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Yokohama, Japan (Bad World Tour)

September 26, 1987 Concert:

Michael Jackson, speech transcript from documentary

I am very sorry and deeply saddened to hear about Yoshiyaki. If I could, I would like to rush to his parents to express my words of sympathy and pay tribute to Yoshiyaki. I would like to dedicate my Japanese tour to Yoshiyaki. Yoshiyaki, I know you’re out there watching us. I hope such a brutal and heart breaking thing never happens again. And I love you.”

“People” magazine (October 12, 1987) (archived) (original article scan archived)

[Jackson] sent condolences and $20,000 to the family of 5-year-old Yoshiaki Ogiwara, an Osaka boy who was kidnapped and murdered recently. At one concert he dedicated his tour to the boy, a gesture that brought tears to the eyes of adoring fans. “People just don’t have a realistic picture of who Michael is,” says makeup artist Karen Faye. “He’s innocent and inspiring without being preachy—and a lot of fun to be around.”

September 27, 1987 Concert:

“People” magazine (October 12, 1987) (archived) (original article scan archived)

As the clock ticks down toward show time at Japan’s Yokohama stadium, the teenagers staking out a closely guarded back entrance grow edgy with excitement. Aware that their fleeting brush with a legend is at hand, they murmur, “Sugu, sugu!” “Soon, soon!” The sight of two vans—one blue, one gold—swinging round a corner brings instant recognition, and the crowd erupts with a joyous roar. As the rockmobiles come slickly to a halt, a lithe young man steps out, and for a second the stadium lights reflect brilliantly off the extravagant silver buckles of his jacket. Then he disappears behind a door labeled, in light-blue letters, Mr. Michael Jackson.

Backstage at this ninth Japanese concert of what is to be a yearlong world tour, Michael Jackson radiates energy: His arrival sends a jolt of pre-show electricity through the cast and crew members who had been lazily hanging out around his simply furnished dressing room. Jackson rolls his head to limber up; gazing in a full-length mirror, he flicks a speck of loose makeup off his cheek. His toned, 5’10” frame seems imposing, quite at odds with the waif like image he presents to photographers. “I’m getting a little worried about my voice getting thin,” says Jackson in a voice stronger and more assured than the shy squeak of his rare public pronouncements. “But so far things are going good.”

Out front, the stadium is a powder keg awaiting the match. Christened Typhoon Michael by the Japanese press, Jackson has taken the nation by storm. The 38,000 seats for tonight’s concert sold out (at $40 per) weeks ago, and some fans desperate to hail the man they call My-ke-ru have paid scalpers $700 to get in. But here in his dressing room the rock phenomenon lingers over a cup of tea, calmly ignoring the gathering clamor from the arena and the rising nerves of his 15 backup musicians and dancers. A crew member recites a brief prayer, then Jackson huddles with his cast like a football quarterback. They clap their hands and stomp their feet. “Whatever we play,” yells Jackson, his smooth, sculpted features relaxing into an engaging grin, “it’s got to be funky!” A moment later, to a burst of bright lights and thunderous applause, they jog onstage.