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the jackson 5. they’re like the temptations of my generation. except they were a little before my generation. but you know what i mean.

but were they anything major without michael? the answer is simple: not at all. randy, tito, and the rest of those guys are merely the brunt of jokes in all of pop culture. even hova effortlessly poked fun at their lack of relevance in the grand scheme of things on the end of the second verse of “party life.” michael carried these guys like these guys did the olympic torch. forget about his many, many terrible accusations. forget about his botched and failed marriages to an array of women. forget about his mysterious pigment change. forget about that incident that showed him dangling a baby from a balcony and almost dropping it like 300 feet in the air. instead, you should remember him for his pioneering acts, like introducing the moonwalk to the world. or for making the first truly ill music video / movie hybrid (read: thriller). or for being the ultimate superstar artist of all time, hands down.

and he’s just one of the greats. i was sniffing around on youtube when i came across a rack of his throwback joints, and i came to the harsh realization that despite all the advantages that the 21st century has brought upon the world, i would probably give something of serious value up to go back and live my youthful years through the 70’s and 80’s, where superstars were born and bred.

and i definitely don’t mean rock throwback gear like these lames above. i mean really live in that moment. geesh. these vermin roam around NY like they own it. somebody call the exterminator, quickly.

i’m sorry for that disgusting and unfortunate digression. as i was saying, from these e-artifacts and gems that i’ve stumbled upon online, i can conclude that everybody was like 5-7 times flyer back in the day than they were today.

my reasoning? well, a few reasons.

there were only so many superstars. you could count them all on your fingers and toes. don’t let me list them, work your brain a bit. you know who they were. part of their attraction was that they were so far above and beyond you. untouchable. they were called superstars because they did things you could never, ever dream about doing. they were the next thing to a superhero (wzup, hancock?). only thing they couldn’t do is fly, and that is even debatable. stunt on those fools, mike!

that was for anyone who thought kanye delivered the best concert of all time. michael jackson just flew out of his own sold out venue. ain’t nobody topping that.

another huge thing: you couldn’t ever find what they rocked. exhibit A:

if you find that me an outfit with that many buckles, i’ll give you my unborn child. now, i can hit montgomery mall and scoop enough gear to look just like homeboy from MTV, BET, VH1…one of those things.

the other deal breaker to superstardom is that nobody is leaving anything up to the imagination. remember the days when you would look out for any news whatsoever on your favorite artist? barely, because now they come and find you. no such thing as admiring from afar, either. labels are thirsty for press, and are urging these guys to get everything from a myspace to a youtube to a personal blog. granted, i have all of the aforementioned. but i’m also not famous. they’ve killed the surpringly satisfying mystery that came with the superstardom with their omnipresence. all i’m saying is that it’s getting too easy to put the spotlight on yourself, and that’s killing the allure of these so-called “superstars.”

what happened to the performances that made you tingle inside or shed a tear, regardless of if you were in the front row or watching it at grandma’s? they’re there, but they aren’t everywhere.

let me illustrate with an essential clip. just imagine being a part of this 1983 grammys. and don’t skip this clip, either.

i rest my case. co-signage? arguments? let me know.