OFF THE WALL IN FIVE ACTS BY SHELDON TAYLOR

Forty-five years ago, Michael Jackson's "Off The Wall" was released to critical and commercial acclaim. Jackson's breakthrough album solidified the singer's transition from child star to adult entertainer. 

Let the madness in the music get to you.....

I remember the time so very well because it was when I emerged from off the wall: a ten-year-old moving from music spectator to consumer. Since there were no younger acts back then, every kid my age was drawn to music made by adults ten, twenty, and nearly thirty years older. 

It was heady time. From around '74 to '79, my life played out to a soundtrack that was one long musical highlight reel. 

I wasn't buying music yet but it didn't stop me from reading about it or watching documentaries or television shows devoted to musical subjects. 

As a toddler I was transfixed by Jackson Five album covers laying around the house. I can't remember when I first learned they were from my hometown of Gary, Indiana. I do recall they way my sister and her friends reacted to the group's "Enjoy Yourself" as it blasted from the speakers of our wooden stereo console but I digress.

In kindergarten, I gave book reports presentations on ragtime composer Scott Joplin.  During first and second grade I inhaled music biographies checked out from the library.

The Bicentennial was especially memorable. 

It was the year of Heatwave's "Boogie Nights" and "Always And Forever." Stevie Wonder's "Songs in the Key of Life" was the "Thriller" of is time. Besides the hits, deejays mined the double album for turntable hits like "Isn't She Lovely" which they played in entirety, right down to Wonder's baby daughter's bathtub squeals. 

We Afro-wearing kids loved hearing Stevie's soulful time capsule reflecting on his days as "a nappy-head boy." I really connected with "Black Man"---another deep cut from "Songs" that also found a home on radio. The song's concept was pure genius. Where Stevie's "Sir Duke" ("there's Basie, Miller, Satchmo and the king of all Sir Duke") name checked Duke Ellington and other jazz icons, "Black Man's" historical roll call does the exact opposite, inviting listeners  to fill in the blanks:

"First man to die /for the flag we now hold high/was a Black man/The ground where we stand /with a flag held in our hand was first the red man's/ Guide of a ship/ on the first Columbus trip was a brown man/The railroads for the train came on tracking that was laid by the yellow man."

Through open bedroom windows, my next-door neighbor PJ and I traded verses from Elton John's "Benny and the Jets" and the OJay's "Used To Be My Girl" and "Brandy." During class breaks I recited the Spinners' "The Rubber Band Man" word for word and "performed" the Sylvers' "Hot Line" with classmates during breaks. 

At night I was lulled to sleep by AM radio's hushed tones of album-oriented rock's (AOR) tranquil selections like America's "Horse With No Name," Aerosmith's "Dream On," Michael Martin Murphey's "Wild Fire" and Barry Manilow's "I Write The Songs."

Paul McCartney and Wing's sing-song "Let 'Em In" was a late-night favorite. Moved by the song's quirky bridge, I hopped out of bed, and in my pitch-black room by a sliver of light outside my bedroom door---"wrote out" the horn arrangements: in crayon. 

Consecutive birthday gifts of transistor radios with earplugs never survived beyond a single night. In the morning I'd wake up from my top bunk and find it crashed to floor in pieces (sigh).

By day I dug the retro vibe of Dr Buzzard and the Savannah Band ("Chercez Le Femme") on Mike Douglas and Dinah Shore. At night I clocked the Pointer Sisters ("Yes We Can Can") all decked out in '40s-inspired glam rock out on Don Kirshner's Midnight Special. 

In real-time, I saw youngish Baby Boomers America mourn Elvis and relive their youth through golden oldies rock and roll revivals.

I watched Teena Marie perform with Rick James ("I'm Just A Sucker For Your Love") on Soul Train on our busted color TV (new picture tube was 20 bucks or $100 today) and couldn't tell if she was Black or White. It was also the day I watched my older sister ask my father for the meaning of  Earth Wind and Fire's Kundalini-inspired "Serpentine Fire" (he didn't know). 

