The King is Dead. Long Live the Queen.

I first heard about Michael Jackson's death when I stepped into the office one lovely Thursday morning. I hadn't taken 3 steps when my colleague literally yelped at me, "Michael Jackson is dead!". For a moment there I didn't believe her. Surely something as big as that couldn't have escaped my ears from the time I went to bed to the time I headed to the office? Afterall, I was the proud owner of an iPhone - that revolutionary gadget that's suppose to keep me on top of things. But alas, he was dead and I also realized how much I needed a data plan to go with the iPhone. But never mind that.  


As I stopped to let it all in and watched as everyone around me reeled in horror, I found myself at best ambivalent. Sure he's dead, hey people, take heart, Madonna's still alive. And if Michael was the king, surely Madonna was DA QUEEN. After all, they both rose to fame in the 80s at the inauguration of MTV, they are about the same age, give or take, they both became so famous simply because they were unquestionably talented and more importantly, they were unequivocally different. Both burgeoned on creativity and innovation - albeit one was more deliberate, whilst the other was, shall we say, slightly more pathological.

Michael Jackson was an icon in every sense and by any measure. But somehow he wasn't my icon. I moan the loss of the white glove and his ball grabbing antics, I do, but part of me thinks that if he hadn't died the way he did, shrouded in mystery and conspiracy theories, he would and could have faded. He was an true icon, but to me, the queen, as in the spirit of a good chess game, is the one who with the real power.

So while the king has died, all I can say is long live the queen.