The Scarecrow Who Would Be King Thirty years of Jackson, Jones and Off The Wall By: Laurence Bass
M
ichael Jackson’s role as the Scarecrow in Sidney Lumet’s 1978 cinematic adaptation of Broadway’s The Wiz not only won him critical praise, but introduced him to the man who would help him change the scope of music for generations to come— Quincy Jones. As the executive producer of the film’s score, Jones was asked to mold a parade of voices into one album. Jackson was one of those voices. It’s fair to say that both Jackson and Jones met at a creative junction on the famed Yellow Brick Road. By 1978, the Jacksons were three years and three albums deep into their lucrative contract with CBS Records. Michael Jackson, now 20, seemed to have grown up before America’s eyes with each passing television performance. The once common appearances on Soul Train were replaced with frequent trips to pop music’s apex, American Bandstand. And
though the music’s content matured, he and his brothers were still pegged as the bubble gum-soul machine that cranked out hit-after-hit at Motown. The brand of Gordy-infused soul music that made the Jackson 5 a household name at the beginning of the decade was gone. Boogie begot disco and the conquest for the elusive crossover dollar was in full swing. Quincy Jones was becoming the sound of Hollywood. His sheet music was the theme to shows like Sanford & Son and The Bill Cosby Show. The scores he created for the films In The Heat of The Night, The Pawnbroker and the mini-series Roots made him a sought after producer. Throughout the 1970s, Jones continued to produce his own records showcasing a bevy of handpicked up and comers. He was the premiere choice to hone the sound of The Wiz, but was a tertiary when it came to the production of Michael Jackson’s first, major label solo album. The executives at CBS Records felt Jones was too much of a “jazz man” to be able to construct an album tailored for Jackson’s pop-soul needs. Under Jackson’s insistence, Jones was chosen and the rest is history. Nothing spectacular appears when 14 October 2009
gazing at the original cover of Michael Jackson’s Off The Wall (1979). Sure, when it was released on August 10th it raised some eyes brows, but now it comes off looking cliché. Jackson’s wiry silhouette pasted against the
bricked-locale shows that his back is indeed off the symbolic wall. Unfold the elongated cover and his illuminated white socks magnify the fashion faux pas. From some angles it even looks like the young man is sporting a matted afro/Jheri-curl hybrid. Regardless of its dated façade, the album’s mosaic of songs is timeless. Once the needle hits the record, thegreenmagazine.com
you know where you are. Michael Jackson’s mousy introduction guides you into the rhythmic whirlwind that is Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough. In hindsight, Quincy Jones’ decision to open the album with this six-minute party anthem was a bold move. This was usually a tell tale sign of an artist trying to compensate for other lackluster tracks on their album. Such theories do not apply here. Jackson’s lyrics take on more power via his outstretched falsetto that is echoed by throaty adlibs. The weighty horn section adds a f lair that is balanced by a series of swaying violins. Jones’ use of percussion is one of many hallmarks of his late 1970s sound. He adds handclaps to accent the drum that works with the heady percussion of Paulihno Da Costa. Elements of disco are prevalent in this chorus-heavy track, but there is much more occurring. The inf luence of Marvin Gaye’s single Got To Give It Up (1977) saturates Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough. Jackson’s vocal range, the continuous ring of glass bottles and the sound of partygoers during its opus all but capture Gaye’s masterpiece. The brief guitar solo at the bridge presages Eddie Van Halen’s contribution heard
on Beat It from Thriller (1982). Both Jackson and Jones, vocalist and visionary, etch the blueprint for the next era of music at the opening of this album. Rock With You is one of the many winning offerings on this album and, quite possibly, one of the best R&B songs ever made. When it comes to the lasting tapestry of this track, look no further than its writer and unsung catalyst—Rod Temperton. Prior to the making of Off The Wall in 1978, Temperton was the producer for the dance and soul powerhouse Heatwave. One of the reigning characteristics of the band’s sound was its use of voice. Temperton’s production for the hits Boogie Nights and Always And Forever matched crooning vocals with an up tempo score that created a union between lyric and note. His arrangement of Jackson’s idyllic voice would be no different. From the song’s onset, Temperton, along with Jones’ savvy production, surrounds you with a running hi-hat, echoing keys, progressing bass, easyriffing guitar and a set of rising violins. This arrangement works as a perfect overture and cascading backdrop for Jackson’s lush delivery. He glides over Temperton’s quick and steady rhythm with a range of brilliance. The euphoric and sensual tones of each verse create a f lawless segue to a well-layered and self-dubbed chorus. Keyboardist “Hawk” Wolinski, bassist Bobby Watson and drummer John Robinson (all from the Chaka Khan-led Rufus) are the song’s driving force. The harmony between Watson’s climbing and descending bass and Robinson’s crisp, near-improvisational drum cradles Jackson’s voice. Wolinski’s artful placement of his notes is the design of the song’s ingenious bridge. Temperton overwhelms listeners by merging three of the singer’s vocals at the 2:50 mark. It only lasts for a matter of seconds, but, like this song, its brilliance is eternal.
