Popular Music and Society

Vol. 35, No. 2, May 2012, pp. 261–279

Michael Jackson and the Expressive

Power of Voice-produced Sound
Mats Johansson

This article focuses on Michael Jackson’s vocal style with a particular emphasis on his
creative use of different voice colors or sounds. Mapping out some key features of his
musicianship in terms of sound-making sets the stage for discussing the issues of
subjectivity and agency in relation to Jackson’s vocal signature seen as an aggregate of
“different voices” displayed in dialogue with historically established types, roles, and styles
in popular music. A concept of role-playing is employed to conceptualize Jackson’s
performativity with regard to 1) the contradictory generic coding in his music, 2) notions
of authenticity in popular music, and 3) the sites of identity that bear upon his artistic
persona (race, ethnicity, sex, gender).

Introduction

It’s the choices that he makes, when singing a song, he emotes, that’s a gift. . . . He
takes those lyrics, and goes inside of them in such a way that if you are a vocalist,
you study Michael Jackson, it’s mandatory. (Jill Scott, qtd in Michael)

Michael Jackson’s vocal style was exceptionally diverse and full of understated
sophistication, the features of which have not been sufficiently dealt with in scholarly
or popular writing. This article represents an attempt to redress the imbalance of
perspectives in existing literature by engaging with the multifaceted expressive
elements of Jackson’s vocal performance, taking as a point of departure the
extraordinary range of sounds covered in his studio and live singing. As he continued
to explore the possibilities of the voice as an expressive medium throughout his career,
his repertoire of voice-produced sounds expanded, as did the ways in which these
sounds were used and combined to create musical arrangements. In approaching
Jackson’s singing in terms of sound-making, then, the article aims to provide a deeper
insight into the skills and creative choices that defined him as a musician. This, in
turn, sets the stage for discussing how Jackson rejected the notion of authenticity in

ISSN 0300-7766 (print)/ISSN 1740-1712 (online) q 2012 Taylor & Francis

http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/03007766.2011.618053
262 M. Johansson
popular music, disrupting the relationship between biography and performance by
presenting a musical subject in flux, notably through impersonating a variety of
different vocal characters that had little or nothing to do with his own subjectivity.
My approach to studying Jackson’s vocal performance builds on previous scholarly
work on the voice in popular music: Bowman on the determining role of (vocal)
performance in the articulation of musical meaning; Hawkins (British) on the
referentiality of the singing voice and the construction of pop-vocal types; Frith
(Performing) and Toynbee on the multidimensionality of the “voice” (as sound/words,
as an instrument, as presence of the performing body, as a cultural/historical site of
production). Following an introduction, which outlines my purpose and process, the
main part of the article is an analysis of the song “Blood on the Dance Floor” (1997),
with a particular focus on the spatial and temporal architecture of voice-produced
sounds. In this context, the conventional preoccupation with pitch range is replaced
by a concern for a different marker of range: Jackson’s wide repertoire of vocal styles
and techniques allowing him access to a vivid palette of timbral colors. The expressive
use of these skills creates dynamic sound-images ranging from barely audible nuances
to startling contrasts between different vocal layers. In addition to the horizontal
development of contrasting sounds, the vocal layers interact vertically through
Jackson himself providing (usually differently textured) backing to his lead vocals. He
also produces a variety of non-verbal sound effects that complement and expand the
sound-image in different ways.
The article proceeds to draw on several songs from the Jackson catalogue in order to
address certain features of vocal styling not featured on “Blood on the Dance Floor”
and to discuss some implications of approaching his vocal performance in terms of
sound-making. The scope is limited to Jackson’s adult recording career, meaning that
the Jackson 5 era and his early solo work are mentioned only briefly in the
discussions.1
The article concludes by discussing the issues of subjectivity and agency in relation
to Jackson’s vocal signature seen as an aggregate of “different voices.” This implies
a contextualization of his style(s) within traditions of black singing, as well as an
exploration of the complex and contradictory generic coding in his music. A concept
of role-playing is employed to conceptualize Jackson’s performativity with regard to
1) the generic affiliation of his music, 2) notions of authenticity in popular music, and
3) the sites of identity that bear upon his artistic persona (race, ethnicity, sex, gender).
The overall purpose of the following detailed musical analysis of the song “Blood
on the Dance Floor” is to address the particularities of Jackson’s musical language, and
especially his use of the voice as an instrument of expressive versatility. This study
signals an attempt to accentuate the relevance of a detailed examination of Jackson’s
voice usage as applied in one song. The analysis focuses almost exclusively on vocal
performance, with a particular emphasis on the sound of the voice and how changes in
sound quality function as expressive tools in the sculpting of the song. This is not to
neglect the importance of the elegantly crafted non-vocal elements in the production,
nor do I wish to suggest that the expressive function of the voice-produced sounds can
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be fully examined without considering their interaction with the entire acoustic
environment. However, I want to argue that an exclusive focus on the voice may open
up interpretive possibilities that would otherwise have been concealed.
Related to this issue is the fact that the recorded voice is always mediated by
technology, and that it is very difficult to sort out the role of voice usage vs. sound
engineering in the production of vocal sound (Hawkins, British, Settling; Toynbee;
Warner). Microphone techniques, as well as a range of possible post-recording
treatments, affect the sonic output regardless of the input of the vocalist, meaning that
the actual sound of the singer (a cappella in a neutral acoustic environment) cannot
be extracted from a mastered track. This makes it all the more important to point out
that the focus of the analysis of “Blood on the Dance Floor” is on aspects of vocal
sound that are recognizable in terms of their qualities as sound-producing gestures.
Accordingly, terms such as whispering, breathy, twangy, distorted, full-voiced,
vibrato-infused, grunting, airy, ringing, chest/head/mixed voice, falsetto, etc., refer as
much to bodily mechanisms of sound production (i.e. singing technique) as to the
precise timbral composition of the sound, which is the product of the totality of
actions (human and technological) performed at different stages of the record
production process. Moreover, considering Jackson’s ever-present and intimate
involvement in all aspects of the production of his music (George; Swedien;
Taraborrelli), Jackson’s recorded voice can legitimately be described as a collaborative
product over which he carefully exercised control. In light of this, all recorded tracks
referred to in the analysis may be seen as representative of artistic intentions with
regard to the sound of the voice.

