The superfan was quizzing someone on Michael Jackson trivia when the guy got several answers wrong and the superfan declared him a fake fan. What happened next left the superfan unconscious on the record store floor and taught him that loving someone’s art doesn’t mean owning it.

It was August 1994 and Tower Records on Sunset Boulevard was the place serious music fans came to browse, discover, and debate. The store was massive with sections for every genre, listening stations where you could sample albums before buying, and a staff that actually knew music. In the pop section, specifically the Michael Jackson area, there was always one person holding court, Tyler Morrison, 23 years old, who considered himself the ultimate MJ expert.

Tyler came to Tower Records three times a week, not to shop. He owned everything already, but to talk about Michael Jackson with anyone who’d listened and to quiz people on their knowledge. Tyler loved Michael Jackson with an intensity that bordered on obsession. He’d been a fan since he was eight, had every album, every single, every import, every bootleg.

He knew recording dates, producer credits, which studio musicians played on which tracks, the differences between various international releases. If it was Michael Jackson related, Tyler knew it. But Tyler’s love had evolved into something else. Gatekeeping. He’d appointed himself the arbiter of who was a real fan and who was just someone who liked Thriller and Billy Jean.

Tyler would quiz people, catch them not knowing some obscure B-side, and then declare them fake fans. He did this publicly, loudly, making sure everyone around heard his verdict. The staff at Tower Records tolerated Tyler because he was knowledgeable and he did drive some sales. People would overhear his passionate explanations and buy albums.

But they also knew he could be difficult, condescending to customers who didn’t meet his standards of fandom. This particular Saturday afternoon, Tyler was in his usual spot reorganizing the Michael Jackson section by his own preferred system when a guy walked up wearing jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a baseball cap pulled low.

He had sunglasses on even though they were indoors. The guy started browsing the Michael Jackson albums, picking up the bad album and looking at the track listing on the back. Tyler noticed and immediately moved closer. Someone looking at bad. Time to assess if they were worthy. You thinking about buying that? Tyler asked. The guy looked up.

Maybe. Just looking. You know who Michael Jackson is? Tyler asked. The question was designed to sound friendly but carried condescension. I’ve heard of him, the guy said mildly. Tyler’s radar went up. Heard of him? He’s only the biggest artist of all time. You a fan? I like some of his music. Which songs? Tyler pressed.

Billy Jean Thriller. The usual ones, I guess. Tyler’s expression changed to one of mild disdain. The usual ones, right? So, you’re one of those people who just knows the hits from MTV. I guess so. The guy agreed. Tyler felt validated. Here was another casual surface level person who claimed to like Michael Jackson, but didn’t really know anything. Time to educate.

You know, real fans know more than just the singles. Real fans know the deep cuts, the album tracks, the bsides. That’s what separates people who actually appreciate Michael Jackson from people who just heard Thriller at a wedding once. That makes sense, the guy said, not argumentatively. Tyler was warming up now. He loved this.

The teaching, the gatekeeping, the establishing of hierarchies of fandom. Tell you what, Tyler said, “Let me quiz you. Let’s see if you actually know Michael Jackson or if you’re just a casual. I don’t think the guy started. Come on, it’ll be fun. Just a few questions. If you’re a real fan, you’ll know them.

The guy hesitated then said, “Okay.” Tyler grinned. This was going to be easy. All right. Name five songs from the bad album. The guy looked at the album in his hand, reading the track listing. Well, bad the way you make me feel. Man in the Mirror, Smooth Criminal, and Dirty Diana. You literally just read those off the back of the album, Tyler said.

You asked me to name them, not recite them from memory. Fair point, but Tyler wasn’t deterred. Fine. What year was Thriller released? 1982. What was Michael Jackson’s first solo album? The guy paused. Got to be there. Tyler was surprised. Okay, you know that one. Most casuals don’t, but that’s still basic. Let’s go deeper.

