In tenth grade, my friend Aykut and I gave a presentation on heavy metal to our French class. I don’t recall much beyond us posing in our jeans jackets with the patches of various bands, thumbs hooked in our bullet belts, boom box playing a few select tunes. I do remember someone asking what we thought of Michael Jackson, and us replying that we couldn’t stand him and would beat him up if we saw him on the street. I can’t recall the French phrases we used, but they seemed to shock our interlocutor. Back then such partisanship seemed appropriate; one of the local French stations had a monthly heavy metal video show, and once when it was pre-empted because of the murder of Marvin Gaye, I was full of puerile resentment.
I’ve learned a few things since tenth grade; among them to not wish harm on others because of differing musical tastes. I still don’t have much appreciation of Jackson as a musician, and who knows whether or not he was a pedophile. I feel largely indifferent to today’s news.
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