I still recall the neighborhood buzz about Teddy Pendergrass coming to town only to have him cancel at the last minute because his fee  wasn't right.

 During the Saturday Night Fever phenomenon I witnessed the  divergent career paths of its two choreographers: one (Deney Terio) got his own show ("Dance Fever") and the other (Lester Wilson) peddled disco instructional tutorials on TV commercials.

 I longed for the day when I could replace my Alvin and the Chipmunks LPs ("Witch Doctor") on my Fisher Price record player turntable with Commodores records. 

K-Tel Disco compilations ("The Hustle," "Rock The Boat", "I'm Your Boogie Man") tided me over for awhile until couple years later during 1979's waning months it finally happened... 

During a shopping trip, my mother sprung for a batch of 45 records at a buck-fifty a pop. There was M's kitschy "Pop Music" and Stevie Wonder's saccharine "Send One Your Love" for my little sister.

 I got the gems: Shalamar's "Second Time Around," Kool and the Gang's "Ladies Night," and Prince's "I Wanna Be Your Lover." There was one more jewel in my stash: a blue disc emblazoned with an "Epic" logo---a single release from an album whose appeal has never diminished since its release on Aug 10, 1979.  

It's hard to believe that once upon a time Michael Jackson was once considered a mid-tier R&B artist far removed his glory days.

He was no longer the pubescent lead singer of a dynamic sibling act selling out huge arenas: the Jackson 5 were now playing half-filled theater-in-the-rounds. Jackson was in danger of being trapped in the oldies circuit. He wasn't quite like his predecessor Frankie Lymon; his drugged ravaged and decade past his cherubic prime; missing teeth and all---reduced to lip-synching his old hits on TV dance shows: the eighteen year-old was still at a career crossroad.

A Washington Post reporter described the singer's predicament:

"(Michael) Jackson, once the Prince of Bubblegum Soul isn't a kid anymore. His growth as a singer, though, is incomplete. To some degree, he's still singing the same way he did as an 11-year-old. His voice is no longer siren-pitched but it isn't full-bodied or strong and suffers from too much vibrato. The adolescent frailties that linger in Jackson's voice are nagging enough to, if uncontrolled undermine good material and production...."

The Jacksons' slick choreography and MJ's whirling dervish stage presence were still exciting, but word around the industry was that the act was tired and over. Contemporary R&B acts were eclipsing them. Fans from their "ABC" days had moved on.

One such fan was young Midwestern drummer Antonio "LA" Reid. Like future partner Babyface, Oprah and Eddie Murphy---Reid, born in '56---came of age when the mighty Jackson Five were the only color in America's media cream igniting aspirational possibilities of  Black Star Power for a young generation.

As the Jacksons climbed back to the gold and platinum stratosphere, Reid was oblivious. Like many young aspiring Black musicians in his early twenties 70s funk gods and jazz fusion ensembles were his bag, specifically Sly Stone and Weather Report.

Upon hearing that Jackson's (just a couple years older) solo project was on the way, he was unimpressed (he'd do production for the Jacksons a decade later) until one night in a club he heard a deejay rock the crowd with selections from Jackson's new album.

He was blown away......

 ACT I: CALM BEFORE THE STORM

 It's hard to believe that Off The Wall was Michael Jackson's fifth solo album not his first. It dwarfed Jackson's previous solo efforts released between '71 and '75: Motown's cross branding spin-offs from the J-5 Marvel(ous)universe (“Got To Be There”, “Ben”) and experimental projects (“Music and Me”, “Forever Michael”) that showcased Jackson’s maturing tenor voice.

A Motown mixed bag, these albums found a mid-teen Jackson masterfully tackling Broadway tunes, reinterpretations of his label's back catalog, current soul and pop remakes, and few original songs sprinkled with a few midsize and major hits. 

  ACT II: MOTOWNPHILLY

As soul morphed into a new kind of R&B dominating discos and nightclubs, Motown producers Hal Davis and Holland-Dozier Holland and Philadelphia International's Gamble and Huff provided Jackson with material that was in lockstep with the time. 

