Thriller - Michael Jackson | 50 Albums in 50 Years

Before Pearl Jam, Before The Hold Steady, Before Bright Eyes… There Was MJ; How My Life as a Fanboy Started with Thriller

“I said you wanna be startin' somethin' You got to be startin' somethin'”

Alright, let’s start with the obvious—Thriller wasn’t just big, it was everywhere. It wasn’t just an album, it was a cultural explosion. Every song felt like a hit. Quincy Jones was behind the boards, and he and Michael were just on another level. The production was slick but full of personality—funky, spooky, dramatic, and straight-up wild in the best way.

You had "Beat It" with Eddie Van Halen ripping through an amazing guitar solo, right next to Billie Jean (over 2B Spotify plays). It opens with "Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’," which just moves like it could keep going forever. And of course, "Thriller" itself was basically a mini horror movie set to a groove, with Vincent Price’s creepy laugh capping it all off.

The whole thing sounded huge. Like blockbuster-movie huge. Every track felt like a scene in something bigger. Michael wasn’t just singing about love or heartbreak—he was getting into fame, fear, rejection, paranoia. It was pop music, sure, but it had this darker, deeper edge to it.

And then there’s the legacy. Over 70 million copies sold. Eight Grammys. A complete sweep at the 1984 American Music Awards. It topped charts around the world. Michael didn’t just level up—he became the guy. The one everyone was looking at. And I was completely along for the ride.

But forget all that for a second—let’s talk about what Thriller meant to me. There are moments in life when something clicks into place, when an experience marks the beginning of a lifelong obsession, a lifelong way of engaging with the world. For me, that moment was Thriller.

I’d always loved music, but Thriller was the first time I got truly obsessed with an artist—the kind of obsession where you just have to know everything, hear everything, see everything. Michael Jackson’s 1982 masterpiece wasn’t just an album; it was a world to step into, a portal into something bigger than myself. And I dove in, headfirst.

I wanted everything. The moonwalk, the single white glove, the red leather jacket—if Michael did it, I wanted to understand it, practice it, and make it my own. That white glove? It sparkled like crazy and looked like pure magic. I didn’t think about statements or individuality—I just thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. I’d grab any white glove I could find, pretending it had the same magic, trying to wave my hand with that same effortless command. I wanted to know everything. I needed to hear every note, memorize every lyric, see every performance. I scoured liner notes, watched The Making of Michael Jackson’s Thriller (note: follow the link, its still available) on repeat, and replayed the Thriller music video endlessly—not just watching, but studying every frame. That documentary was a game-changer for me. It pulled back the curtain on the entire creative process, from the groundbreaking visual effects to the intense choreography sessions. Seeing Michael rehearse, perfecting every move with relentless precision, made me appreciate the artistry behind it all even more. Rick Baker’s monster makeup, John Landis’ direction—it was like watching a masterclass in creativity.

Watch the crowd go crazy as MJ unveils the moonwalk to world at Motown 25.

I remember sitting there, completely absorbed, fascinated by the fact that something so magical and larger-than-life was built from so many meticulous details. It wasn’t just about Michael Jackson being a superstar; it was about the work, the collaboration, the obsessive dedication to getting everything just right. That documentary didn’t just make me love Thriller more—it made me see music, videos, and performances in a whole new way. I wanted to know how everything was made, what went on behind the scenes, how an artist took an idea and turned it into something that could capture the entire world’s imagination. It was the first time music wasn’t just something I liked—it was something I needed to consume, dissect, and possess.

And it all started with a beat-up cassette, a notepad, and a whole lot of rewinding.

Learning Lyrics Like Sacred Texts

My obsession with Thriller led me to my first real act of music documentation—transcribing lyrics by hand. Before the internet, before lyrics were readily available at the click of a button, if you wanted to know the words to a song, you had to earn it.

So I would sit there, cassette player at the ready, listening to Billie Jean, Beat It, Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’, pressing pause, rewinding, writing down every word I could catch. But I was in third grade, just learning how to write, and I wasn’t very good at it yet. My mom saw how determined I was and actually bought me the official lyric sheets for Billie Jean and Beat It at a music store, giving me my first real glimpse into how songs were structured on paper. Then pressing play, letting the next phrase hit, stopping again, filling in the gaps. If I wasn’t sure, I’d rewind and play it again. And again. And again.

