You Are Not Alone_Michael, Through a Brother’s Eyes (46 page)

When people ask why Tohme-Tohme was appointed his manager in June 2008, that was the chief reason because, regardless of what happened down the line, he and Tom Barrack were heroes. Not just in my eyes, but in Michael’s too.

WHAT UNFOLDED OVER THE NEXT FEW
weeks, as Tohme-Tohme got to grips with the true state of my brother’s affairs, was eye-opening. It made me realise just how close Michael had come to financial Armageddon. ‘Jermaine, the expenses are outrageous. We’ve not won the war yet,’ said Tohme-Tohme, as he pored over every last detail. It was then that he told me Sony was docking exorbitant amounts for such things as stationery; $150,000 a month was being spent on security and another $150,000 a month on flowers – and Michael had only $600,000 in accessible cash in the bank. Michael was the classic example of cash-poor asset-rich: his Sony-ATV catalogue share was worth $500 million, his own MIJAC music $85 million, the now-saved ranch $66.8 million, and personal possessions, art and antiques were estimated at $20 million.

Thankfully, Tom Barrack’s financial rescue changed everything. He didn’t just save the ranch, he saved my brother’s ass, because he also took on the operational costs. It gave Michael the breathing space he’d desperately needed.

Michael had come out the other side with all his assets intact. He might have suffered some scrapes, bruises and scares from all the debt and lawsuits, but he’d survived everything thrown at him.
He still had huge debts – borrowings tied to both of his music catalogues – but, with prudent planning and more cost-cutting, he could begin to concentrate on building a new future. Michael had turned the corner. He was going to be okay now – especially with the deal that lay around the corner. It was May 2008.

‘TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF
this,’ he said that summer, on what would be my last visit to see him in Vegas. He pulled out some exterior and interior photographs of a mansion set in 16 acres in the middle of the city, with palm trees all around the pool. ‘I really, really want it,’ he said.

‘You want to live full time in Vegas? How can you stand it out here?’

‘I love it here … look at the woodwork and the grounds,’ he said enthusiastically, guiding me through the photos.

That was when I discovered the property belonged to Prince Jefri of Brunei.

‘The woodwork alone is worth millions,’ Michael added. The house did not match his previous taste – there was no hint of Tudor. It was palatial, with terracotta-tiled roofs. Everything in his life seemed to be about change and turning over a new leaf. If there was one similarity to Neverland, it was the lake, the fountains and waterfalls: he always needed to hear the sound of trickling water. Michael first spotted the house in 2007 and now, in 2008, he had set his heart on it. One year later, negotiations for its sale (however much it was later publicly denied) were ongoing and Michael was about to make a $15 million down-payment on what he called ‘my dream home’, funded by his ‘This Is It’ contract. America had been forgiven and he was putting down roots in Vegas for himself and the children.

THE MOMENT MICHAEL MET TOM BARRACK,
they hit it off. I was amused when Tom said afterwards that he had been pleasantly surprised by him: he had half-expected some dizzy pop star, ‘and I was impressed by how intelligent your brother is.’

‘That’s what everyone says,’ I told him. Blame the headlines.

I’d joined Tom and Tohme-Tohme on the Colony Capital private jet from Santa Monica airport to Vegas. When we arrived you could tell from Michael’s smile how grateful he was to these people, who had turned up in his life with such perfect timing. ‘The first thing I see, Michael,’ said Tom, ‘is that you’ve had a lot of people around you who’ve taken advantage and I look forward to being a partner you can work with and trust.’ They would speak that day, and many other days, about different ideas. Michael always became animated in the company of men who could make those ideas reality. Tom wanted to build a ‘Thriller Tower’ in the grounds of his Flamingo Hilton Hotel, complete with a 3-D experience. Apparently, it was to be part-funded by Sheikh Tarek of Dubai. ‘It will be in your name, and you perform as and when you like,’ said Tom.

At that, Michael reached behind him and brought out his Koh-i-Noor diamond: the Sony-ATV music catalogue. That slab of paper, about a foot thick, landed with a thud on the table; the sound of 400,000 songs making their weight felt. ‘Are you interested in partnering with me in this?’ asked Michael. A discussion ensued about the difficulties he’d experienced with Sony and how much money he’d borrowed against the catalogue. Tom said he was ‘very interested to hear more’, but I don’t think it went any further than that. I wouldn’t know for sure because, after that meeting, my services were no longer required, save for a few phone calls.