“Blood on the Dance Floor”

“Blood on the Dance Floor” was written by Michael Jackson and produced by him
and Teddy Riley. Although originally created for the album Dangerous (1991),
“Blood” first appeared (in a slightly altered form) on Blood on the Dance Floor:
HIStory in the Mix (1997), released as the first single from the album. On the surface,
the song is about a predatory woman named Susie, who traps a man under her spell
with deadly consequences. Thematically, the lyrics may be interpreted as addressing
the dangers of promiscuity, and it is related to a number of songs in Jackson’s
repertory that center on the figure of the femme fatale; this is a subject much in need of
detailed scholarly study, but it is not my aim to do so here.
The US single release of “Blood” featured five versions of the song, among them
a “Refugee Camp” edit. This version has been chosen for my analysis, mostly because
of the interesting vocals, which are different from the original. Also, the vocals are
more prominent in the “Refugee Camp” edit, the instrumental arrangement
containing relatively few, sonically separated elements. This makes it all the more
evident that Jackson’s vocals on “Blood” constitute a dense structure of verbal and
non-verbal sounds, making up a complete melodic-rhythmic track of their own. The
dramaturgical design of the song consists of a subsequent introduction of, and
264 M. Johansson
interaction between, different voice-produced sound types. In order to illustrate this,
I have included snapshots from the five main parts of the song. These parts consist of
the verse, the first bridge, the second bridge, the chorus, and the postlude.
The verses are sung in a kind of husky-voiced whispering style,2 creating a
percussive sound in which the melodic elements are downplayed in favor of rhythmic
effect. Moreover, the highly audible breathing, voiced and unvoiced, plays an
important role as a carrier of rhythmic information. The intakes and expulsions of
breath, indicated by arrows in Figure 1, function as percussive fill-ins, contributing to
the overall dense rhythmic texture created by the vocal line alone. Phrase boundaries
are marked by heavy expulsions of breath (voiced “ah”) at every fourth off-beat. In
this vocal soundscape3 the non-verbal sounds do not form a separate layer: they are
completely integrated with the sung line.
In the first bridge (00:52– 01:10), there is a change in overall sound: a gentle,
slightly breathy voice is introduced, singing the monotone, rhythmically dense lead in
double octaves without any sense of force or strain. The husky whispering voice from
the verse is significantly downplayed, serving as a rhythmic accompaniment to the
sung line. Thus, although retaining its recognizability, it now takes on a different role:
as a separate, complementary layer in the vocal soundscape. This is especially evident
in the pause between the two parts of the sung line of the bridge. Here, the husky
whispering voice is the only vocal sound remaining, beat-boxing a rhythmic line that
overlaps and interacts with the played/programmed drums on the track in a way that
makes it an inseparable element of the groove.4 This part occurs four times in the
song, and, while the played/programmed lines remain unchanged, Jackson’s beat-
boxed rhythms are gradually modified, both in terms of sound and rhythmic
subdivision.
The next change in the voice-produced sound of the track is more dramatic and
occurs with the start of the second bridge (01:10– 01:27). Jackson sings this high-
pitched part in a strong, full voice charged with intensity. The vocal sound is infused
with distortion5 at certain points (bold text in Figure 2), a technique that Jackson
developed with increasing sophistication throughout his adult career. This creates
alterations in intensity, as if the volume were turned up and down, without this being
the case. Another source of timbral variation is Jackson’s use of vibrato when
rounding off phrases (italicized text in Figure 2): a smooth sound that contrasts with
the distorted tone of the preceding segments. Thus, while there is no trace of the
voices introduced earlier, there still is a contrasting relationship between different
sounds within “the same” voice. Then, at the end of the first part of the bridge

Figure 1 “Blood on the Dance Floor.” First part of verse 1 (00:35 – 00:44). Arrows
indicate audible intakes (down) and expulsions (up) of breath.6
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Figure 2 “Blood on the Dance Floor.” Part of the second bridge (01:10 – 01:23). Bold
text indicates distortion/rasp. Italicized text indicates vibrato.

(after the word “side”), a new layer of vocal sounds appears: a backing choir consisting
of Jackson himself singing three- to six-part harmonies on the words “Blood on my
si-ide” (see Figure 2). The harmonies produce a big, yet smooth sound that overlaps
with the distorted lead voice singing the second part of the bridge (“She seemed
sincere . . . ”), creating a startling contrast between the two layers. Jackson’s catalogue
is filled with examples of such relationships of tension between lead and backing
vocals. Sometimes, the “choir” (Jackson himself) has a soft and warm sound texture,
while the lead is harsh and aggressive (“Why You Wanna Trip on Me,” 1991, from
01:29; “Remember the Time,” 1991, from 03:03; “They Don’t Care About Us,” 1995,
from 02:21; “Heaven Can Wait,” 2001, from 02:33; “Heartbreaker,” 2001, from 03:38).
Sometimes it is the opposite, as when the sound of the backing vocals is rougher, while
the lead voice floats operatically on top of the dense sound texture (“Invincible,” 2001,
from 04:03).
On the level of rhythm, the urgent, authoritative tone of the vocal brings
prominence to the sung line as a groove-defining element, resulting in noteworthy
expressive tensions. For instance, Jackson’s rhythmic performance of the second
bridge is not simply syncopated in the conventional sense: most of his onsets fall in
between the temporal points of reference suggested by the main beat and/or
subdivisions thereof (not shown in Figure 2). This phenomenon is sometimes referred
to as microtiming, implying that musical phrasing often results in non-metronomic or
phase-shifted (slightly before or after the beat) patterns of onsets (Clarke; Danielsen).
What is noticeable about Jackson’s rendition of the second bridge of “Blood” is the
varying distance between his onsets and the referential beat onsets. In other words, his
timing is not consistent on the before/after axis. Instead, the sung line attains
rhythmic consistency by means of its own internal logic, almost as if it were structured
independently from the main groove, only to be phased in again at the end of the
bridge (on the word “break it” at 01:26) just before the start of the on-the-beat
chorus.7
266 M. Johansson
In the chorus (01:27– 01:44), three layers of voice-produced sounds interact
(Figure 3). The choir produces a thick, homogeneous sound and provides a steady
rhythmic/timbral background against which the remaining voices display themselves.
The lead is more or less synchronized with the choir, but is distinguished by its
harsher sound and (smaller and larger) rhythmic displacements occurring at various
points. The sound of the lead voice resembles the vocal part in the second bridge, with
increasing amounts of distortion throughout the sequence (bold text in Figure 3). In
addition, there is audible rhythmic breathing marking phrase boundaries (cf. the
verses). Then there is a third layer: a playful, ad-libbing voice singing a bluesy, densely
ornamented “free-rhythmic” lick before leaping up well over two octaves for
a signature “hoo” slightly before the first beat of the following bar. This kind of
simultaneous presence of several (more than two) voice-produced sound types is
a trademark of many of Jackson’s productions. Other examples include “Smooth
Criminal” (1987) from 03:05; “Why You Wanna Trip on Me” (1991) from 04:06;
“Unbreakable” (2001) from 04:35; “Privacy” (2001) from 03:30. These examples also
illustrate that the sounds in question are quite different from one track to the next and
that there is great variation in how the sounds are used and combined.
The very last element of the vocal performance of “Blood” forms a kind of postlude
to the song (03:22). Multiple voices are chanting “Oh, blood on the dance floor” with

