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It's a dare. By titling his new album Bad, Michael Jackson is veritably baiting reviewers to call it as much.
Well I'm not biting. Bad isn't bad; neither is it great. It's a strong album, immaculately made, with plenty of sizzling dance grooves and its fair share of infectious hooks. Yet there's a nagging sense of over-ambitiousness that pervades Bad - it's not a relaxed effort.
This creeping anxiousness most certainly is the result of the album's thrilling predecessor. Those who care about such matters want to know how this album compares to Jackson's last solo record, Thriller, the biggest-selling album ever with 38-million copies. The deck is stacked against the new one, of course. Thriller was, in many respects, a blueprint for pop music in the last five years - it has helped narrow the stylistic gap between black and white.
As a result, Bad's hard-rocking Dirty Diana can only be considered inconsequential when compared to Beat It - which, shockingly at the time, found a black artist singing over rock power chords. Neither does the new album have a gem that resonates with the clarity of Billie Jean. But then, Thriller had its filler:...
