Thriller, his new album, is Number Five on the charts. In 1980, he stepped out of the Jacksons to record his own LP, Off the Wall, and it became the best-selling album of the year. He has been the featured player with the Jackson Five since grade school.

Run this down next to the stats, the successes, and it doesn’t add up. He is known to conduct his private life with almost obsessive caution, “just like a hemophiliac who can’t afford to be scratched in any way.” The analogy is his. He ducks, he hides, he talks to his shoe tops. The small body of existing literature paints him as excruciatingly shy. And even when he did, it was always with a cordon of managers, other Jackson brothers and, in one case, his younger sister Janet parroting a reporter’s questions before Michael would answer them. He says he has not done anything like this for over two years. It is also surprising to see that Michael has decided to face this interview alone. He concedes that this is an unlikely spot for a young prince of pop. Having settled his visitor on the middle floor of his own three-level condo, Michael explains that the residence is temporary, while his Encino, California, home is razed and rebuilt. “Not what you expected, huh?” From behind a mask of bony fingers, Michael Jackson giggles. Make for mama.”Īll along the courtyard’s trimmed inner paths, poodles waddle about trailing poodle-cut ladies on pink leashes.

My hair will be brillo.“Īnd the soothing counterpoint of maternal encouragement: “Be good pup, Jolie. Then comes the chilling whine of a real-life Valley girl. Through the metal gate, the courtyard is silent, except for the distant splat of a fountain against its plastic basin. It’s noon, and somewhere in the San Fernando Valley, the front shades of a row of condos are lowered against a hazy glare.

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