Back in December 2008, prompted by the death of the folk music queen Odetta, I began to prepare an entry about all of the musical lights the world has lost since our 2008 Music issue. The plan was to post it here during Black Music month. But it seemed that every time I started to work on it, another name had to be added. Already on my list was Bo Diddley, who brought American music his timeless rhythm, and Isaac Hayes, funk king extraordinaire, both of whom died in the summer of 2008. In the fall we lost Levi Stubbs, lead singer of The Four Tops, Dee Dee Warwick, and Miriam Makeba, the South African singer and civil rights activist who broke down barriers around the world with her music and message (Remember “Pata Pata”?) Then came Odetta, followed by the unmatchable Eartha Kitt on Christmas. At the beginning of this month, just three days in, my mom called me to tell me that the blues queen Koko Taylor had passed.

Yesterday, I got on the train to go home and a man who sat behind me said to anyone in the car within earshot “Michael Jackson is dead”. One woman said, “you must have gotten that confused with someone else.” Most people simply did not believe him at first—I think we’ve all been misled by the media rumor mills at least once. But it was more than that. He was only 50 years old. And this man had been a part of American culture for more than four decades, nearly all my life (and I’m 46). When I got off the train and pulled out my phone, I saw that I had several missed calls and messages, one from a person I know had to hunt for my number. The knowledge of his death spread swiftly through all quarters, to all corners.

When I was 7 years old, I decided I was going to marry my first crush. Michael Jackson’s poster went up on my closet door where I could see him before I went to sleep at night. It was 1969 and the Jackson 5 had come out with their first hit “I Want You Back”. Michael would have been around 11. For a lot of us little black girls, he was our prince charming, handsome and talented, and so much cooler than, say, Donny Osmond (sorry!).

Yes, his personal life was murky and sometimes disturbing, and there were deep and troubling questions left unanswered. They may yet be answered, and we may be shocked; I hope not. Still I think back to those more innocent times and the fact that Michael Jackson enriched and transformed the American musical songbook forever. That cannot be denied.
—Audrey Peterson