Heroes With Demons

With the fall from grace for many a celebrity, columnist Shruti Rya Ganguly questions our relationship with their artistry

- Shruti Rya Ganguly

When I was 10, the dangerous album was the soundtrack to my life. And I was elated to hear that Michael Jackson was coming to Dubai for his Dangerous tour a few months later. Growing up in Oman, the international pop concerts in the ’80s were relatively limited. As the day got closer, I packed my suitcase with my most favorite dresses and accessories, ready for the best trip and concert of my life. Then lo! Three days before the show, Jackson was slapped with his first child molestation lawsuit and the tour was canceled. Devastation kicked in. But I didn’t really know what it all meant at the time.

It was only years later that I started to understand more of it, but perhaps I didn’t really want to. I couldn’t stop adoring Michael Jackson any less. Fast forward to almost a decade later: I’m sitting in a classroom at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, getting my MFA in Film (and MBA at Stern), and my professor Spike Lee shows some of those same music videos, ones that he had directed. Never in my wildest dreams could I have connected with a childhood idol who had been worlds apart, but at that moment, this one-degree of separation made us seem closer than ever. When the lights came on, Spike looked over at me and said, “Well someone just got a little emotional.” I wiped my dampened eyes, reflecting on Jackson’s passing in 2005. Yet, five years later, with new music and a holographic show being planned, his ghost continued through the halls of culture and relevance. And then something changed for me.