Quincy Jones never travelled alone. If there was an album to be made, The Dude’s team of musicians were not far behind. Case in point, Louis Johnson, of the Brothers Johnson, co-produced Get On The Floor with Michael Jackson. Johnson’s thumb-plucking bass playing alongside Motown session guitarist Wah Wah Watson’s twang are perfect for this stadium funk meets disco classic. Jackson works with the melody for the majority of the song and then renders it useless. The aural landscape becomes cavernous. His heavy panting and yelps make for an attractable shift. This is when the song and, in many ways, Michael Jackson change. Jackson saunters across a barrage of percussion, whispering –“go all the way down”. At this point, it’s easy to see him beckoning with that classic, quick two-fingered motion, while snarling with his teeth dug into his bottom lip. The whispers soar to shouts and soon Jackson’s boyish laugh ushers in the chorus. Behold, the sensitive badass is born. The solemnity of She’s Out Of My Life is its beauty. On an album drenched with booming rhythm sections and percussion keeping that near-disco time, this orchestral ballad seems to be out of place. Songwriter Tom Bahler’s lyrics of a love lost stemmed from his failed marriage to Carpenters’ songstress Karen Carpenter. Bahler’s loss was Jackson’s gain. The song peaked at #10 on Billboard’s Hot 100 in April 1980. Jackson could not claim these lyrics as his own, but the sensitivity overf lowing on this song is all his. Jackson’s voice cracks all the while adding the song’s melancholy theme. Violins bleed in occasionally adding to Jackson’s faint tremolo. The song concludes with his poetic failure to hold the final note as he is overcome with sadness. Dating back to Motown, Jackson’s discography is full of deep cuts. Those
handfuls of tracks seldom played on the radio were the ones that gave his albums weight. I Can’t Help It is Off The Wall’s undeniable groove. Synthesizers and violins move with Jackson as he delicately offers Stevie Wonder’s potent lyrics. The Seawind Horns, led by Jerry Hay, add bottom to Greg Phillinganes’ electric piano that matches Jackson’s arching voice. Jones’ production on this selection is damn-near genius. His use of the synthesizers bombards the ears, but it stretches the sonic dimensions of this cut. Accompanying Jones’ notes, Jackson’s improvised scatting during the bridge fills the recesses of this song beautifully. Off The Wall is usually regarded as the notable prelude to the supernova of fandom aptly titled Thriller. Granted, its 20 million units did not match Thriller’s once-in-a-millennia sales mark of 190 million units or force a de facto racist MTV to play a benevolent Branch Rickey, but it has a style all its own. Burn This Disco Out and the title track Off The Wall are two other contributions made by Rod Temperton to the album. Paul McCartney’s tonguein-cheek lyrics for Girlfriend kept the gloved one’s heart throb persona intact. Jackson’s duet with Jones’ protégé Patti Austin on It’s The Falling In Love is the precursor to the collaborations he would later do in the 1980s. The bravado of Working Day And Night is a testament to edgy production of both Jackson and Jones. If the adage is true, then it took a village to construct this album. Off The Wall’s foundation is steeped in transition. Jackson’s charm and unadulterated voice, coupled with Jones’ clientele of musicians and wordsmiths, matures by album’s end. In retrospect, the album’s eclectic blend of soul, funk and disco built the plateau of 1980s pop music—eventually making Jackson’s its anointed King.