Figure 3 “Blood on the Dance Floor.” Second part of first chorus (01:36 – 01:45). Bold
text indicates distortion/rasp. Italicized text indicates vibrato. Arrows indicate audible
expulsions of breath.
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tight harmonies. At this point, only gentle, undistorted sounds remain and the
contributing parts are tightly congregated. One element stands out, however:
a soprano F# is held for almost three bars, comprising an ethereal background for the
homogeneously textured sounds of the choir. This operatic note also becomes
a compelling testimony of the variety of “voices” (only Jackson’s own voice is present)
contained within one and the same track. The interaction within and between the
different layers of voice-produced sound (vertically and horizontally) creates
a polyphonic sound-image of attraction and separation, a synergy that yields more
than the sum of the parts. Importantly, this effect would hardly be achieved without
the heterogeneity of sounds afforded by Jackson’s versatile instrument.

Strategies of Sound-making
Although “Blood” displays a range of different vocal types and techniques, there are
several elements of Jackson’s vocal toolbox that are not highlighted in this song. First
of all, there is the extensive repertoire of wordless sounds, only some of which are
demonstrated on “Blood” (see also Campbell). One example is different forms of
voiced rhythmic breathing, occurring over a longer interval and forming a separate
rhythmic layer in the overall sound (“Dangerous,” 1991, 03:37–03:54; “They Don’t
Care About Us,” 1995, 03:01–03:21); another is a variety of grunting, groaning,
cooing, snorting, and hissing sounds more or less derived from ordinary speech,
which in addition to being rhythmically prominent serve emotive and connotative
functions. Then there is the signature vocal hiccup, a rhythmic fill-in effect integrated
with the main vocal that Jackson often used during the Thriller/Bad era, the most
famous and illustrative example being in “Billie Jean” (1982). Although generally
functioning as a single, short anacrusis, he also used the hiccup sound as a basis for
more extensive rhythmic patterns (“Lovely One,” 1980, at 03:43). Another category of
Jackson’s wordless sounds is his (mostly tonal) screams and squeals, evoking
associations with rock vocals (examples are found in “Dirty Diana,” 1987, “Remember
the Time,” 1991, “Scream,” 1995, “Come Together,” 1995). Finally, the most
emblematic sounds of all: the signature high-pitched “Hoo,” “Hee-hee,” “Hoo hoo,”
and the like. Partly because of their frequent use (they appear on countless songs from
1978 and onwards), and partly because of their idiosyncratic qualities, these sounds
are so closely associated with Jackson that no other singer could possibly imitate them
without it being an obvious knock-off.
Considering Jackson’s vocal sound-making sheds light on his musicianship, drawing
attention to his maturation and mastery as a singer. The best way to qualify this is
perhaps by referring to his transformation from a traditional soul singer as a child to
a crossover hybrid of musical influences that is notoriously difficult to define in terms
of generic categories (pop, soul, R&B, blues, rock, jazz, etc.). In simple terms, he
created a style of his own. By focusing on Jackson’s expanding repertoire of sound-
producing gestures, then, it becomes possible to give an initial account of his signature
sound without this being impeded by thorny questions of intentionality and generic
268 M. Johansson
affiliation. That is, the issues concerning the aesthetics and cultural meaning of
Jackson’s work are left to a separate level of the analysis, which, in turn, is based upon
the initial mapping of his inventory of sounds. At the same time, the focus on sound-
making establishes an interpretive framework that steers the analysis in certain
directions. One illustrative example is Jackson’s unconventional pronunciations.
Instead of treating these idiosyncrasies semantically, they may be regarded as
emblematic of his interest in creating and transforming different voice-produced
sounds. From this perspective, his experimentation with pronunciation is nothing less
than a means of modifying the rhythmic and timbral qualities of words and phrases.
Consider, for instance, a phrase from “Man in the Mirror” (1987) (01:05-01:07),
which in Jackson’s treatment becomes something like “that’s a wangnow want ya to
noo.” Or an equally muddled line from “Butterflies” (2001) (01:39-01:44), which is
pronounced something like “siiven I can will ya near to mey.” Recurring examples are
the famous “shamon” (come on) and a peculiar blend of “oh lord” and “oh no”
(sometimes something like “oh nol” or “oh lol”).8 These are entities of sound as much
as they are linguistic devices. A further qualification of this interpretation is that these
“words” often do not fit their context, i.e. they do not form part of lexical chains. It is
well known and intuitively clear that different combinations of vowels and consonants
(as pronounced) offer different sets of resonating frequencies, i.e. different timbres.
Accordingly, pronunciation is a potentially vital part of a singer’s expressive
projection, as repeatedly demonstrated in Jackson’s vocal performances.
Another example of Jackson’s attention to variation in voice coloring, which is not
featured on “Blood,” is his use of falsetto, a common technique among male pop
singers (Hawkins, British). In the case of Jackson, however, the falsetto provides a clue
that helps reveal more elaborate uses of vocal technique. Importantly, Jackson’s use of
falsetto was not aimed at reaching high notes (he did so effortlessly in full voice),9
meaning that it is more adequately described as a stylistic choice and as a source of
timbral variation.10 This is evidenced in songs in which the same melodic phrase
occurs several times, sometimes sung in falsetto, sometimes in full or mixed voice. An
excellent example is “We’ve Had Enough” (2004):
Falsetto: 00:59-01:02 (“Why her . . . ”)
Falsetto: 01:11-01:14 (“Did God . . . ”)
Distorted full voice: 02:17-02:19 (“Why his . . . ”)
Clean full voice: 02:29-02:32 (“Who will . . . ”)
Distorted full voice: 02:41-02:44 (“Watching people . . . ”)
Clean full voice: 02:54-02:57 (“Who will . . . ”)

