MILLI VANILLI
First off, I have to say I'm not a fan. It's not a matter of guilty pleasures or anything of comparable silliness; I just never cared about Milli Vanilli's music. And that's okay; just as there's no reason for guilt with music you like, there's no reason for guilt with music you don't like.
But Milli Vanilla were huge, immensely popular. They must have had fans, a lot of fans. But no one admits it anymore. Milli Vanilli has been expunged from the records, stricken from the collective consciousness, the pop music equivalent of being declared a non-person by the Soviets during the Cold War. Milli Vanilli's former fans are kinda like Peter denying Jesus three times before the rooster crows. Milli Vanilli? I do not know them!
We all know the reason for this after-the-fact scrubbing of Milli Vanilli fandom: Milli Vanilli were frauds who had nothing whatsoever to do with the records released under their brand name. It's not the same as The Monkees (even before the fabricated group became an actual band and played actual live concerts, the lead vocals on all of their records were sung by one or another member of The Monkees), nor obviously fictitious combos like The Archies, The Partridge Family, or Judas Priest. Okay, just kidding on that last one. No, Milli Vanilli frontmen Fab Morvan and Rob Pilatus were sold to the public under false pretenses, marketed as a duo of dancing, singing pretty boys when, in fact, they were dancing, lip-syncing-to-someone-else's-vocals pretty boys. Milli Vanilla's sins were not unique, nor even wholly their own fault; the bulk of the blame should go to the puppeteers who pulled their strings and concocted the facade that sold a jillion records and made a bazillion dollars. But Milli Vanilli got caught, and Rob and Fab were the ones who paid the price for this chicanery. The price was steep: they were disgraced; they had to relinquish the Grammy they'd won as 1990's Best New Artist; attempts at a comeback, with Rob and Fab actually singing, fell far short of their previous success; Pilatus' personal issues consumed him, and he died from a drug and alcohol overdose in 1990. Pilatus' death was ruled accidental.
The callous machinations and eventual tragedy behind the music overshadow Milli Vanilli's recorded legacy. I'm not a fan, so I'm not the one to speak on their behalf. But the question remains: if some people liked or loved Milli Vanilli's records, why wouldn't they still like them now? The records didn't change with the revelations of the men behind the curtain. The records sound the same. They are the same. Fans, you know it's true.
I guess that's the nature of context in our pop obsessions. Our favorite records don't exist in a vacuum. No disc is an island. We hear the songs, and we think of things we relate to that song. We can't help it, and maybe we shouldn't.
Which brings us to Michael Jackson.
I haven't seen the recent HBO documentary detailing the allegation that Jackson was a serial child molester, a predator who got away with committing an awful, awful crime, and got away with it because he was a superstar, above the law, untouchable. I have no intention of investigating the evidence for or against him, so I can't render a verdict, even a blogger's verdict. When the accusations first surfaced decades ago, my reaction was to believe they were true, and I still suspect they are true. But I can't say how much my opinion was and is affected by Jackson's prevailing oddities. It's not a crime to be weird; let your freak flag fly.
It is a crime to hurt people. It is a crime to hurt kids.
What if Jackson was innocent? But worse: what if was guilty? If the former case, a beloved pop star's reputation has been sullied by accusations he denied when he was alive, accusations he can no longer answer in death. If the latter...that's just horrible. Horrible. All those kids, all that heartbreak and torment, and no one helped them. No one stopped the monster that was Michael Jackson...if he was indeed the monster these charges describe.
I liked some of Michael Jackson's music. Many of his records with The Jackson Five are classic AM radio gems, and I enjoyed some of his early solo work (I lose interest entirely after Thriller). I'm not sure whether or not I want to listen to any of them again. Maybe. Probably? Maybe not. Context matters. I used to love Gary Glitter, another serial predator, but I haven't mustered any enthusiasm to spin a Glitter track in many years.
Some say we should separate the art from the artist, and I agree. Except when we can't. Phil Spector's a murderer, Ike Turner was abusive, John Lennon was an asshole (though I believe he repented and tried to become a better person than he had been), yet I still listen to them; I can't even conceive of a circumstance where I would swear off listening to The Beatles. Lennon's transgressions were minor compared to those of Spector, Turner, Glitter, and allegedly Jackson. Sometimes I can disconnect the record from the misdeeds of its creators; sometimes I cannot.
I suspect I'll return to listening to some of the J5's stuff eventually, particularly "The Love You Save" and "I'll Be There." Unless I don't. Art [...] artist, unless context overcomes the separation. I've never really listened to Milli Vanilli, and I'm not going to start now. But if you were a fan of Milli Vanilli, consider giving them a fresh spin. Maybe you'll like 'em again. In the big picture, Milli Vanilli's crimes were pretty inconsequential. Blame it on the rain.
VERDICT: Deferred
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