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Birmingham, England (Destiny World Tour)

Date confirmed on concert ticket (archived) (“Sunday, 18th February”)

New Musical Express (March 3, 1979) [Slightly rearranged from original article to match sequence of events, reversed sections noted with numbers]

[1] In Manchester, it was plush Apollo Theatre. Tonight, it's a huge concrete abattoir called Bingley Hall--to which the kids lend an air of reluctant uptown funk specially for the occasion.

The official capacity is 3,000, but rumor has it that 6,000 tickets have been sold--though it doesn't look that full to me.

The sound is nowhere near as crisp and sure as Manchester, and pillars consistently and obstinately obscure my vision. There's an evil smell of gas in the air and the floor is cold concrete.

But there are no seats, the band create real magic, and the kids are real fans. The mood of the music is perfect, from the slyly infectious "Let Me Show You" through the gleefully evocative "Enjoy Yourself" to the up-market soul of "Destiny".

Modern dance music: deep, warm disco.

Even the unfortunately hurried medley of their old hits manages to strike the right nerve despite, or maybe because of, everything.

Sometimes I wish I could capture forever that feeling, the picture, the sound, everything. Capture it once, just right... just so. Instead of writing all around the issue, be able to cut right to the heart of the whole show, expose the soul, be able to say, "Here, this is what it was like, this is how it was. Touch it. Feel it See it. Know all about it. Because then, and only then, would anybody understand what The Jacksons in general, and Michael in particular represented to thousands of kids, me among them.

Michael Jackson was the first performer an entire generation of soul fans could relate to, identify with. He wasn't just another star; he wasn't one of the old school--wasn't just as good as they were, he was better.

He was better because he was one of us, not in any corny, pretentious fashion, but simply because he was young and he enjoyed, with boundless and obvious enthusiasm, doing the things he did best: singing and dancing.

For thousands of young people, The Jacksons were the beginning, the end, and all points in between. And judging by the shows I witnessed, the position doesn't seem to have changed much in ten years.

[2] After the Birmingham gig, the band, as per the norm, are whisked into the waiting blankets, out of the back door, into the waiting minibus, and back to the hotel.

The people who are paid to shelter the brothers from all "unnecessary" friction do their job economically and efficiently.

Perhaps a little too efficiently. Due to the over zealous efforts of these sturdy watchdogs, pulling off an anywhere decent interview with Michael Jackson proves an almost impossible feat. Jackson is worth a lot of bucks, and is guarded accordingly.

By the time the main body arrive back at the hotel, Randy and Michael are changed and in the pool.

The pool should be closed at this time of night, but it isn't. It isn't because Michael wants to swim with his friends. His friends are two brothers and their little sister. I haven't packed any swimming trunks, so he efforts to lend me a pair, and I accept, because that's obviously the only way I'm going to get to talk to him. And besides, the water looks like it might be fun... all those whacked out Sunday morning flops into the cool cleanser after a righteous ten-hour stretch (bet you all never thought that I'd be digging the deep with the Boss, gang) must've stood me in good stead for something.

The water is as warm as a bath, to there Michael is teaching the little girl the first verse of "Blame it on the Boogie" (the rest she knows off by heart). They sing it right, though. I compliment the little lady on her fine singing voice and quickly get into some heavy hero worship with MJ.

The little lady is not impressed. She calls me a creep. And she's right.

"Oh, I love kids. I've got lots of nieces and nephews back home, and I'm always taking them to the pictures, or Disneyland, or someplace", says Michael.

Small talk is refreshingly easy, but under the circumstances, serious conversation is understandably difficult--a situation not helped by the two small boys who insist on keeping up a running battle with the cork floats--a game in which Michael is only too willing to indulge.

Eventually, a rep of the hotel management appears on the scene, and informs the disappointed revelers that the pool must close. Michael is too high an insurance risk to be in the swimming pool too long at this time of night.

He accepts the situation with good-humored reluctance and suggests with undisguised glee that we should go on to take a sauna.

"Man, I just love the heat."

I play it cool (best bet under the circumstances), tell him saunas are exactly my cup of tea; just what the doctor ordered. Never been in one in my life, but what the hell...

The problem with the sauna bath is that the light doesn't work, which means we're sitting in semi-darkness in semi-tropical conditions.

There's a kind of bleached out, desperate weirdness about the situation. All that depressing steam and heat create an inert, down-beat atmosphere that's hardly conductive to deep and meaningful conversation.

But this looks like the only shot at the bull's eye I'm likely to get, so I'm forced to persevere.

Michael, however, think it's truly wonderful. He'd like it even hotter. I sweat and ask a few questions.

"We had great times on tour when we were young, really, a lot of fun. We'd take a couple of weeks off in Hawaii, and have a real nice vacation... I love Hawaii, it's like paradise... Have you ever been to Hawaii? No, well you really should, it's beautiful."

"Ah yes, tonight's show was really great... the sound was pretty bad though, wasn't it? I really love playing those stand-up gigs, although even when we play the theatres--where was it we played last night? Manchester--people do eventually get up and dance. I like that.

"Actually, I suppose I really prefer the small club dates, because the sound is always so much better, and it's possible to get everything so much tighter. But in the States, we have to play those really huge auditoriums, y'know? Like Madison Square Gardens--have you ever been there? It's huge--and the Astrodome in Texas.

"Actually, we hold the record attendance at the Astrodome: there's a plaque on the wall with our name on it. I really hope that record stands. It makes me feel really good when other bands who've played there meet us and tell us they've seen our plaque."