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august 30, 2014
You Just Read the Wikipedia Page for Rockwell’s 1984 Smash Hit “Somebody’s Watching Me” Featuring Michael (And Jermaine?!) Jackson Hoping to Learn How That Collaboration Came About
but Instead Only Learned That Rockwell’s Dad Was a Big Deal and Thought His Son’s Songs Were Boring and They Didn’t Talk and That’s All You Have to Work With
“Would you turn that corny shit off‽”
Berry was tired. The CEO of Motown spent his days and nights listening to the sound of the future. He had no patience for this goofball haunted house soundtrack.
Ray whipped the needle up, shooting him a look as she barked back: “You didn’t even get to the chorus!” He didn’t need to. And he certainly didn’t want to.
“Kenny’s been really putting in work, Ber. Be a fucking human being and spare 3 minutes of your Tuesday. You know how much it would mean to him.”
What did she know? She didn’t have his taste for gold records - she wasn’t the CEO of Motown! But she had a persistence he’d always admired. He couldn’t help himself - that look, as stern as it was, was a time machine. The confidence in her eyes twisted his stomach into knots the way it had all those years ago. Helpless, he relented.
“Fine. Start it again from the top. But I’m way too hungry to wait any longer.”
Berry took a bite as Ray set the needle down. Warm, crisp crackles emanated from the speakers. For just a brief moment he was content, fantasizing about the record player spontaneously combusting, but the scattered beats of his son’s latest creation once again announced themselves. He chewed furiously as he rolled his eyes. Why was he such a pushover?
“Rrreh thmis fmucking suhnks!” He could barely get his point out mid-mastication but the intent was clear. She turned the knob clockwise, drowning him out with that unrefined synthesizer straight out of a horror flick. His son’s enunciation was clear even through the vocoder. The only thing keeping him sane was the sourdough in his immediate future.
As the lyrics floated in aimlessly he daydreamed, directing his attention to the window. If he just took one more bite and darted this could all be over. The responsibility, the expectations - all of it. He remembered when life was simpler, so young and in love. A far throw from the ass-kissing and the hopeful eyes he had to deliver bad news to every day.
As if the beam of a lighthouse had pierced the cold, wet, dark, foggy, depressing, concerning horizon, Berry was forced out of his fantasy by a high tenor. Bits of moist, mediumly-chewed bread dribbled out of his mouth as it widened in awe. The tones were so angelic - he could barely compose himself as his glutes involuntarily boosted his ass out of his chair with spring-loaded action. His index finger sprung from the remainder of his ham & swiss to the stereo like he’d just unwillingly bore witness to a crime. Meat and cheese and bread flew across the room.
“IS THAT THE FUCKING KING OF POP?!”
You’re still not sure if they didn’t talk BECAUSE he thought Rockwell’s songs were lame or if that happened before he was making songs. Hopefully the first because, man, that’s way funnier and also WAY less sad. Also you realize there’s probably something about the song being kinda scary and Michael Jackson having released Thriller just a couple years prior but you shouldn’t have to Google that or watch some YouTube videos to find out. You literally just read the Wikipedia Article dedicated to the song.
best,
C D