I had street gangs on my mind when I wrote "Beat It," so we rounded up some of the toughest gangs in Los Angeles and put them to work on the video. It turned out to be a good idea, and a great experience for me. We had some
rough kids on that set, tough kids, and they hadn't been to wardrobe. Those guys in the pool room in the first scene
were serious; they were not actors. That stuff was real.
Now I hadn't been around really tough people all that much, and these guys were more than a little intimidating at
first. But we had security around and were ready for anything that might happen. Of course we soon realized we
didn't need any of this, that the gang members were mostly humble, sweet, and kind in their dealings with us. We fed
them during breaks, and they all cleaned up and put their trays away. I came to realize that the whole thing about
being bad and tough is that it's done for recognition. All along these guys had wanted to be seen and respected, and
now we were going to put them on TV. They loved it. "Hey, look at me, I'm somebody!" And I think that's really why many of the gangs act the way they do. They're rebels, but rebels who want attention and respect. Like all of us, they
just want to be seen. And I gave them that chance. For a few days at least they were stars.
They were so wonderful to me - polite, quiet, supportive. After the dance numbers they'd compliment my work, and I
could tell they really meant it. They wanted a lot of autographs and frequently stood around my trailer. Whatever
they wanted, I gave them: photographs, autographs, tickets for the Victory tour, anything. They were a nice bunch of
guys.
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The truth of that experience came out on the screen. The "Beat It" video was menacing, and you could feel those
people's emotions. You felt the experience of the streets and the reality of their lives. You look at "Beat It" and know those kids are tough. They were being themselves, and it came across. It was nothing like actors acting; it was as far
from that as possible. They were being themselves; that feeling you got was their spirit.
I've always wondered if they got the same message from the song that I did.
When Thriller first came out, the record company assumed it would sell a couple of million copies. In general record
companies never believe a new album will do considerably better than the last one you did. The figure you either got
lucky last time or the number you last sold is the size of your audience. They usually just ship a couple of million out
to the stores to cover the sales in case you get lucky again.
That's how it usually works, but I wanted to alter their attitude with Thriller .
One of the people who helped me with Thriller was Frank Dileo. Frank was vice president for promotion at Epic
when I met him. Along with Ron Weisner and Fred DeMann, Frank was responsible for turning my dream for
Thriller into a reality. Frank heard parts of Thriller for the first time at Westlake Studio in Hollywood, where much of
the album was recorded. He was there with Freddie DeMann, one of my managers, and Quincy and I played them
"Beat It" and a little bit of "Thriller," which we were still working on. They were very impressed, and we started to talk seriously about how to "break" this album wide open.
Frank really worked hard and proved to be my right hand during the years ahead. His brilliant understanding of the
recording industry proved invaluable. For instance, we released "Beat It" as a single while "Billie Jean" was still at number one. CBS screamed, "You're crazy. This will kill ‘Billie Jean'" But Frank told them not to worry, that both songs would be number one and both would be in the Top 10 at the same time. They were.
By the spring of 1983 it was clear that the album was going to go crazy. Over the top. Every time they released
another single, sales of the album would go even higher.
Then the "Beat It" video took off.
On May 16, 1983, I performed "Billie Jean" on a network telecast in honor of Motown's twenty-fifth anniversary.
Almost fifty million people saw that show. After that, many things changed.
The Motown 25 show had actually been taped a month earlier, in April. The whole title was Motown 25: Yesterday,
Today, and Forever , and I'm forced to admit I had to be talked into doing it. I'm glad I did because the show
eventually produced some of the happiest and proudest moments of my life.
As I mentioned earlier, I said no to the idea at first. I had been asked to appear as a member of the Jacksons and then
do a dance number on my own. But none of us were Motown artists any longer. There were lengthy debates between
me and my managers, Weisner and DeMann. I thought about how much Berry Gordy had done for me and the group,
but I told my managers and Motown that I didn't want to go on TV. My whole attitude toward TV is fairly negative.
Eventually Berry came to see me to discuss it. I was editing "Beat It" at the Motown studio, and someone must have told him I was in the building. He came down to the studio and talked to me about it at length. I said, "Okay, but if I do it, I want to do ‘Billie Jean.'" It would have been the only non-Motown song in the whole show. He told me that's
what he wanted me to do anyway. So we agreed to do a Jacksons' medley, which would include Jermaine. We were
all thrilled.
So I gathered my brothers and rehearsed them for this show. I really worked them, and it felt nice, a bit like the old
days of the Jackson 5. I choreographed them and rehearsed them for days at our house in Encino, videotaping every
rehearsal so we could watch it later. Jermaine and Marlon also made their contributions. Next we went to Motown in
Pasadena for rehearsals. We did our act and, even though we reserved our energy and never went all out at rehearsal,
all the people there were clapping and coming around and watching us. Then I did my "Billie Jean" rehearsal. I just walked through it because as yet I had nothing planned. I hadn't had time because I was so busy rehearsing the
group.
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The next day I called my management office and said, "Please order me a spy's hat, like a cool fedora - something
that a secret agent would wear." I wanted something sinister and special, a real slouchy kind of hat. I still didn't have a very good idea of what I was going to do with "Billie Jean."
During the Thriller sessions, I had found a black jacket, and I said, "You know, someday I'm going to wear this to
perform. It was so perfect and so show business that I wore it on Motown 25 .
But the night before the taping, I still had no idea what I was going to do with my solo number. So I went down to
the kitchen of our house and played "Billie Jean." Loud. I was in there by myself, the night before the show, and I pretty much stood there and let the song tell me what to do. I kind of let the dance create itself. I really let it talk to me; I heard the beat come in, and I took this spy's hat and started to pose and step, letting the "Billie Jean" rhythm create the movements. I felt almost compelled to let it create itself. I couldn't help it. And that - being able to "step back" and let the dance come through - was a lot of fun.
I had also been practicing certain steps and movements, although most of the performance was actually spontaneous.
I had been practicing the Moonwalk for some time, and it dawned on me in our kitchen that I would finally do the
Moonwalk in public on Motown 25.
Now the Moonwalk was already out on the street by this time, but I enhanced it a little when I did it. It was born as a
break-dance step, a "popping" type of thing that blacks kids had created dancing on the street corners in the ghetto.
Black people are truly innovative dancers; they create many of the new dances, pure and simple. So I said, "This is
my chance to do it," and I did it. These three kids taught it to me. They gave me the basics - and I had been doing it a lot in private. I had practiced it together with certain other steps. All I was really sure of was that on the bridge to