It should be noted that many of Jackson’s voice-produced sounds are not easily
classifiable along the chest voice/head voice/falsetto scale, which is partly due to his
often seamless transitions between registers. Nor is it a straightforward matter to
categorize his variously styled vocals in terms of voice color or timbre, not to mention
that there is no commonly agreed upon terminology for describing timbral variation
in singing. What remains undisputable, however, is that he used his knowledge of
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vocal technique to create a wide palette of sounds: intricate nuances and shades of
timbral variety resulting from an explorative use of vocal tract configurations and
different ways of blending registers. Among countless examples, the song “Speechless”
(2001) illustrates this point particularly well. There is a bridge occurring three times
(00:49, 01:17, and 01:46) featuring variations in vocal coloring between and within the
three versions. At least four different types of voice colors are discernible:

1. A slightly airy but still ringing (i.e. not falsetto) sound: 00:49-00:53 (“When I’m . . . ”).
2. A chest voice sound more or less equivalent to the ordinary speaking voice: 00:53-00:56
(“I don’t . . . ”).
3. A very overtone-rich head voice sound with a touch of nasal twang: 01:17-01:19
(“When I’m . . . ”); 01:24-01:26 (“It’s as . . . ”).
4. A strong and clear sound produced by a mixed head/chest voice: 01:46-01:50
(“I’ll go . . . ”)

More subtle variations include an intentional break or crack in the voice (on the word
“high” at 01:54) and a measured use of vibrato. The latter is evident at phrase endings
(held notes), between which there is continuous variation in timbral density. This is
achieved by means of modifications in voice quality along two axes: 1) the presence or
non-presence of vibrato and its speed (pitch alteration rate) and 2) the degree of
breathiness in tone production and the depth of the vibrato (the range of pitch
variation). In addition, Jackson alternates between direct and more or less delayed
start when applying vibrato to held notes.
The above-mentioned vocal techniques are all fairly conventional, as opposed to
some of the previously discussed idiosyncratic mannerisms. What is interesting is how
these and other techniques are used and combined to create infinite versions of
contrasting and interacting sound-images. This is evident on all levels in Jackson’s
work. First, there are the striking contrasts between adjacent songs on the same album,
Jackson using “different voices” on every track in an effort to convey the general mood
of each song.11 Second, Jackson often brings a unique vocal signature to each section
of a song, as demonstrated in the above analysis of “Blood on the Dance Floor.”12
Third, there is the contrasting relationship between lead and backing vocals: generally,
these two (or more) layers are notably different in terms of voice-produced sound.
Fourth, by means of sudden shifts in vocal styling, he creates more or less marked
contrasts between immediately successive parts of one and the same section. At one
end of the scale, there are subtle, barely audible variations in vocal timbre (degree of
nasality, breathiness, etc.). Variations of this sort are found on virtually all Jackson’s
recordings: there is no such thing as a monotonous, flat tone in his singing.13 At the
other end of the scale are abrupt changes along the scale of soft vs. harsh. Technically,
this effect is achieved by applying different amounts of distortion combined with
dynamic intensification. A good example is “Heaven Can Wait” (2001): a gentle,
mellow sound (02:10-02:12: “I’d turn . . . ”) is suddenly replaced by a loud and
distorted, yet strictly controlled voice (02:12-02:20: “and try . . . ”). An even more
270 M. Johansson
astonishing shift in vocal identity occurs in “Someone Put Your Hand Out” (2004)
(03:18: “It’s because . . . ”).14 This type of vocal behavior also includes instances of
rapid alteration between rougher and softer-edged sounds. An illustrative case is
“They Don’t Care About Us” (1995). The bridges (01:27 and 02:10) are sung in an
“angry,” heavily distorted voice, interrupted by short interludes of clean, breathy, and
vibrato-infused sounds. The high melodic-rhythmic density of the song makes this
sound-alteration very tricky, the award being a compelling musical effect.
One paradoxical element of Jackson’s vocal style is that it seems both purposely
understated and flamboyant at the same time. More often than not, the conventional
markers of vocal ability (heavy wailing and other vocal acrobatics) are intentionally
played down in favor of percussive effect or small-scale rhythmic and timbral
variation (Campbell).15 At the same time, his singing is adventurous in scope by
transgressing stylistic boundaries in its exploration of different sounds and
techniques. This also relates to the sense of effort conveyed by different sound-
producing gestures. Often, Jackson’s singing conveys a sense of effortlessness, the
technical complexity of his performance being easily overlooked. At some points,
however, he purposely displays strain and effort, as when exposing register breaks or
gasping for breath. Far from being random, unintentional outcomes of a “natural”
(i.e. untrained) voice (high notes tend to be airy or strained, etc.), these and other
sound-making gestures are the markers of a technically accomplished and musically
imaginative singer who used his voice(s) as an instrument in the broadest sense
possible. In sum, Jackson’s expressive vocabulary extended along a continuous scale of
dynamic and timbral variation, meaning that the present analysis only scratches the
surface of a remarkably rich, yet under-researched topic.