What’s the B-side to Billy Jean? I don’t know, the guy admitted. Can’t get out of the rain, Tyler said triumphantly. Real fans know the B sides. What about this? Name the three music videos from the Dangerous album that had extended versions. The guy thought for a moment. I’m not sure. Black or white? Remember the time and jam? Tyler said, “See, you don’t actually know Michael Jackson.

You know a few songs.” “You’re right.” The guy said, “I don’t know everything about Michael Jackson.” Tyler felt a surge of superiority. That’s what I’m saying. There’s a difference between people who actually study his work and people who just like heard Thriller and think they’re fans. No offense. None taken.

The guy said, “I mean, I’ve been studying Michael Jackson for 15 years.” Tyler continued. I know everything about him. Every album, every tour, every interview. I can tell you which studio beat it was recorded in, who played guitar on it, how many takes they did. That’s real fandom.

That’s impressive, the guy said. Tyler was on a roll now. A small crowd had gathered, other customers browsing nearby, listening to this exchange. Tyler loved having an audience. Let me ask you this, Tyler said. Have you even seen him perform live? I’ve been to a few shows, the guy said. A few shows. Which tours? Dangerous tour. Some of the bad tour.

Where? Different cities. Tyler laughed. Different cities. You can’t even remember where. Real fans remember every show they’ve been to. I’ve been to seven Michael Jackson concerts. I can tell you the date, the venue, and the set list for each one. That’s dedication. The guy said it is because I’m a real fan.

I actually care about his work. I don’t just know the singles. I know the artistry behind it, the craft, the details that make Michael Jackson Michael Jackson. Most people, Tyler gestured at the store. They just want to buy Thriller and pretend they understand what made him great. The guy nodded slowly.

So, what you’re saying is that loving Michael Jackson’s music means knowing all these details. Exactly. Otherwise, you’re just a casual, a fake fan. What if someone just enjoys the music without knowing the recording dates and bsides? Tyler scoffed. Then they like music. They don’t appreciate Michael Jackson specifically. There’s a difference.

I see. The guy said, “So, by your definition, I’m not a real fan.” No offense, but based on this quiz. No, you’re not. Even though I’ve listened to his music for years, even though his songs mean something to me. Sure, but you don’t know him. You don’t know his work, you’re probably one of those people who only knows Thriller because it was popular.

And Tyler stopped mid-sentence because the guy reached up and removed his sunglasses. Tyler’s brain took about two seconds to process what he was seeing. The face, the distinctive features, the eyes. The guy standing in front of him wasn’t a guy. It was Michael Jackson. Tyler’s mouth fell open. No sound came out.

Michael Jackson, the actual real Michael Jackson, had just stood there while Tyler Morrison spent 10 minutes explaining why he wasn’t a real Michael Jackson fan. Oh my god, Tyler whispered. Hi, Michael said. You’re a I just I told you. You told me I wasn’t a real fan. Michael said gently. You declared me a fake fan because I didn’t know the B-side to Billy Jean.

Tyler felt the blood drain from his face. His vision started to blur at the edges. His knees went weak. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Tyler started and then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed. Actually fainted, went down like a tree backward, crashing into a display of CDs. Several customers screamed.

The store manager came running. Someone yelled to call an ambulance. Michael knelt down next to Tyler, who was completely unconscious. Is he okay? The store manager checked Tyler’s pulse. He’s breathing. I think he just fainted. Did you? Are you? Oh my god. You’re Michael Jackson. I am. Michael confirmed.

This young man was testing my knowledge of me. When I revealed who I was, he fainted. The ambulance arrived about 10 minutes later. By that point, Tyler had regained consciousness, sitting on the floor with his back against the Michael Jackson section. Absolutely mortified. The paramedics checked him out. Physically, he was fine. The figning was from shock.