Jackson reflected on how this transitional period impacted his own writing efforts in his 1988 memoir Moonwalk: 

“As it turned out writing disco songs was a natural for me because I was used to having dance breaks incorporated into all the major songs I was asked to sing.”

These "major songs" included Jackson's boogified early solo turns ("We’re Almost There," "Take Me Back" "Just A Little Bit of You") and mid/late J-5 anthems ("Dancin' Machine", "Life of The Party," "Forever Came Today", "Body Language", "Get It Together") that closed out his Motown run in '75.

Landing at CBS/Epic/Philly International---the groove continued as the group dived into Philly Soul ("Enjoy Yourself," "Music’s Takin’ Over," "Jump For Joy") and created a string of brotherly self-penned collaborations ("Different Kind of Lady," "Blame It on The Boogie" and Shake Ya Body Down To The Ground). 

 These compositions inched Jackson closer to his triumphant destiny.

ACT III: BREAKING THROUGH

The road leading to OTW was a circuitous one with a few well-traveled perspectives. 

In Moonwalk, Jackson recalls his synergy with manager Papa Joe Jackson ("Dad and I were on the same wavelength when it came to the business side of music") yet dealing with the "heavy burden" of making "creative and business decisions" on behalf of the family.

 During negotiations with Epic, Joe pushed for songwriting opportunities for his sons and by public accounts---lobbied for a solo MJ album as part of the group's contract. Jackson recalled the solo prospect as a way of Epic "hedging its bets" just in case the group's ongoing dry spell failed to translate into success:

"If the Jacksons couldn't make their new sound work, they could try and turn me into something they could mold for the rest of my life."

Moonwalk finds Jackson seeking Quincy Jones's help in providing a list of potential producers while filming The Wiz. In his 1996 memoir Q: The Autobiography of Quincy Jones, Jones offered his services after witnessing Jackson's intense onset work ethic.

Epic had another producer in mind: Maurice White.

During the second half of the seventies, Jackson's CBS labelmate was one of  R&B's dominant forces, guiding Earth, Wind and Fire to massive success while co-writing and producing gold and platinum hits for the Emotions and Deniece Williams.

Jackson declined. 

Around the same time in a twist of fate, CBS courted a Minneapolis wunderkind named Prince Rogers Nelson. When the label dangled  White's services as bait, the autonomous Prince balked at the offer and CBS would miss out on having two future giants on their roster.

In the end, it was another label mate and family friend who came to Jackson's rescue: Barry White. 

Weary of the stress of asserting his independence apart from his family (he'd rebuffed his brothers' wish to work with him) and of dealing with  Epic's disapproval of Quincy Jones ("he's too jazzy) and skepticism of the middle-aged producer's contemporary R&B pedigree ("he's only produced dance records by the Brothers Johnson"), Jackson turned to White for help. 

White recalled the tense period in his own 1999 memoir: Love Unlimited: Insights on Life and Love:

"I was the one he called when he got into trouble at his label. He came over and that night we talked for five hours about the situation. He cried throughout because they hurt his feelings badly. All he wanted was a fair shot at a solo career. And I decide to help him get it."

The fifteen-year entertainment veteran weaned on fifties and sixties entertainers like James Brown and Jackie Wilson was now looking to the future. Ditching his father as manager ("I was beginning to feel like I was working for him rather than that he was working for me"), Jackson was old enough to experience Black music's past yet young enough to see around its potential corner.

Jackson even proposed that White be the one to manage his career.

Rather than alienate the Jackson family ("one of the most powerful in show business") or CBS ("the most powerful record company in the world") White proposed another option. In the 2017 authorized White autobiography White Music: The Barry White Story, writer Tom Rubython reveals that White offered to be Jackson's unofficial advisor and mentor----as long as it remained a mutual secret.

White cautioned Jackson to "not to listen to anyone but his own calling" and advised him to be "ruthless" and "go out and get" Jones. He also shared "the secret" of how he controlled his music, production, and publishing empire ("and therefore my own destiny"):

"I tried to educate him so that he could understand how the music world operated, to be a little more of a businessman and a little less the temperamental artist." 