Mapping out the Bigger Picture: Contextualizing the Voice

To interpret the wider contextual meaning of Jackson’s work requires a consideration
of all performative elements (visual, musical, biographical) that pertain to his artistry
and its reception.16 In his analysis of Jackson’s horror flick video for the song
“Thriller” (1983), Kobena Mercer demonstrates how this methodological imperative
applies on the level of the individual work by addressing the intertextual dialogues
among film, dance, and music through which the spectators are drawn into the play of
signs and meanings at work in the construction of the star’s image. More generally,
Mercer contextualizes Jackson’s work within the Afro-American soul tradition,
indicating a framework for interpreting its reception and cultural meaning. This
implies that the often referred to ambiguity of Jackson’s racial, gender, and sexual
identity “must be seen in the context of imagery of black men and black male
sexuality” (50). From this, Mercer contends that “Jackson not only questions
dominant stereotypes of black masculinity, but also gracefully steps outside the
existing range of ‘types’ of black men” (50). Similarly, with regard to the music it
might be argued that Jackson’s wordless sounds and other idiosyncratic vocal
mannerisms gain currency as stylistic signatures by means of a double articulation:
 Popular Music and Society 271

as affiliated with a tradition (Afro-American soul) and as markers of individual style

positioning him relative to this tradition. Moreover, it needs to be acknowledged that
webs of connotations embedded in vocal performativity are generically coded. In the
case of soul, the expression of emotional content depends less on the literal meaning
of the text than on the passion and emotional materiality of the singer’s voice, its
“grain.” In Mercer’s attempt to convey how the voice negotiates the polysemy of the
“Thriller” track, he evokes the Barthesian idea of the “grain” of the voice, commenting
that “it is the ‘grain’ of Jackson’s voice that expresses and plays with the sexual subtext
of the song in a way that transgresses the denotation of the lyrics and escapes
analytical reduction” (39).
Although Mercer’s analysis successfully demonstrates the importance of
contextualizing Jackson’s subjectivity and stylistic behavior, it leaves some gaps to
be filled. First of all, it is imperative to give a more precise account of the nature and
role of vocal performativity, including how features of voice usage (cf. the above
analysis of “Blood”) map onto aspects and modes of subjectivity. Second, while the
Afro-American soul tradition certainly is a relevant reference in analyzing Jackson’s
work, it is not sufficient when attempting to account for the diverse and contradictory
generic coding in his music. This is especially true when it comes to his later, post-
Thriller work (Mercer’s piece was written in 1985, before Bad), which evokes an array
of stylistic influences falling under the broader heading of pop.
Attempts have been made to grapple with the two interrelated analytical challenges
posed above. Campbell specifically addresses Jackson’s “non-verbal vocalizations”
(the hiccup, the screams, the “Hee-hees,” the beat-boxing, etc.) and maps these
sounds onto the themes of some of his songs, attempting to relate their nature and use
to issues of race, gender, and sexuality. With regard to race, she argues that the non-
verbal vocalizations signify membership in an imagined black community by paying
homage to previous African-American vocal stylings, but that they represent
“a stylised form of blackness that doesn’t threaten mainstream white audiences”
(Campbell 22), thus conforming to the (Motown) philosophy of integrating “black”
music with wider American and European popular culture. With regard to gender,
Campbell claims that, in contrast to other male pop/rock stars, “Jackson’s shrieks are
not expressions of masculine intimacy. Indeed, they seem calculated to distance the
listener: their loudness rudely disrupts any illusions of privacy or sincerity” (23 –24).
The problem with this argument is that it ignores the variety of different shrieks in
Jackson’s reservoir of voice-produced sounds and is therefore not particularly
persuasive.
Finally, Campbell considers the sexual connotations potentially embodied in non-
verbal vocalizations, with reference to the “conventional” interpretation of such
sounds as sexual noises (James Brown being identified as the prime example.) Again,
she dismisses the idea of Jackson being capable of communicating real adult
sentiments, claiming that his “few attempts to use vocalisations as sexual noises are
dismal. In the bridge of ‘In the Closet’ (1991), they amount to whimpers and yelps,
like an ignored puppy” (25). This interpretation is not convincing, the chosen
272 M. Johansson
example being deceptive. The bridge of “In the Closet” does not seek to portray
a sexually confident male lover (cf. James Brown). Rather, it reveals an individual lost
in confusion over how to act, desperately seeking guidance from the (confident)
female lover (“You wanna send me there? [heavy breathing] Cause I don’t understand
[desperate, sobbing voice]”), i.e. (ironically) the “puppy” precisely. More importantly,
this seemingly helpless character is only one of the roles Jackson played (cf. the further
discussion of role-playing below). For instance, “The Way you Make me Feel” (1987)
portrays a much more sexually confident and combative protagonist. Moreover, when
it comes to making convincing sounds of sex, there are far better examples than “In
the Closet,” e.g. the orgasmic breathing at the end of “This Place Hotel” (1980).
Campbell’s overall argument is that Jackson’s non-verbal vocalizations “do not
signify a particular emotion; instead, they are a stylised, distanced representation of
emotion” (26). This seems to be a strategy employed to make sense of Jackson’s
difference; his weirdness disrupts the normal order of things, making it unreasonable
to assume him capable of masquerading as a “true” emoter. It is also implicit that
non-verbal vocalizations indeed can signify particular emotions, although not when
performed by Michael Jackson. This is reminiscent of a romantic expressionist view,
according to which (musical) art is confessional, created for the purpose of disclosing
the innermost being of its maker (Strandberg). Such a view refuses to acknowledge the
sociological axiom that the cultural meaning of a message does not depend on the
sincerity of the messenger (Sennett). Moreover, the notion of insincerity put forward
by Campbell hardly represents a revelation of any sort. Jackson himself clearly stated
(indeed through his ghost writer) that he did not buy into any aspect of the (rock)
ideology of authenticity,17 meaning, in this case, that the artist is supposed to express
his own self through his music:18
It always surprises me when people assume that something an artist has created is
based on a true experience or reflects his or her own lifestyle. Often nothing could
be farther from the truth. . . . An artist’s imagination is his greatest tool. It can
create a mood or feeling that people want to have, as well as transport you to a
different place altogether. (Jackson 179 –80)

