The Snark | The Absurd Ascension of Jackson

Or: That Time Jarvis Cocker Wiggled His Bum at a Pop Deity

Let us journey back to the BRIT Awards, 1996: a time when Britpop ruled, irony was an art form, and Michael Jackson still had the budget (and the self-conception) to perform “Earth Song” as if he were literally Jesus with a fog machine. It wasn’t enough for Jackson to sing about global suffering – he had to physically ascend on a cherry-picker, arms outstretched in angelic glory, as children in rags gathered around him like he was handing out miracles instead of major-label singles.

Enter: Jarvis Cocker, the lanky, bespectacled frontman of Pulp – patron saint of indie awkwardness and that guy from Sheffield who looked like he lived on toast and righteous indignation. Witnessing Jackson’s fog-drenched, choir-backed celestial performance, Cocker did what any self-respecting Britpop icon might do: he stormed the stage, wiggled his bum at the audience, and gave Jackson the full two-fingered salute.

That’s right – mid-ascension, while Jackson was hovering above the stage in full messianic flow, Jarvis Cocker offered the most British form of protest ever devised: buttocks and sarcasm.

Security tackled him. He was arrested (briefly). There were claims of assault (though it turned out Jarvis hadn’t touched anyone; someone else had bumped the children). The press lost its collective mind. And Cocker – already reluctant about fame – pretty much retreated from the spotlight not long after, the weight of the spectacle and its backlash visibly wearing on him.

And yet, the moment lived on. Not because it was scandalous, but because it was… true. It said something oddly profound about excess, about ego, about the power of a single, ridiculous protest to pierce the balloon of celebrity self-worship.

Ascend at Your Own Risk

There’s a kind of eternal comedy in watching a pop star levitate on a cherry-picker while declaring himself the world’s emotional savior. There’s also a dark truth: the higher you float, the easier it is for someone on the ground to pants you.

Cocker wasn’t trying to destroy Jackson. He was reacting, perhaps instinctively, to the blinding self-importance of it all. He later said he was protesting "the way Michael Jackson sees himself as some kind of Christ-like figure with the power of healing.” And really – who among us hasn’t wanted to moon someone mid-deification?

But the real kicker is what happened next. Cocker, the accidental iconoclast, got burned. Not physically, but emotionally. The incident was a breaking point in his relationship with fame. It was karma’s little reminder that even when you’re right, timing and spectacle can chew you up. The world loves its clowns – until they become inconvenient.

Thoughts for Writers

This isn’t just a tale of stage invasions and cherry-pickers. It’s a lesson in excess, in restraint, and in the weird, karmic way humans correct the narrative – even if that correction involves exposed buttocks and a protest on live television.

As writers, you can build gods. You can have your characters ascend, hover, glow, conquer, and declare themselves the only light in a darkened world.

But you’d better be ready for Jarvis Cocker to appear in Chapter 19.

Humans – and stories – have a way of snapping back. Push your characters too far into self-importance, too deep into unchecked power, and something will give. It might be a rebellion. It might be a humiliation. It might be the most awkward person in your fictional universe doing something wildly inappropriate but morally justified.

Or, as I like to say: Editors are God’s way of telling writers they can’t play God with their characters.

So go ahead – embrace the absurd. Ascend your characters into orbit if you must. Just know: somewhere, someone’s taking off their glasses, straightening their thrift-store blazer, and preparing to wiggle their bum in protest.

And honestly? We’re all better storytellers for it.

The Snark