Michael had stayed the whole time waiting for Tyler to be okay. When the paramedics cleared Tyler, Michael sat down next to him on the floor. “I’m so sorry,” Tyler said for the 20th time. “I was so rude. I was condescending and gatekeeping and telling you telling you that you weren’t a real fan of yourself.

” “You didn’t know it was me,” Michael said. But I was being horrible anyway to someone who just wanted to look at albums. That’s what I do. I quiz people and make them feel bad if they don’t know as much as I do. I thought I was protecting your legacy or something, but really I was just being a jerk. Michael nodded.

Can I tell you something? You do know a lot about me. The bides, the recording details, the tours, and that’s impressive. You’ve really studied my work. Thank you, Tyler said miserably. But Michael continued, “Knowing all that information doesn’t make you more of a fan than someone who just loves Billy Jean and plays it when they’re happy.

Fandom isn’t a test. It’s not a competition. It’s just love for something.” Tyler wiped his eyes. I made it into a competition. I made it about proving I was better than other people. Why? Michael asked. Tyler thought about it. I think I think because being a huge fan was the thing that made me special.

Like I wasn’t cool in school. I wasn’t good at sports. But I knew everything about Michael Jackson. And if everyone could be a fan without knowing all that stuff, then what made me special? Being special isn’t about knowing more than other people. Michael said, “It’s about what the music means to you.

” Two people can love Thriller. One person knows it was recorded at Westlake Recording Studios with Bruce Sweeney and producing. The other person just knows it makes them happy to listen to. Both of them are real fans. Both of their experiences are valid. I’ve been gatekeeping for years, Tyler said, telling people they weren’t real fans if they didn’t meet my standards.

And how did that make you feel? Michael asked. Superior, but also lonely. Because I’d rather correct someone than just enjoy music with them. Michael smiled. That’s honest. Here’s what I think. Your knowledge is valuable. You could teach people, share information, help them discover deeper cuts.

they might not know about. But share, don’t quiz. Welcome, don’t exclude. Make people more excited about the music, not more afraid to admit they don’t know something. Tyler nodded, absorbing this. Michael stood up and pulled Tyler to his feet. You know what else? I didn’t know the B-side to Billy Jean off the top of my head.

I had to think about it, and I recorded that song. So, if not knowing that makes someone a fake fan, he smiled. Then I guess I’m a fake fan of myself. Tyler managed a weak laugh. Michael stayed for another hour. He talked with Tyler about collecting, about the joy of discovering music, about the difference between enthusiasm and gatekeeping.

He signed Tyler’s collection, every album, every CD. And he made Tyler promise something. Next time someone comes into this store and picks up one of my albums, Michael said, “Don’t quiz them. Ask them what song they like, ask them what it means to them. welcome them. That’s how you honor my music.

By making more people love it, not by making people afraid they don’t love it enough. Tyler kept that promise. He still came to Tower Records three times a week. He still knew everything about Michael Jackson. But instead of quizzing people, he’d say, “That’s a great album. Have you heard this deep cut?” Instead of declaring fake fans, he’d say, “If you like that song, you might love this one, too.

” His knowledge became a gift he shared instead of a weapon he wielded. Tyler became an MJ historian, writing articles, giving talks, contributing to documentaries. He was known in the fan community as someone who welcomed everyone, who believed that loving Thriller was just as valid as knowing every B-side. He kept the Tower Records incident private for years, but eventually he told the story at fan conventions.

I once quizzed Michael Jackson on Michael Jackson trivia, declared him a fake fan, and then fainted when he revealed who he was. He could have been mad. Instead, he taught me that real fandom is about welcoming, not gatekeeping. The superfan was quizzing someone on trivia when he declared them a fake fan.

What happened next taught him that expertise without kindness is just elitism. That knowledge without generosity is just showing off. And that loving someone’s art doesn’t mean you own it. It means you share it with everyone, even the people who only know thriller. If this incredible story of gatekeeping and grace moved you, make sure to subscribe and hit that thumbs up button.

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