The above quote represents a rejection of any imperatives associated with self-
referential authenticity and a corresponding celebration of the view according to
which creating “stylised, distanced representation of emotion” is exactly what making
art is all about. In fact, in retrospect Jackson’s artistry appears as nothing less than
a legacy of self-conscious insincerity. In no way did he try to obscure the fact that his
public image was an act; a performance in its most profound sense.19 Even as a child
star, he seemed aware that artistry is about acting out a role, about putting on a mask
with the aim of creating a convincing representation of a character (see George;
Jackson; Jefferson). In no sense is this role-playing dependent on the true identity of
the “actor”: a film actor is convincing by virtue of her/his knowledge of the craft of
acting; a singer is convincing by virtue of her/his knowledge of the craft of singing.
There could hardly be any better example of this than Michael Jackson as a child:
 Popular Music and Society 273

tapping into his extensive knowledge of the expressive vocabulary of soul music and
its associated vocal techniques, he imitates or acts out “the angry soul man,” “the
gentle, courting soul man,” “the emotionally betrayed soul man,” “the sexually
irresistible soul man” and so on. These characters portray (adult) emotions of love,
desire, pain, and sorrow that the little boy himself could not possibly have
experienced. What he did know was the musical-emotive language of the soul music
tradition and how this language translates into quite specific aspects of vocal
technique: how to produce a bright, vibrato-infused tone; how to produce a
raspy/edgy tone, a breathy tone, a “sweet” tone, etc. This line of reasoning seems to
agree well with Jackson’s own thoughts about how he developed his skills as a singer,
i.e. by intensely studying and imitating the techniques of past and existing masters of
the craft (Jackie Wilson, James Brown, and others) and by early starting to experiment
with his voice to create different sounds (see Jackson). It does not agree, however, with
what Atton describes as the dominant ideology of rock/pop music criticism and its
notion of the “authentic” artist. Accordingly, there has always been a big fuss about
the “wonder kid” who sang “with the sadness and passion of a man who’d been living
the blues and heartbreak his whole life” (Berry Gordy, qtd in Borsboom 270).20 Such
an achievement may seem beyond explanation and serves, partly for this reason, as an
important source of the media-driven mystification of Jackson’s artistic qualities.
Alternatively, one accepts that stylistic knowledge and musical expressiveness may be
the outcomes of hard work and constant practice, a set of acquired skills rather than a
credible biography of experiences.
Perhaps the best argument in favor of the view of Jackson as a musician and
craftsman is his adaptability as a vocalist. He blended his voice (i.e. singing technique)
perfectly with duet partners as different as Freddie Mercury21 and Diana Ross (“Ease
on Down the Road,” 1978), suggesting a chameleon quality and a type of expertise
associated with professional singers. Again, as an adult artist, he seems to refuse to
obey the imperatives of rock criticism. As noted by McLeod, slick professionalism is
one of the inverse qualities of critically praised (authentic) artists (55). In addition,
Jackson’s stylistic adaptability and flexibility as a singer may be interpreted as if his
vocal identity were in flux, thereby representing a disturbing form of indeterminacy,
the comprehension of artistic authenticity relying on a recognizable vocal signature.
On the other hand, these and other observations bring further support to the view of
Jackson as a role-player, a consummate “actor” who impersonated and created
characters (cf. above), intentionally corrupting the relationship between biography
and performance. This would imply a conceptualization of his work in terms of
dramatic and theatrical (“inauthentic”) qualities. This also extends beyond the
domain of musical performance, to the questions surrounding the racial and sexual
indeterminacy of Jackson’s persona. In this regard, Mercer, rather than regarding
Jackson’s image as a manifestation of personality traits, finds it productive to see it as
a mask,22 a surface of artistic and social inscription on which a society writes large its
own preoccupations; a site at which public conceptions of race, gender and sexuality
are negotiated and contested. From this perspective, what is at stake is not who he
274 M. Johansson
really is (was), behind or through the mask, but how his star image, by refusing
previously known subjectivities, embodies cultural anxieties over the naturalness of
male/female, masculinity/femininity, gay/straight, black/white, a point also argued by
Fuchs and Kooijman.23 As will be discussed in the final section below, this
problematization of categories of identity parallels and overlaps with a challenging of
stylistic boundaries through Jackson’s different modes of voice usage.

An Exemplary Agent
Jackson’s vocal signature may be seen as an aggregate of different voices that are
displayed in dialogue with historically established types, roles, and styles in popular
music. This impacts on two main fronts when analyzing his vocal performance. First,
the range of voice-produced sounds and associated vocal techniques covered in
Jackson’s singing constitute something of a catalogue of “the voices” of popular music
history.24 Importantly, this point makes sense only if the scope is limited to vocal
technique and the actual sound of the voice. From such a limited perspective, it may
seem as if Jackson appropriated so many stylistic idioms in his singing that the
potential for different generic affiliations is virtually limitless. On the other hand, to
understand the role of voice usage in the formation of artistic and stylistic identity it is
not sufficient to consider the absolute properties of sound. This brings us to the
second main aspect of vocal performativity, which concerns the cultural and
biographical framing of the voice. At this point, some examples are worth considering:
At the end of “Dirty Diana” (1987), Jackson’s tonal screams on “Come on” (from
03:53 and onwards) could easily have been Steven Tyler’s (Aerosmith) or Bon Scott’s
(AC/DC). In “They Don’t Care About Us” (1995), on the phrase ending with the word
“shame” (02:21-02:23), Jackson’s voice is highly reminiscent of the emblematic sound
of James Hetfield (Metallica). Similarly, in the final call-and-response sequence of
“Earth Song” (1995), he occasionally sounds like Robert Plant (especially between
04:22 and 04:28: “Heavens are . . . ”), with that characteristic high-pitched, distorted
tone; the sliding onsets; the narrow, energetic vibrato; and the voiced, grunting
breathing at phrase endings.
Interestingly, these sounds contribute to the blurring of stylistic boundaries (a pop
star does not sound like that, but a rock singer does), a crossover strategy that must be
considered intentional on Jackson’s part (see George; Kooijman). However, although
the above examples clearly suggest an affiliation with rock, or even hard rock, it would
be a stretch to argue that the sounds of rock in Jackson’s singing should automatically
grant him status as a rock singer (or a Robert Plant imitator). The question, then, is
how a particular position as a popular music auteur is attributed, and how it encodes
the musical output of the artist. This immediately brings forward the issues of
subjectivity and agency. Indeed, Jackson typifies what Toynbee refers to as an
exemplary agent: a mediator in the intertextual process of selecting and combining
“voices already spoken” (43), that is, sounds of styles and “characters” already
sounded or acted out (“the soul man,” “the rock god,” “the jazzy crooner,” “the
 Popular Music and Society 275

