Over the next few months, we’ll be profiling the authors of the  eighteen forthcoming 33 1/3 titles here on the blog so you can get to  know them, their writing, and what kind of twisted soul chooses to think  about just one album for months at a time. Next up: Susan Fast, Professor in the Department of English and  Cultural Studies at McMaster University, Hamilton, ON, Canada. Her  research interests include representations of gender and sexuality, race  and ethnicity, constructions of self and other, performance and  performativity, and geopolitical violence/conflict in contemporary  popular music. She is author of 
In the Houses of the Holy: Led Zeppelin and the Power of Rock Music.
 
In line with her academic interests of popular music and performance, Fast has chosen to write about Michael Jackson’s 
Dangerous for her 33 1/3 installment. Read on to discover why she gravitated toward 
Dangerous over some of MJ’s more popular albums, and what she thinks is missing from the oeuvre of Michael Jackson research.
 
What, in particular, drew you to writing about this album?
Susan Fast: I’ve been wanting to write about this album for  years now and whenever I’ve thought about it, I’ve imagined it as a book  in the 33 1/3 series.
 It’s the right vehicle for this project. 
Dangerous just seems to me like such a pivotal album in Michael Jackson’s career–I know most would peg 
Thriller as his musical pinnacle (although some would say that honor belongs to 
Off the Wall); 
Bad  was the first album he toured as a solo artist, so that’s certainly an  important milestone, but some feel that *Bad* was not as good an album  as 
Thriller. I think most feel that by the time 
Dangerous came out, Jackson’s best work was behind him, but I disagree. What makes 
Dangerous  so intriguing to me is that Jackson seems finally to inhabit adulthood  on this record. He deals with weighty subjects, including love and lust;  he gives us a darker, less childishly optimistic vision of the world;  and he often seems at an emotional breaking point. He does this with  less theatricality–which is not to say less musical excess–than he  displays on earlier records.
 One review of the record, by Jon Dolan, compared it to Nirvana’s 
Nevermind.  Dolan wrote, “Jackson’s dread, depression and wounded-child sense of  good and evil have more in common with Kurt Cobain than anyone took the  time to notice.” While we’re making ambitious statements about this  record—pace rock aficionados (and I count myself among you)—I’ve long  toyed with the idea of 
Dangerous as Jackson’s 
Achtung Baby,  in many ways a similarly brooding, vulnerable leap into the breach. It  isn’t only lyrics that take Jackson down that road, but new ways of  using his voice, the embracing of new musical styles, including hip hop,  and a more pronounced allegiance to the sound of black music, past and  present, than his earlier work. I see 
Dangerous as a concept  album through which Jackson explores ideas of the postmodern, of love,  sexuality, spirituality, and the future. To have the opportunity to  explore this underrated album in a book length study is really exciting.
 
Who will you be reaching out to during the writing process? Why?
SF: My goal is to offer a close reading of the album; to  suggest a way of hearing it that links to Jackson’s public image and to  the cultural moment in which the record was produced. Since there’s been  so little of this kind of critical analysis of Jackson’s work, I really  want to make that the focus (much in the way that Carl Wilson made a  broadly-based cultural analysis in his 33 1/3 book on Celine Dion his  focus; it’s my favorite book in the series). But inevitably when I’m  writing, there comes a point at which I have a question that only one of  the musicians, or someone else close to the process can answer. This  happened last year when I was writing an article on Jackson for a  special issue of the journal 
Popular Music and Society: Part of  the essay was about his lead guitarist Jennifer Batten, and I ended up  connecting with her so that I could confirm some factual information,  including whether it was MJ who designed her crazy costumes (the answer  is yes, he did). So that may happen here. Joe Vogel’s interviewed a lot  of the people Jackson worked closely with to write his book 
Man in the Music and  Jackson’s longtime engineer, Bruce Swedien, published a book a couple  of years ago that includes a lot of interesting technical information  about the recording sessions, so much of that ground has been covered.
 

Describe  for us the process of coming up with and pitching your 33 1/3. Did  anything surprise you? Did you start with one idea and end up with  another?
SF: What was great about writing the proposal is that it really  focused ideas that had been floating around aimlessly in my head for a  long time. I had never thought of 
Dangerous as a concept album  before, but as I was writing the proposal, thinking through the  organization of chapters, it just emerged so clearly. It was also a  comment that Alan Light made in his 
Rolling Stone review of the  record that tweaked me to this possibility. He criticized the running  order of the album, commenting that he didn’t like the way Jackson had  “clustered” similar songs together. It suddenly occurred to me that the  “clusters” make sense if instead of resisting them, or finding them  clunky, one embraces them. These clusters actually give us a compelling  narrative arc (you’ll just have to read the book to see what I think  that arc is!).
 
