His moves were not fluid. We got a wobbly approximation in place of that silver-socked spin. The crotch grabs were halfhearted and routine. I was hardly impressed and this was before he started singing. A man had devoted his entire life to imitating the most inimitable pop artist ever. It was as futile as that most inimitable pop artist's attempts to live like a normal man.
Michael Jackson: Don't Stop Til You Get Enough
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