emotionally excessive pop star”). Toynbee also argues that generic coding is inevitable,
which may be interpreted to mean that musical “voices” originate in, and thus always
belong to, particular styles (individual and collective). But it can also be interpreted as
genre operating as a coding devise through which an artist’s music is filtered,
establishing a set of expectations that structure the discourse of audience evaluation.
In simplified terms, such a perspective suggests that anything Jackson does is pop as
long as he is culturally defined as a pop star. Moreover, far from being a coherent,
stylistic category, pop is elusive, meaning that Jackson’s heterogeneous musical output
may be interpreted as if he navigates a vast landscape of possibilities without ever
leaving the pop label. It also means that the marks of generic affiliation are not
necessarily found in the music. In this regard, it is of no minor importance that
Jackson labeled himself the king of pop, thus framing his sounds and visual markers of
rock as exceptional elements of a pop aesthetic rather than as standard elements of
a rock aesthetic. Also, by being black (rock often being synonymous with white rock
(Gracyk)), by not being true to any particular idiom (a type of disloyalty that is
implicit in the pop aesthetic), and by not conforming to the self-presentational modes
associated with rock authenticity (cf. the above discussion of this topic), his overall
appearance does not suggest anything in the direction of a rock image. Alternatively,
although many would argue that Jackson appropriates rock convincingly (George),
the explicit theatricality of his assumed role points more in the direction of a
convincing representation of a rock act.
More generally, part of what defines the Jackson star image, and hence the
expressive coding of his musical language, is the lack of a stable identity (cf. the
previous section). In a sense, then, the racial and gender indeterminacy of his
appearance works together with the stylistic diversity of his music to produce a
distinctively unique, yet ambiguous representation. From this perspective, Michael
Jackson constitutes a rich “text” (see Ricoeur) by offering a vast potential of possible
readings. This text is constituted by the totality of interactions between the different,
and often paradoxical, elements of his artistry and persona. Put in different terms,
when laying out all the pieces of the puzzle, no particular solution suggests itself,
which opens up a limitless landscape of interpretative possibilities, an array of equally
“true” stories and identities.25 In light of this, Jackson’s vocal performativity embodies
agency partly as a unique combination of styles and idioms (“voices”), and partly by
the very fact that it is being addressed from the multifaceted and perplexing “site” that
is the star image of Michael Jackson. At the same time, Jackson’s music is not just
a smart arrangement of pre-existing stylistic components. Clearly, he also strove for
artistic autonomy in the sense of creating a previously unheard musical landscape.
From this point of view, Jackson’s expanding repertoire of voice-produced sounds,
(including the idiosyncratic “Hoos,” “Hee-hees,” etc.) were important elements of his
gradual creation of a stylistic universe of his own; an intertextual space in which self-
citation serves to constantly re-accentuate the signs of authorship, the generic
reference being Michael Jackson and nothing else. Such autonomy, fueled by the global
impact of his stardom, contributes to the blurring of what is enclosed in quotation
276 M. Johansson
marks, that is, when reference is made to previously known types and styles (say hard
rock screaming). Nevertheless, the potential for intertextual resonance and different
generic affiliations always remains a potential, which is part of what makes Jackson’s
music with its multitude of expressive features such an immense source of inspiration
and enquiry for musicians, fans, and scholars alike.

Notes
[1] His singing as a child requires a separate discussion; see Warwick’s essay, this issue, for
a detailed discussion of his early career. Clearly, this applies equally to his dancing, through
which he created an unmistakable visual signature. See Khan’s essay, this issue, for analysis of
Jackson’s dancing.
[2] Picture someone eager to get a message across while being restrained by having to whisper.
[3] The term “vocal soundscape” indicates an emphasis on the vocal sounds per se (as opposed to
percussion and other instruments) as a context in relation to which these very sounds gain
significance.
[4] This is a technique often used by Jackson. The feature of vocal styling in question is
highlighted on “Who Is It” (1991) (from 06:15), “Is It Scary” (1997) (from 00:37), and
“Heartbreaker” (2001) (from 04:33).
[5] Distortion, or rasp, “refers to the practice of harmonic distortion in the overtone series
brought about through lateral pressure on the vocal chords” (Bowman 117).
[6] All musical examples are author’s own transcriptions.
[7] A related example is the second part of the bridge of “Thriller” (1982) (02:53-02:59: “There’s no
escaping . . . ”). Jackson sings this full-voiced part in an impossibly high key with a sophisticated,
intensity-heightening use of distortion (cf. “Blood”). Rhythmically, the sequence is internally
consistent, while creating a sense of out-of-time-ness by virtue of being out of sync with the drum
beats (including their non-sounding subdivisions). Eventually, Jackson “compensates” for this
discrepancy by inserting a rest before the word “alien.” Accordingly, on “alien” he is “back on
track,” the remaining of the vocals being synchronized with the drum beat.
[8] Other examples include “dango” (danger) and “babyb” (baby) in “Stranger in Moscow”
(1995); “yona” (on), “goone” (come on) and “mey” (me) in “The Way You Make Me Feel”
(1987); “fill” (feel) in “Speechless” (2001); “tiller” (thriller) in “Thriller” (1982); “chid” (kid)
in “Billie Jean” (1982); “howhile” (wild) in “She Drives Me Wild” (1991); “sœster” (sister) in
“Man in the Mirror” (1987) and “Keep the Faith” (1991).
[9] Jackson’s vocal range without falsetto appears to have been at least 3.5 octaves, spanning from
a f2 heard on a voice training video on YouTube to a c6 on “Smooth Criminal” (1987).
[10] This understanding also agrees with how Jackson himself described his efforts finding the
correct voice for a song, implying that several options (i.e. vocal techniques) were being
considered (see Jackson).
[11] Consider, for instance, the difference in overall vocal styling between “Childhood” and the
subsequent “Come Together” on the HIStory album.
[12] Other arresting examples include “Speed Demon” (1987), “Why You Wanna Trip on Me”
(1991), “In the Closet” (1991), “She Drives Me Wild” (1991), “Can’t Let Her Get Away”
(1991), “Who Is It” (1991), “Give in to Me” (1991), “Morphine” (1997), “Ghosts” (1997),
and “Is It Scary” (1997).
[13] Excellent examples of how subtle variations in vocal coloring work together with other
elements of phrasing are ”I Can’t Help It” (1979), “Rock with You” (1979), “Everybody”
(1980), P.Y.T. (1982), and “Butterflies” (2001).
[14] Similar examples are “Dangerous” (1991) (at 01:43), “Remember the Time” (1991) (at 02:19)
and “Earth Song” (1995) (at 03:17). The featured alternations between completely different
modes of vocal production clearly illustrate how Jackson made use of his technical skill in
making stylistic choices, the complete opposite of the naive approach of letting one’s “natural
voice” dictate the pattern of sounds emerging when singing.
 Popular Music and Society 277