Tohme-Tohme seemed to turn against me the moment I installed an attorney in the mix. The past is our teacher and I wasn’t going to allow my brother to be surrounded by two strangers without independent advice, however trustworthy they might be. Attorney Joel Katz had been a friend of mine since our Motown days and my counsel during the ‘Victory’ tour. He was the most honest attorney in town and I knew he’d watch over Michael. But Tohme-Tohme didn’t appreciate it, saying he didn’t ‘want to meet with the son-of a-bitch attorney’. That was his fiery side, which Michael would
come to know and dislike. Our new friend’s temperament was never going to work long with any Jackson. In fact, Michael at first joked about how ‘scary’ and ‘intimidating’ he was, but I do know that Tohme-Tohme’s heart was in the right place, however abrasive his manner might have been. I kept fighting for Joel’s place at the table and finally got my way. Michael liked him, too, and nicknamed him ‘Roosevelt’: when Joel wore his spectacles, he reminded him of Franklin D. Roosevelt. If Michael gave you a nickname, you were sticking around.

But Tohme-Tohme’s days were numbered from when he orchestrated an auction of Neverland’s possessions in the hope of raising more money to cancel more debt. Michael approved it but understood that only furniture
in storage
would be sold. The next thing he knew was that a wholesale dismantling of Neverland was taking place. He was horrified and furious to learn that personal possessions of sentimental value, even his Lladró collection, were due to go under the hammer at Julien’s auction house. He had to take legal action to halt the sale.

One month later, Tohme-Tohme would be fired by letter. Before that day arrived, though, I tried arranging to see Michael only to find that Tohme-Tohme had, like everyone else before him, turned gate-keeper. As he reminded me, ‘I don’t understand why you keep coming around. Your brother does not want to see you. If someone does not want to see you, I wouldn’t keep humiliating myself and showing up …’ I’ll be honest, that one stung, but when I talked it through with Mother, she had wise advice, as always: ‘Jermaine, look at it like this. You’ve helped your brother at a time when he really needed it and he knows that. Now walk away …’ I was down but philosophical: I’d done my best and, regardless of the likes of Tohme-Tohme, who didn’t understand the revolving door they were caught in, I was a constant in my brother’s life and would remain so.

IT WAS AT A DINNER MICHAEL
shared with Tom Barrack that the seed for ‘This Is It’ was planted, some time around March/April
2008, when all the refinancing talk was going on. It became clear to everyone, including my brother, that there was only one way to earn the big money that would secure his future: to go back on tour. Michael knew the realities. As he would later tell his makeup artist Karen Faye, he’d have ended up working at McDonald’s otherwise. But he had long envisaged a residency tour. Before his court case, he had often said, ‘Why can’t I stay and perform in Paris? Then the fans from all over Europe can come see me.’

It was Tohme-Tohme who had got the ball rolling by reaching out to promoters AEG and Live Nation to determine what interest there would be. AEG had first flashed up on the family radar in 2004 after I met with them about a Broadway musical centred on the Jacksons’ life story. As interested as they were, they wanted to await a verdict in the court case and that lack of belief just turned me off.

But, come 2008, Tom Barrack ultimately sealed the deal for Michael’s tour by getting fellow billionaire Phil Anschutz on the phone during that dinner. Phil is the owner of Anschutz Entertainment Group (AEG) and Tom said, ‘I’ve got Michael Jackson with me. What can you do for him?’ That introduction kick-started an entire comeback strategy. On paper, it was a good union because Phil was a fellow humanitarian – he’d donated something like $100 million to charity – and he had a controlling interest in some of the world’s largest sports and entertainment venues, including the Staples Center in LA, and the O2 arena in London. As one of America’s wealthiest people, he also had a chequebook to match Michael’s vision. That was probably why my brother received almost everything he asked for in a long-term deal worth a guaranteed minimum payment of $36.5 million ‘with an upside potential of $300 million’ based on ticket sales and other attached projects, which included a three-movie deal. From what I understood, he also ensured that a $15 million fee was built in as a down-payment on his new Vegas home. In other words, Michael didn’t just negotiate a single residency tour, he ensured that his future was secured. It included an agreement to do other spot dates
and two other tours with AEG. Some time after 2011, one of those extra tours was to be a final reunion with the Jackson 5, and that was for one reason only: Mother had said to him that she was nearing the age of 80 and before she left this earth, she wanted to see her sons tour together one last time. ‘I promise we’ll do that for you, Mother,’ said Michael, and he was always a man of his word. He then planned on doing one more solo tour – his true final curtain. ‘After that, I will be done – done!’ he said, looking towards an official musical retirement age of 55. Then he’d crack Hollywood with his movie ideas.

