One of the more distinct observations I heard when Jerry Garcia died in 1995 was that the burden of being Jerry Garcia must have become too much. It was food for thought--the weight not just of celebrity but iconography, the burden of meeting expectations 24/7 in a world in which you appear superhuman if human at all.

Michael Jackson suffered a similar fate. Unlike his brethren, he did not succumb to a world of drugs, sycophants and diminished artistic returns; he spent his life cocooned in a world of weirdness and fairy tales. Plenty of artists drift into a world of seclusion in which their re-entry involves the burning of a few tiles--witness Axl Rose--but in Jackson's case, it seemed to not matter to millions of fans how creepy his life had become. He was a singular superstar.

As the television news played the videos of 26 years ago that accompanied "Thriller"--back when Michael had a broader nose, darker skin and a more comfortable smile--the reminder was of his peerlessness. When Epic celebrated "Thriller" with a 25th anniversary edition last year--to some degree motivated by the desire to make it the country's all-time biggest-seller--many of us revisited those videos for "Billie Jean," "Beat It" and the title track. It was a reminder of how no one else presented themselves as such a complete entertainer. This was Sammy Davis Jr., Jackie Wilson and Marvin Gaye extended into a modern era, a talent who made performing look graceful and yet packed with a lifetime of preparation.

Seeing those videos again Thursday, juxtaposed with footage of pale, saddened Michael limping into a courtroom under the cover of parasols, it made the modern Michael seem so lifeless. The burden had become too much.

We hear Jackson every time we turn on the radio, his style apparent in the works of Justin Timberlake, Chris Brown and Usher, to name just a few. At the same time, we don't hear a similar artistry, the roundness of live bands and musicians working with a singer, the stories in song that come from the singer's experience.

In the 1980s, and with a producer like Quincy Jones, mailing it in or singing to a simple rhythm track was not an option. Jackson might not have had as much to say as his rock counterparts during the decade, but he brought a much-needed vibrancy to R&B, demonstrating how dance music rhythms could be integrated into a convincing artistic statement. It sold to a level wherein you expected it to be everyone's house the way you expected there to be a toaster in the kitchen. It defined ubiquitousness.

It's easy to forget the close proximity of Jackson's first solo album "Off the Wall" to the disco era, a time of one-hit wonders, one-dimensional songs and countless shoe-horned tracks featuring R&B stars of earlier eras. Jackson and his brothers were marginal in the disco era--and so, too, were many of the Motown artists who recorded for the label while it was still in Detroit. The J5 did not play sexuality well, and for every grunt, grind and crotch grab in Jackson's career it all somehow appeared innocent--a portion of a dance routine and nothing scandalous.

"Thriller" came along when music was divided firmly in racial camps, when corporate powers pitched Midwestern rock to whites and post-disco R&B to African-Americans. Remember, hip-hop was in its infancy. Jacko and Prince--"Thriller" and "1999"--were the Beatles and the Stones of their day. Safe vs. dangerous; smooth vs. jagged; proven vs. the unknown. It did not prove to be much of a battle, and both men went into their own versions of madness.

To celebrate Michael Jackson is to step back in time and isolate ourselves, to recall that televised performance of "Billie Jean" or "ABC," that J5 reunion tour or "Bad" show, that purchase of "Dangerous" on the first day of release. It's all about stepping back to a more innocent time, pre-Internet, pre-TMZ, pre-SoundScan even, which made it seem like selling 2 million records was not enough for a person of Jackson's stature.

It's quite possible that the upcoming 50 shows in England between July and March was as much a burden as it was a potential thrill. Jackson was not about to give anything less than a brilliant show, and perhaps it was becoming clear he might not be up to the task at hand. Athletes call it losing a step; Jackson had been gone so long no one was quite sure what he had left in the tank. Unlike other stars who go on extended leaves of absences--there's Axl Rose again--it never felt like there was a camp waiting to see him fail. "Thriller" was locked into a time of great pop music discovery--Madonna, Prince, Springsteen, Lauper--and this was a chance to return.

Jackson liked to be surrounded by advisers who gave him answers with which he agreed. Elvis Presley did the same. In both cases it likely accelerated their deaths. Jackson packed a few lifetimes into his 50 years; a long life was unlikely.

The same could be said for Garcia, who appeared to be lumbering to a peaceful end in Gillian Grisman's gracefully shot documentary "Grateful Dawg." Hearing Jackson's music blare out of car windows Thursday afternoon and evening was wistful nostalgia, a return to the mono-culture, to MTV providing water-cooler conversation and this kid who once sang a love song to a rat capturing our imaginations. As a fan of so much of his music--'"I Want You Back" and "PYT" stand out as favorites --I wonder how the years will treat him and whether, a decade from now, I will smile the way I do every time I hear one of Jerry's great solos.

Additional coverage:
Obituary: Michael Jackson dead at 50
Music world reacts