was Jackson's introduction of his moonwalk dance to Billie Jean (complemented by a sequined jacket, fedora and single white glove) that created something truly iconic.

BAD

The Bad album and tour catapulted Jackson into the record books, breaking a Guinness World Record when 504,000 people attended seven sold-out shows at Wembley Stadium. Originally meant as a duet with Prince, the purple one later confessed that he knew the song would be a hit without him.

BLACK OR WHITE

He's done motown, disco, soul, so all that's left for him is rap. As he riffs on world peace and the colour of a man's skin, Jackson's humanitarian ambitions come to the fore.