R.I.P. Michael Jackson. You lost your marbles in the last third of your life, but you're at peace now. A life almost from the start in the spotlight and a domineering father meant that he never felt comfortable in his own skin (which brought surgical consequences). He attempted to have his childhood all over again at his Neverland ranch, but became more and more isolated from reality. People gradually stopped talking about his magical feet and when children made claims regarding his magic hands, it confirmed his fall from grace. He was never found guilty though; I remember that moment four years ago as I sat in a barber's shop as the radio news announced that he had been acquitted of child abuse charges and seconds later the DJ announced his relief that he could play Michael Jackson songs again, followed swiftly by a playing of Billy Jean. I loved the brazen black-and-white outlook of that DJ, even if it could be cynically dressed up as topicality.
All that said, fifty is too young to die, but on the flip side he's done more in that span than most people who reach one hundred do in theirs. He was a mould-breaker and a minor part of Barack Obama's ascension to the White House can be attributed to the achievements of Jackson. One of the defining icons of the twentieth century.