Celebrity-bashing

It was an odd morning. I was wide awake at least 15 minutes before the alarm went off, and so I jumped out of bed quicker than usual and, one set of daily ablutions later returned to the bedroom to find a dozy Julie holding her phone; clear evidence that she'd switched her alarm off. For the first time in my memory I turned on the radio early enough to hear the full cheesy song that kicks off the Radio One breakfast show. A unusually somber Chris Moyles bought me (and presumably millions of other early risers) the news that news that Michael Jackson had died. Moyles and his team dispensed with their usual daily 20 minute fun and games to essay how each had heard the news, as if somehow this news compared to JFK's assassination, or our generation's real equivalent: 9/11.

Michael Jackson led a peculiar, quite sad life that will undoubtedly make an interesting film at some point in the near future (pencil in Robert Downey Jnr to reprise his pan-racial tour de force in Tropic Thunder). But was he really that important to either music or the world? Personally, I feel that Elvis, Kurt Cobain and John Lennon had a bigger influence musically, but in the Motown and Pop sense Jacko was legendary. But, his life was always a triviality and he made clumsy attempts to use his influence to raise serious issues such as race and the importance of childhood. Let's face it, he was a laughing stock when he tried to claim his attempts to whiten himself were aimed at racial harmony, and the less said about children the better.

We live in the Age of the Celebrity. At least Jacko had some talent that justified his fame and in 10 years time I hope he's remembered for Thriller and the Jackson Five, rather than his surgery and those abuse allegations. But, every time you turn on the TV, read a newspaper or trawl the internet, you find your brain-space invaded by someone who has inexplicably gained the media's attention. The Football WAGs are prime examples, as are 99% of the contestants on most "celebrity" shows. Clearly, Phil Tufnell represents the 1% who deserve the term celebrity (pure genius, that man). And, even though they were definitely B-list, those who took part on the BBC One show on homelessness this week are genuine heroes. But, ignoring those exceptions, what have these people done to deserve my attention?

I wonder if Jade Goody will represent the non-celebrity Zenith. Another tragic life lived in the media. She appeared as the village idiot in the third Big Brother house (2002), entering the public consciousness with a BJ for PJ, and followed that eruption with moments of outrageous stupidity. Here are just a few of my favourites (thanks to www.allgreatquotes.com for these):

"Do they speak Portuganese in Portugal? I thought Portugal was in Spain."

"Rio de Janeiro, ain't that a person?"

"Where is East Angular [Anglia], is it abroad?"

"I knew Lynne was from Aberdeen, but I didn't realise Aberdeen was in Scotland."

Over the next 6 years, Jade somehow maintained a presence in the media. Perhaps she was a lot brighter than we all gave her credit for. For somehow, despite allegations of racism during Celebrity Big Brother (backed-up by some pretty solid evidence, it must be said), she became a celebrity magazine favourite and managed to create a career out of her profile. But why? What did she give the entertainment industry or the wider public? She had no talents that enabled her to act, sing, dance or educate. The only talent she had was a very basic ability to make people feel better about themselves by witnessing second-hand the misdeeds of a true idiot. Her losing battle with cancer turned it around. You can't laugh at that. The media sobered up, took her under their wing and decided to pay her back for years of ridicule.

Hopefully, this sobering up will lead to a period of contemplation from the media as to the relative importance of the "Celeb" and our news will be less about The Who and more about The What (What's happening? What's going to happen?) and The Why (Why did that happen? Why is that important?). I blame Pete Townshend, but I'm sure opinion - in years to come - will be equally divided between him and that Daltrey fellow.

Anyway, I'm sat here tapping away with the BBC Two coverage of Glastonbury on in the background. It's time I started paying attention and deciding whether sitting at home watching it on TV is a sure sign of getting old. Under normal circumstances I'd probably concede that time had passed a little too far to merit attendance at the festival for anyone my age (except for the real Hippies, of course), but it turns out that Blur are the youngest act on the Pyramid Stage on Sunday.

In the car home this afternoon, I heard a Radio 4 article on the reaction of Glastobury to the news of Jacko's demise. Irreverent sums it up quite well. I chuckled as I thought that this year's camp-site shout (a phrase that echoes from tent to tent, across the hills of Somerset at any night-time hour), won't be "Bollocks", "Nicole? Papa" or "Wear Sunscreen". No, last night it was "Michael Jackson is dead". And, according to Jeremy Hardy, after a few minutes reflection each the on-site comedians already had jokes sharpened. If I hadn't heard that I'd probably think the world had gone as mad as it did when Diana died.

Yet, no: BBC Two now leave Glasto and cut-over to a Newsnight Special on.... Michael Jackson. Ridiculous! Please, just play some of his songs, and let him lie.