Lock you in a dream, never let you go

I was watching the music channel earlier. A good chance to catch up on the hottest new tracks in the hope to get my finger back on the pulse, as it were. Or so I thought. Instead, interspersed between the La Gaga & Lady Roux, was a different Michael Jackson song. Because we haven’t heard enough already?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not denying he’s a musical genius and I love a bit of ‘SHAMOOON!’ as much as the next girl but come on. Why should we be bombarded by a constant stream of classic pop, just because the artist has died? The music hasn’t changed. And people who are suddenly proclaiming their love and adoration for said music, despite being rather indifferent before the events of two weeks ago, are nothing better than sheep. Blatant bandwagoning if you ask me.

And I must admit that the emotion at the forefront of mind whilst watching the memorial concert debacle certainly was not sorrow. Perhaps despair? Call me a cynic if you wish but I can’t help but think that more than a couple of the ‘stars’ present were merely there to further their own careers. I had completely forgotten one such ‘artist’ even existed until I saw his ridiculously over-emotional display. Bravo sir. Oscarworthy for sure. But what better way is there to earn brownie points on the likeability factor? Positive exposure in the most sickeningly morbid way. A very clever PR move really.

My other major thought whilst watching the outrageously ostentatious tribute was how badly I want that! I defy anyone to say that they wouldn’t want people sobbing into diamante gloves, staring up at a giant picture of you in your greatest hour whilst your glorious coffin sits spectacularly as the perfect gothic centrepiece. How utterly fabulous. MJ I applaud you.

I still wish they would let up with the dedications already. There’s only so many times you can hear ‘Billie Jean is not my love-er’ before you want to bash your head repeatedly on the desk til you reach bone. Trust me.