The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 123: Another Tortured Artist

Episode Date: January 15, 2019

A battered boy who couldn't stand the sight of his own reflection - so he changed it.

This is the way I heard it. Back in the 70s, before the world knew him by a single name, a battered boy stared into an unforgiving mirror and considered his many imperfections. A split lip, a swollen jaw, a black eye. Painful, but not as painful as the words that accompanied the beating. Look in a mirror, boy. Your lips are too fat for your mouth. Your nose is too flat for your face, and your skin doesn't match your brothers.

I'm trying to run a business here. The boy in the mirror sighed. His father was right. His face was not the face of a pop star. It was a flawed face, a swarthy face, a face that he could no longer live with. In his mother's makeup cabinet, the boy found a solution,

a glass jar filled with white powder. He opened it, sprinkled some of the powder into his hands, and began to rub it onto his face, wensing as he did so. His wounds were still tender, courtesy of the man, who would not tolerate a single mistake on stage or even in rehearsal. Slowly, the boy in the mirror saw his complexion lighten. Would it be enough to mollify his violent and unpredictable father? Would it be enough to satisfy the people who paid to see him perform?

Over time, those questions became less and less relevant as the boy's talent became more and more undeniable. By the end of the 70s, he was famous. By the 80s, he was a national sensation. By the 90s, he was an international phenomenon, and by the turn of the century, he was the undisputed king of pop. And yet, for all his popularity, he never seen. stopped obsessing over the color of his skin. Even when his legacy was firmly in place, even when personal relationships began to unravel around him, even when he became embroiled in scandal and courtroom drama thanks to his unusual relationship with a 14-year-old boy.

Even in the grip of depression and addiction, the King of Pop concealed his true complexion right up to the day he died, alone in his bed. If all this sounds vaguely familiar, maybe it's because you know the story of another battered boy who stood before another unforgiving mirror two centuries later in the 1970s and considered his many imperfections, a split lip, a swollen jaw, a black eye,

painful, but not as present. painful as the words that accompanied the beating. Look at yourself, boy. Your lips are too fat for your mouth. Your nose is too flat for your face. And your skin doesn't match your brothers. I'm trying to run a business here. It's funny how history so often repeats itself.

Like his predecessor, the boy in this mirror, was never comfortable with the source of his own reflection. He too was born with the skin that didn't match his brothers. He, too, was raised by a violent, unpredictable man who exploited his talent at every turn, and he, too, left behind a collection of popular music unlike anything the world has ever seen. But unlike his predecessor, this tortured genius lived in the era of plastic surgery. And if you Google his name, you can see the evidence for yourself. A new nose, a new chin, new lips.

new eyelids, another new nose, new cheekbones, new hair, another new nose, new eyebrows, new eyelashes, one more new nose, and through it all, a complexion that somehow got lighter and later right up to the day he died, alone in his bed. It's tempting to blame the father for screwing up the son. So perhaps we should. By all accounts, Joseph Jackson did a real number on his second youngest son, the artist we know by a single name, Michael. On the other hand, the old man did train and manage and shape the career of the most popular musician of our time, as did Johann two centuries before. Like Joseph, Johann forced his son. to perform and rehearse every single day of his young life.

Like Joseph, Johann relied upon his son to pay the bills, a son with a complexion that was simply too dark for his own good. Funny thing, though, if you Google his name, you'll find no visual evidence of his Moorish ancestry, no portraits that reflect his natural skin tone, no busts that reveal a single non-German feature. Thanks to a bottomless jar of white powder, Johann's son was able to keep his complexion a secret,

a secret that the Nazis were happy to reinforce a hundred years after his death by insisting to the world that his unique musical genius was proof of German exceptionalism and a credit to his Aryan race. happily, the most tortured artist of all time never knew his music made it to the top of Hitler's playlist. A small blessing, perhaps, for the battered boy who was never comfortable in his own skin. The lonesome bachelor who never found his immortal beloved.

The legendary composer who lost his hearing at the height of his power, but still kept on creating, even though he couldn't hear the applause his many masterpieces inspired. Such were the burdens of the original King of Pop, who we still remember today by a single name. Beethoven. Anyway, that's the way I heard it. When you manage procurement for multiple facilities, every order matters.

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