Something about the process hooked me. It wasn’t just about singing along—it was about owning the music in a deeper way. Knowing the lyrics not just as words, but as rhythms, syllables, emotions. I was absorbing the songs on a cellular level.

It started with Michael Jackson, but it never stopped. That obsessive need to learn the lyrics, to transcribe them, to take them from soundwaves and turn them into something I could see and hold—that’s a habit that carried forward. Every artist I’ve fallen in love with since has gone through the same process. That first instinct to dig deep, not just listen but study, to capture music in tangible form—that all started with Thriller.

The Thriller Video: A Cultural Event and a Personal Awakening

It’s hard to overstate how massive Thriller was in the early 80s. It wasn’t just the album; it was the look, the moves, the iconography. The red leather jacket became the ultimate symbol of cool, and I wanted one more than anything. That bold, bright, perfectly structured jacket with its black accents and diagonal zippers looked like something out of a comic book, something futuristic yet completely of-the-moment. It was confidence and swagger stitched into a single piece of clothing, and to my third-grade self, owning one felt like it would be the key to unlocking MJ’s effortless cool. The moonwalk at the Motown 25 performance? That moment was burned into my brain. That single, impossibly smooth glide across the stage was like nothing I'd ever seen before. It was effortless, magical, something that felt beyond human ability. I tried to replicate it in my socks on the kitchen floor, failing miserably but never giving up. Michael wasn’t just making music; he was inventing a new way to be larger than life. Even his commercials were iconic. I remember watching his Pepsi commercial, where he danced with kids who were just as in awe of him as I was. Seeing him in that setting—bringing his energy and moves to a soda ad—made Pepsi feel cooler by association. Naturally, I had to drink Pepsi too. If Michael endorsed it, then obviously, it was the superior soda.

And then, of course, there was the Thriller video. It wasn’t just a music video—it was an event. When it premiered on MTV, it felt like the world stopped. Michael Jackson wasn’t just an artist; he was larger than life, a supernatural presence, just like in the video itself.

But for me, it was more than just a cultural moment—it was an invitation to play.

I was in third grade, and there was a girl I had a crush on—a fourth grader named Jennifer. She was the first girl I ever crushed hard for, the kind of crush that makes you nervous and excited all at once. And Thriller became our thing.

We would go down to a big basement with an open floor and act out the music video. I’d sing to her, channeling MJ as best I could, walking up and down, trying to capture the essence of the song, of the performance. She played along, letting me fawn over her as if we were reenacting our own personal version of the story. It was dramatic, theatrical, and in my young mind, magical.

Thinking about it now, that was probably the first time I realized music could be a way to connect, to say something without actually saying it. It wasn’t just about singing—it was about stepping into the music, embodying it, living inside of it.

And it worked. For those moments, we weren’t just two kids in a basement—we were part of the Thriller world. It was thrilling in a way that had nothing to do with the zombies in the video and everything to do with that first taste of what music could do: transport, transform, connect.

Thriller as the Gateway Drug to Musical Obsession

That experience—the total absorption, the need to learn everything, to see everything, to act it out, to live in it—was the beginning of a lifelong relationship with music.

Thriller wasn’t just the first album I loved. It was the first album I studied. The first time I fell deep into an artist’s world. The first time I wanted to understand not just the songs, but the person behind them.

That pattern would repeat again and again throughout my life. Whether it was Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Bright Eyes, Titus Andronicus, or any of the countless bands and artists who have shaped my world, the instinct has always been the same: listen, absorb, document, repeat.

Even today, when I find an album I love, I can still feel echoes of Thriller in how I engage with it. I still dive in headfirst. I still seek out the stories behind the songs, the performances, the cultural context. And I still feel that same rush of excitement when I discover something new, something that clicks into place the way Thriller did all those years ago.

The Legacy of Thriller—Personal and Universal

Yeah, Thriller changed the world—no argument there. It shattered records, defined the MTV era, and remains one of the most influential albums ever made. But for me, its legacy is more personal. It’s the album that showed me how deep music could go, how much it could matter. It’s the album that turned me into a music obsessive, a lifelong learner, a lifelong fan.

And maybe, in some way, I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since. The feeling of stepping into an artist’s world for the first time. The feeling of finding something so good, so immersive, so life-altering that you just have to consume it all.

It all started in a basement in third grade, trying to impress Jennifer, the first girl I ever truly crushed on. And honestly? I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.