So, when people claim my brother was suicidal with no plans to look forward to, they cannot be more wrong. On the back of ‘This Is It’ in London, the money would come in, a new house was being bought, and there were exciting plans to keep him busy until 2014. He had everything to live for, and most especially the wonderful life he was building for Prince, Paris and ‘Blanket’.

WHEN MY BROTHER TOOK TO THE
‘This Is It’ podium to make his comeback announcement in London, I knew, watching in LA, that he was teasing ‘the final curtain’, but also that something wasn’t quite right with him. His demeanour, and lateness, that afternoon also caused comment in the press. There was speculation, too, as to why he had appeared for only five minutes, with some claiming he was having second thoughts. That was simply not true.

Earlier the same day, Michael had learned that his dearest friend and guitar player David Williams had died. He was shattered. David was an integral part of his signature sound, especially that guitar lick on ‘Billie Jean’; he was one of those rare guitarists who can just lock into a groove. If Michael could hum it, David could play it. Perfectly. He was like keyboardist and musical director Brad Buxer, drummer Jonathan Moffett and audio engineer Michael Prince: my brother simply could not imagine doing a tour without him. Yet now he had to walk out onstage and announce his comeback, knowing David was gone. As ever, he was the consummate
professional. He pulled himself together and put on his show face for five brave minutes: he walked out as the overexcited performer, said his piece, saluted the fans and left with a wave. However, he broke down in tears when he returned to his suite.

But at least the world knew: Michael Jackson was back. Toss aside the wheelchair. Stand by, London. Stand by, world!

FAMILY DAY ON 14 MAY 2009
was a special occasion to celebrate 60 years of marriage between Mother and Joseph. We had told our parents that we were treating them to a quiet dinner with their children at an Indian restaurant called Chakra in Beverly Hills, but Janet had prepared a surprise. What they didn’t know was that the whole family, first and second generations, were waiting in one room in silence. Michael was with his children towards the back of the crowd, loving the suspense as the door opened, Mother walked in and everyone cheered. The room was set up like a mini wedding reception, with a top table running across one end, facing three vertical rows of long tables. It was a fun, relaxed, family occasion.

Michael was by now four weeks into tour rehearsals at Center Staging in Burbank, LA. All of the dancers had been auditioned and chosen, signing a two-year contract in line with the plans for what would take place after London. The first thing he had worked on, with LaVelle Smith Junior, was a routine for ‘Dangerous’ – he wanted to devise a new adaptation. He was apparently doing ‘amazing work’ and ‘kicking ass’ – working on twirls and other moves – showing tour choreographer Travis Payne how hard he had been rehearsing in preparation. When I spoke with my brother at the Indian restaurant, there was no question that he was fit, healthy and focused. He was skinny, but only in an athletic sense, and the photos that still stand on an end table in my living room confirm it. More importantly, he was
genuinely excited
about ‘doing something special for the fans’ and there was talk of special guest appearances by the likes of Slash and Alicia Keys. At least, that was an idea he had been toying with.

The only thing he complained about was that he’d signed up to do ‘10 shows only’ as advertised but somewhere along the line, due to the demand for tickets, AEG had added an extra 40 dates. Even they sold out within five hours on-line. Michael said no one had checked with him first, but at no point did he give me the impression that the schedule was too punishing or beyond him, because it wasn’t. Not for a man in his condition. Two shows a week, which was what it was at the start, was a country-club schedule for my brother and it was exactly what he’d done on ‘HIStory’, but now he didn’t have to travel because he was rooted in one city. He was 50, but he was dancing in rehearsals like it was 1996 all over again.