Jackson took White's advice. In life, he amassed a major publishing portfolio. In death, he'd become the first posthumous millionaire. 

Jones became Jackson's producer. White secretly helped with OTW's music arrangements (White: "it was a good feeling and I take that as a compliment"). Jones returned the favor by writing a hit song ("The Secret Garden") giving White his biggest hit in over a decade. 

 ACT IV: ENTER QUINCY

"You know.....it's a strange, beautiful relationship....Michael is half my age. So he has youth and a certain kind of perspective that can help me, while I have already been through a lot of things that are happening to him and I could help him."-----Quincy Jones (1984)         

Revisionists and the uninformed sometimes paint Quincy Jones as an irrelevant nobody who stumbled upon a creative partnership with Michael Jackson and got lucky. 

The truth is that Jones's perfect union of hard and soft skills were the key to crafting the Off The Wall. More than a producer, Jones was a project manager who shaped Jackson's artistic goals and ideas into a dynamic scope of work. 

Unlike typical jazz arrangers, orchestrators, and film producers framed by Jackson as "on the outside looking in" as far as pop music was concerned, Jones was open to all creative possibilities. He would assemble a cadre of collaborators plucked from his bulging Rolodex.

 Jones's "music mafia" were more than hitmaking hired guns, they were "black belt masters" in their respective areas; gifted individuals who'd make up OTW's magnificent sum.

They were young and old. White and Black. Background singers and songwriters. Engineers, crack musicians and session players from different musical worlds. The collective ear candy they provided was heavy in abundance: elegant strings, creeping synth bassline and arpeggios kick starting "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough." "Rock With You's" drum shuffle and dreamy keyboard solos. Heart racing percussion and manic guitar licks drove "Working Day and Night" 

These ingredients were critical in fleshing out Jackson's self-penned  compositional blueprints ("Don't Stop Til You Get Enough," "Working Day and Night"). In the absence of liner notes in today's digital world, many of these  gifted collaborators pop up on social media reels sharing their contributions to the delight of MJ fans.

When Jackson requested songs for OTW, Jones answered the call. He pulled in ex-Heatwave ("Boogie Nights, "The Groove Line" "Posin Til Closin'") songwriter Rod Temperton to pen his melodic nocturnal narratives exploring the night life ("Off The Wall" "Burn This Disco Out" and Heatwave reject "Rock With You").

Stevie Wonder (and lyricist Susaye Greene) contributed the percolating "I Can't Help It." Paul McCartney provided the whimsical "Girlfriend" originally written for Jackson years before. Carole Bayer Sager's pop single "It's The Falling In Love," was refashioned as a Jackson duet with Jones protege Patti Austin. 

Channeling his experiences working with legendary singers like Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra and Sarah Vaughn---Jones coached Jackson on voice delivery and manipulation needed to give OTW's songs a dramatic edge. Jackson employed this model for the rest of his life. 

 On "Get On The Floor" Jackson's vocal improvisation is on full display: his signature hiccups, slurred lyrics, swoops and whoops are all here; punctuated breathy background vocals (Augie Johnson, Paulette McWilliams, and Mortonette Jenkins) punchy horn arrangements, Louis Johnson's driving bass and Paulinho De Costas's urgent percussion. It's clear Jackson's having fun as he lets out a chuckle on "Floor:" it's a gleeful tension release. 

Jones also steered Jackson toward more mature material like OTW's emotional ballad "She's Out of My Life." The song's lyrical content  conjured up Jackson's feeling of lament and would inspire his tearful delivery while mourning his own life "rich in some experiences but poor in moments of true joy."

The finished product was record presented as a total body of work. There was no filler. The musicianship was peerless. Lyrically exploring voyeurism, lament, fidelity, seduction and escapist themes, the songs were enhanced by Jackson's vocal improvisation and delivery---all done live without overdubs or punch-ins creating moods and textures akin to Jones's previous jazz production work. 