What do you want to explore about Michael Jackson that you  feel hasn’t been adequately covered elsewhere in music criticism or  academic writing?
SF: After Jackson died, I did a search for serious writing on  his music and was absolutely astonished by how little there was.  Everyone was so focused on what they perceived to be his crazy life  (and, quite frankly, not even that was being explored in interesting  ways) that somehow this incredibly rich, complex, virtuosic body of  music, short films, and concert performances captured on video got  neglected (as an aside: I had never even seen the DVD of the Bucharest  concert, filmed during the 
Dangerous tour in 1992–the only  official DVD release of a live show during his lifetime–until after his  death; it came out in 2005 when the only thing the world cared about was  Jackson’s criminal trial). It’s really difficult to fathom how one of  the most important artists ever could have been so dismissed or  neglected 
as an artist. Even when he was at his peak, there  were only ever a handful of good essays that tried to get at something  important about his artistry. This is slowly beginning to change. There  has been some terrific writing on Jackson that’s come out since his  death, but in terms of really taking apart the songs and videos, or  digging into an album, this is still virtually uncharted territory. Joe  Vogel’s book 
Man in the Music is the first, and only, album by  album synopsis of Jackson’s work. Think of how many books like that  exist for other important artists! And the thing is, Jackson’s work is  so intricate that multiple and contradictory interpretations 
should exist, as they do for the work of other artists we care about.
 So, there’s so much that could be covered, but in this book I really want to explore Jackson’s 
adulthood, the all-grown-up image he presents, the 
seriousness  of the record–how it can be read in relationship to other *serious*  musical statements that came out in that astonishingly rich year for  music, 1991: not only 
Nevermind and 
Achtung Baby, but  so many others. This is a Michael Jackson that has consistently been  denied by critics. Many could not see him as an adult, or did not  believe him as one and when he finally gave us an adult picture of  himself with 
Dangerous, it was more or less critically  rejected. It is precisely at this moment, precisely when he embraces  maturity, that his aberrance becomes intolerable and that a critical  blindness towards his music takes hold. Michael as quirky crossover  wunderkind, fabulous; inhabiting adulthood as the dandy he was, with  those looks; his steaming sexuality in performance (which many critics  couldn’t, or didn’t want to see); his love of kids and kid-like things;  his failure to partner up; and his failure to make blacker-sounding  music–this [last point] was truly frightening to the mainstream media  and to many beyond. It was a couple of years after 
Dangerous  came out that the first allegation of child abuse was made: my view is  that the album was the document that set the wheels of his spectacular  fall from grace into motion.
 
What was your first concert?
SF: Wouldn’t it be delightful if I could say MJ? Alas, I never saw him live. My first concert was Bowie, 1976 on the 
Young Americans  tour. I was a Bowie fanatic. Before the Internet and living outside an  urban centre, I either called or wrote away to order a ticket (wish I  still had it; why wouldn’t I have saved this?). I have no recollection  of how I even heard about it: radio? Newspaper? Magazine? Where were  concert dates announced back then? I did this having absolutely no idea  how I would get to Vancouver to see the concert. My parents ended up  driving me (six hours). I remember running into the Pacific Coliseum—ah,  the days of festival seating, where you could squish yourself up  against the stage, no security, no barriers. I thought I looked pretty  glam, but it was nothing compared to what surrounded me; there were all  kinds of Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, Diamond Dog incarnations. Bowie  walked out in a black suit and white shirt. His mullet was gone and his  hair, while still red, hadn’t been recently dyed. It was his new “thin  white duke” look. He smirked at all of us still stuck in the Ziggy days.  I remember feeling overwhelmed by seeing my idol in the flesh, just  slightly out of reach. I trembled through the whole thing. I don’t  remember leaving the stadium, but I do remember vividly sitting outside  waiting for my ride, which seemed like a long time, breathing in the  cold February air and feeling as though I had been forever changed.  Magic.
  
How do you listen to your music at home: vinyl, CD, or MP3? Why?
SF: CD or MP3; I got rid of my turntable several years ago.  It’s easier to indulge my habit of listening to the same tune over and  over again (I seriously cannot move on when I get badly hooked). But  interestingly, when Jackson died it was my vinyl version of 
Thriller  that I pulled out, propped open on a shelf in my university office and  which still sits there today. I’m not one of those audiophiles who  insists that vinyl is better than digital recordings, but I sorely miss  the richness of the album artwork that accompanied vinyl recordings.  Among other losses, the CD version of 
Thriller omits the little drawings Jackson did for the inside sleeve of the record.
 
Name a lyric from the album you’re writing about that  encapsulates either a) the album itself, b) your experience in hearing  the album for the first time, or c) your experience writing about the  album, so far.
SF: It wasn’t the lyrics that captivated me; it rarely is! I’m  drawn to the sound: to grooves, melodies, the quality of the voice,  interesting harmonic shifts, instrument choices, production values, how  the music makes us experience time and our bodies. What’s intoxicating  to me about Michael Jackson’s music is, well, the music. Especially its  intensity; and while the level of intensity is always up there with  Jackson, I would argue it reaches new heights in 
Dangerous. This record is so just so emotionally bloody.
 I’ve spent my entire career trying to figure out how to write  productively about musical sound, in a way that doesn’t just point out  musical structure or other details for the sake of it, in a language  that none but a few specialists understand, but in a way that connects  the sound of the music to significant cultural ideas. If the primary  meanings of music came through the lyrics, why would we need the music?  Musical sound carries cultural meaning. So it’s interesting to me that  this image of adulthood we get from Jackson on 
Dangerous is  linked with such emotional intensity, in his voice (which is often at a  breaking point), in the tightness of the grooves, or in the downright  baroque excessiveness of the music. Much of this intensity is associated  with disillusionment at the world, with feeling abandoned, or betrayed.  Or angry. “Black or White,” for example, isn’t just a cute ditty about  racial harmony when you start to dig beneath the surface. Dude is quite  pissed off! And I suppose if I had to commit to one thing that  encapsulates the album, it might be the dance at the end of the short  film for “Black or White.” I know this gets away from the music, but the  intense and shifting emotional landscape of that dance sums up in  movement what the album delivers in sound.
Next up: Luis Sanchez on The Beach Boys’ Smile
. Stay tuned.