[15] Although elaborate ad libbing is rare in Jackson’s post-puberty work, there are indeed
exceptions: A very early example, “All I Do Is Think about You” (1975), contains some
extravagant wails, among them a twenty-note vocal run on one syllable. At the other end of
Jackson’s career, the song “Butterflies” (2001) features different, but equally elaborate
ornamentations. Similar variants occur occasionally throughout his records, but they are very
rare, far from being a characteristic of his overall vocal style. The effortlessness with which
Jackson executed these vocal acrobatics suggests that their general absence is the result of
a stylistic choice rather than anything else.
[16] Cf. Goodwin’s notion of the star-text as composed of the repertoire of images and discourses
that constitute an artist’s persona: a meta-narrative structuring audience decoding with
regard to artistic identity, generic affiliation, and aesthetic intent.
[17] See Frith (Sound), McLeod, and Negus for discussions of “the ideology of rock” built around
notions of subcultural and generational identity, artistic sincerity and authenticity.
Conditioned by the rhetoric of rock journalism, the ideology of authenticity fosters a set of
imperatives concerning artistic credibility and symbolic artist/fans bonding through
dialectics of introspection and audience identification. This symbolic bonding requires that
audiences can identify with the artist in some way, which in turn means that artistic self-
presentation cannot be purely theatrical, i.e. explicitly insincere.
[18] More generally, Jackson seems to have identified himself as a performer who wanted to be
recognized for his skills rather than for some street-wiseness or his credibility as a spokesman
on generational and racial issues. This becomes especially clear when he compares and
contrasts himself with other artists: “Some musicians—Springsteen and U2, for example—
may feel they got their education from the streets. I’m a performer at heart. I got mine from
the stage” (65).
[19] The remarkable theatricality of Jackson’s appearance was evident not least in the marked
discrepancy between his off-stage and on-stage performance. Off-stage, he seemed to put
aside all his vocal prowess and artistic presence, whispering in a shy, child-like manner,
leaving no trace of the energetic on-stage performer. See Warwick, this issue, for further
discussion of Jackson’s off-stage voice.
[20] Despite the collective fascination with Jackson’s ability to sing like an adult at a very early age,
it could be argued that his musical achievements as a child have been underrated. When
comparing his renditions of famous songs with the originals (the Temptations, Diana Ross
and the Supremes, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Roberta Flack, Marvin Gaye, Stevie
Wonder), it seems unfair to conclude that he merely imitated his idols or succeeded in
appropriating an “adult touch.” His young age aside, little Michael actually appeared more
musically mature than most of his predecessors. For instance, his interpretations of Stevie
Wonder’s “Don’t Know Why I Love You” (1970), the Temptations’ “My Girl” (1972), and
Smokey Robinson and the Miracles’ “Who’s Lovin’ You” (1969) and “I’m the One You Need”
(1970) are arguably more sophisticated and musically substantial than those of the critically
acclaimed singers with whom these songs are originally associated.
[21] Jackson and Mercury recorded at least three songs together in the early 1980s, two of which
are easily found on YouTube (“State of Shock” and “There Must Be More to Life Than This”).
[22] Mercer draws on Barthes’ notion of masking in Mythologies.
[23] A similar point is made by Middleton, who views Jackson as a queer act: “And, of course, the
queerness disrupts the boundaries of race as well as those of sex and gender” (129). See also
Fast, this issue.
[24] The same has been said about his dancing, through which he summarized and synthesized a vast
legacy of styles and idioms from the history of show business (Dyson; see also Khan, this issue).
[25] A telling example in this regard is the controversy about the song “2000 watts” (2001),
featuring low-pitched, deep-timbered vocals that sound nothing like Jackson’s vocals usually
do. Interestingly, many YouTube bloggers insist that it is Jackson using his low voice, although
the track clearly is digitally altered (re-pitched). The fact that people can be made to believe
that the vocal sound on “2000 Watts” belongs within the categorical limits of Jackson’s voice
is fascinating for several reasons. The sentiment seems to be that with Jackson, anything is
possible, meaning that one should consider “natural” explanations before concluding that the
278 M. Johansson
sound of the voice has been manipulated in some way. Arguably, people are so used to the
incredibly wide palette of sounds emerging from Jackson’s throat that it seems completely
reasonable to believe that “2000 Watts” is just another of his sounds.

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Discography
The Jackson Five. ABC, Motown, 1970. LP.
———. Diana Ross Presents the Jackson Five. Motown, 1969. LP.
———. Moving Violation. Motown, 1975. LP.
Jackson, Michael. Bad. Epic, 1987. CD.
———. Ben. Motown, 1972. LP.
———. Blood on the Dance Floor: HIStory in the Mix. Epic, 1997. CD.
———. Dangerous. Epic, 1991. CD.
———. HIStory: Past, Present and Future, Book I. Epic, 1995. CD.
———. Invincible. Epic, 2001. CD.
———. Off the Wall. Epic, 1979. LP.
———. Thriller. Epic, 1982. LP.
———. The Ultimate Collection. Epic, 2004. CD.
Jackson, Michael and Diana Ross. “Ease on Down the Road.” MCA, 1978. Single.
The Jacksons. Triumph. Epic, 1980. LP.

Notes on Contributor

Mats Johansson is a post-doctoral fellow in the Department of Musicology at the

University of Oslo. He is part of the research team of the Norwegian Research
Council-funded project Popular Music and Gender in a Transcultural Context, and is
engaged in the study of gendered representations in popular music and contemporary
folk music.
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