Tight and compact---OTW was the antithesis of Stevie Wonder's introspective sprawl and Earth, Wind and Fire's blissful excursions, It wasn't by-the-numbers funk either. 

Elegantly grand, vibrant and sleek like the promotional music videos supporting it---Jackson  delivered a new kind of contemporary R&B album to the marketplace.

  ACT V: DESTINY, TRIUMPH AND DISSAPOINTMENT

Unlike conventional R&B albums marketed to Black audiences and based on their success---provide pop promotional budgets. Epic aggressively targeted both markets. 

In a 2009 Billboard issue commemorating Jackson's death, the late singer's ex-managers revealed their game plan:

"Our mindset was that we were making music for the masses and part of the big picture was to get the record company to turn around and market and promote to a mass market."

Off The Wall's success was immediate. Debut single "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough" rose to number one on the R&B and pop charts. Spinning off multiple singles---"Rock With You," "Off The Wall" and "She's Out of My Life": it would be the first album by a solo act to place four singles in the top 10. 

Four months after its release, OTW sold a million copies by Dec '79: great sales numbers for any album during the record industry's  recession. It would continue to sell millions over the next three decades, eventually reaching reach thirty million in worldwide sales. 

Jones would find personal vindication:

"How's that for jazz? Ironically all the initial naysayers at Epic (Black and White) kept their jobs because of the success of the biggest selling Black record at the time"

Anticipating a Grammy sweep across multiple categories---Jackson received only one for Best R&B Performance for "Don't Stop." During a year of monumental award-winning pop and rock albums, his expectations could be seen as a bit premature.

The year 1979 was especially a banner year for Black music: Donna Summer ("Bad Girl, "Hot Stuff") continued to dominate pop, rock and disco. Kool and the Gang's ("Ladies Night") experienced rebirth enroute to a platinum single and album. Motown icons Diana Ross ("The Boss") and Smokey Robinson's ("Cruisin'") launched successful gold-selling comebacks. 

Chic ("Good Times"), Teddy Pendergrass ("Teddy") EWF ("All N All") and P-Funk's ("Knee Deep") continued their platinum selling winning streaks while Rick James ("Fire It Up") and Prince's ("I Wanna Be Your Lover") momentum would continue. 

Beyond the talent pool of established music heavy hitters blocking  Jackson's path there were systemic industry parameters to contend with. Much had changed since Stevie Wonder's consecutive award sweep in R&B, Pop, Producer and Album of the Year categories that saw him win 12 Grammys between 1973-1976. 

Music was become more compartmentalized. Even the biggest crossover Black records were still tethered to R&B spaces. Not yet an established solo artist, Jackson's success could considered a one-off of sorts. Also OTW's up tempo material---a main Black music ingredient---may have been too close to the now maligned disco that the an overinvested industry was moving away from. 

In '81 Jackson would reflect on the album's lack of recognition:

"It bothered me. I cried alot. My family thought I was going crazy because I was weeping so much about it. Quincy said don't worry about it, He said the most important thing was that people loved the album. That should be my reward."

A year later Jackson would regroup with Jones again at the helm. They would record an album in just two months that would make him the best-selling entertainer in the world. This distinction would be his undisputed crowning achievement. 

There's something special about Off The Wall that will be remain with me as long as I live.

 During OTW's spectacular run, I would often make random pull-ups to my neighborhood record store with my mother. Sometimes I went  solo. In my mind's eye I can still see the album on the rack sealed in plastic. I picked it up, handling it like a rare antique. Songs titles and liner notes beckoned me to take the record home but the sticker price of $9.99 stopped me in my tracks. I'd point to the album ("look Ma") but my mother's silence confirmed my fate. 

As I reflect on that time nearly five decades later, I'd like to think that I shared a mutual connection with future King of Pop beyond our shared place of birth. He was a twenty-one year old on a quest to make a spectacular album. I was an eleven-year old on a similar quest to purchase it. 

Four words would define our mutual aspirational moment: the realm of possibility.