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New York City, New York (Victory Tour)

Unknown newspaper snippet (Image 003), from Chris Cadman’s “Michael Jackson the Maestro”

City Editor Bob Herbert presents Daily News Front Page Awards to Michael Jackson before concert at Madison Square Garden. Jackson is third recipient—the others were Kenny Rogers and Diana Ross—of the award, which commemorates his tour, contributions to music, and the "terrific happening" in New York over the weekend.

Madonna, singer and performer, Rolling Stone (October 19, 2009) (archived)

I met him in the early '80s, when I first started working with my manager, Freddy DeMann, who at the time was managing Michael Jackson. I saw him play at Madison Square Garden, and I was blown away. He was flawless. There was a party at the Helmsley Palace Hotel. He was very shy, but it was a thrill for me.

Lisa Robinson, “There Goes Gravity: A Life in Rock and Roll”, autobiography

On August 4, 1984, I took Van Halen’s lead singer David Lee Roth—then at the height of his band’s success—to see the Jacksons’ show at Madison Square Garden. Before the show, we met Michael in a private area of the Garden’s rotunda. I was surprised at how different Michael looked since the last time I had seen him. I was taken aback too, by how much makeup he wore—it rubbed off on my clothing when we hugged hello. But mostly, I was amused by how fully aware he was of just exactly who David Lee Roth was— probably even down to the number of records Van Halen had sold and their chart positions.

"Black Beat" magazine (1984)

...The year long media siege of the family's camp that recalled Leningrad in 1941, the senseless hype, the ticket hassles, the false starts all took their toll on the average fan as he or she made that final run through the police gauntlet on the way to the stadium of their choice. (At Madison Square Garden, there was one cop for every eight fans.) Pure enthusiasm had been wrestled to the ground.

Finally, when we got as close the group as $30 would allow, we were confronted by a spiritual distance far greater than the walk to Michael's flashy feet. The beast had no soul, substituting empty gestures and lame moves that were more echoes of past teamwork.

The only real show of unity was at the cusp of the show when the quintet entered as one, descending the stairs that rose from the bowels of the stage, taking each step with a resounding, amplified thud as leaden as the production. Huge lighting grids flanking the stage focused on nothing in particular. A waste of wattage.

It was all a little too much. Michael's whimsy concocting a sword in the Stone introduction that ushered in "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin". You figure it out. The spidery lighting gods evoking "War of the Worlds" imagery merely set up a levitation bit copped from the 1981 tour. By comparison, the last Jacksons' outing, a spectacle then, seems like a folk gig by this tour's standards.

But that tour was at least manageable and light. They Victory Tour production's clutter began a confusion that was embarrassing at times. The brothers fought for the spotlight and the continual bumping and running gave the show the feel of a contact sport. Tito, however, is flabby and over the hill. Marlon's jostling with Michael was the thrashing of one frustrated performer. Jermaine his rifle bass (a fad gauche) painfully displayed the effects of his ten-year separation from the performing entity. Only Randy, the Jackson of the future, behaved with poise, biding his time behind the keyboards.

Without Michael, they'd have a hard time supporting Weird Al Yankovic. Even though he ripped through the set with very little in the way of rapprochement for the crowd, Michael's immeasurable talents returned some of the investment on a seat. Still, the Billie Jean choreography was identical to that of the Motown anniversary special of early 1983. The cruel irony was that, for most of the tour, they played nothing from the album the event was designed to support!

Yet it was quite clear that the Four Horsemen behind Michael were holding him back. Without them, he would be free to fully explore both his roots and his potential. But he had succumbed to their guilt trip and he was on the road for the sake of the family name. Just one more time for a cool $50 million and a soft drink he'd never put to his holistic lips. He wouldn't even pocket his share of the profits, further distancing himself from the deal. One that doesn't bear repeating.