MJ is dead. It’s tragic. No sarcasm intended – the singer sits proudly on my CD rack. So the guy was a plastic pedophile, that doesn’t negate his talent as a musician and his monumental contribution to the worlds of music and dance. Of course there is the media frenzy that will harp on about cause of death for weeks. Multiple autopsies will be carried out, suspicions will be raised, speculations will flow but ultimately, the dude is dead. Finito. Gone. Well, not quite. MJ has been immortalised through art. A romantic notion that does not seem to correspond with the life that was riddled with heartache and scandal, enveloped in the ever-forgiving package of talent. As everyone fights for a piece of the undisputed prince of poop…ehem…pop, from publishers to retailers, record labels and the public, my own piece of plastic will live on in the words of Smooth Criminal – an ode to the tragically bizarre and anomalous life of a musical icon.