This week it was confirmed that Alexander McQueen took his own life. He left behind a note, the contents of which are yet to be revealed. It’s hard to imagine the kind of psychic pain he must have been in, the kind of heartbreak he must have been feeling, to decide to end a life so full, so fabulous, so inspiring to so many.

Celebrities have given their condolences through interviews and through Twitter. Naomi and Kate paid tribute in his dresses. Lady Gaga dedicated a performance to her fashion mentor, at the Brit Awards.

The fashion world is still reeling. His passing came at the onset of New York Fashion Week, and led to a scrambled cancellation of his McQ presentation. London’s Fashion Week just kicked off, and a memorial wall to McQueen is proving to be a sort of mecca for fashionistas there. Right now it seems like everyone wants to leave a note or a flower outside his store. Everyone wants a McQueen item in their wardrobe.

The business world waits for no one, and offers no grace period for grief. Gucci will continue Alexander McQueen’s label, the tributes will continue for a while, and inevitably scandalous speculation and criticism will begin (see Toby Young’s piece for example).

And the fashion world keeps turning. It’ll remain to be seen if his fashion line will retain or increase its success in his wake. It’s hard to imagine the landscape of contemporary fashion without him.

RIP, Alexander McQueen. You will be missed, you will be celebrated, you will never be forgotten.

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Oh, Michael.

Young Michael with the perfect afro, the unbelievable soaring voice, and enviable adult swagger so long before any of us sucked all meaning from the word.

Every Christmas we listened to the Jackson 5 Christmas Album. To this day, their version of Give Love on Christmas Day is as evocative of Christmas to me as is the crinkling of wrapping paper.

Oh, Michael.

He became a symbol of lust for so many, as he grew older. Seventies era bellas know all about it, when the Jackson 5 taught us dance moves that many try to replicate to this day — check them poppin and lockin with the late Dom DeLuise. Laying the foundation for Usher, Chris Brown, and Justin Timberlakes to come. They were Dancing Machines, Michael out front, amazing us all with his fluidity years before a white glove set him apart.

Oh, Michael. As he became a man, at first he put away childish things. Or at least he seemed to, with Off the Wall. That album is practically perfect, from the dazzling disco of Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough (OMG, what an iconic video), the heartache of She’s Out of My Life — believed to be a tribute to the late Minnie Riperton — the irresistable bump of Workin Day and Night, the insiduous slink of the title track, the effortless sex appeal of Rock With You. Girrrrrllll, close your eyes. Let that rhythm get into you.

Oh, Michael.

My favorite track from that album? It’s so hard to choose just one. But I Can’t Help It comes most immediately to mind. Just hearing that on the radio brought pinpricks of tears to my eyes yesterday. There’s something so wistful about his vocals on that track. Oh…. Michael.

OK, HOW big was Thriller in your life? Thriller was beyond humongous. Thriller was on constant rotation in my house for a year, it seemed. I’m partially responsible. I was old enough to get the LP onto the record player and choose my favorite tracks. I remember sitting in the living room by the stereo, gazing at the photo of Michael and the baby tiger and letting his voice wash over me.

The songs I listened to over and over again were Human Nature, PYT — oooh, that bassline! — Wanna Be Starting Something, and of course, OF COURSE, Billie Jean. And who doesn’t remember THIS moment?

Was that the moment the rest of the world fell in love with MJ? It may have been. He was on fire that night, in a way that so few artists ever are. Oh, they might think they match up, but they can’t hold a candle. Sparks seemed to surround him. And then he introduced the world to the moonwalk and honey, it was OVAH.

Oh, Michael. One performance and you changed the game forevermore.

Bad was a phenomenon in my life. I remember getting a pair of bright red overalls with Bad spraypainted across the front and feeling like the coolest little thang ever when I wore them. And the videos from Bad lit the world on fire, putting Michael Jackson at the forefront of the entertainment scene once again. As if he’d ever left. My parents raised an eyebrow at the sexual danger lurking in the video of The Way You Make Me Feel — it was the beginning of the “is Michael Jackson weird?” questions that swirled around him for the rest of his too-brief life. The rumors about the Elephant Man’s bones, the hyperbaric chamber, thetabloid nicknames, the beginnings of vitiligo and the apparent plastic surgery.

Still, the music came ahead of his image at the time. The dance moves in Smooth Criminal astounded us all. I cried at the video for Man in the Mirror. Another Part of Me was my favorite song.

More than anything, I wanted to go to a Michael Jackson concert. To experience that hysteria in person. The screaming crowds that seemed to reveal an almost religious fervor for the King of Pop. Maybe this was when fame began to become bitter poison.

The first Michael Jackson album I bought for myself was Dangerous and it still bumps to this day. By then Michael had alienated himself from some of his fans, his appearance was so changed from the handsome brown skinned boy we grew up admiring. But still, the music was undeniable. Who Is It? remains a thumping, sexy, underrated gem. The video for Remember The Time was a high budget revelation. Heal The World touched my heart and Will You Be There stayed on repeat in my little boombox for quite some time.

And then there was In The Closet, the sexiest video Michael ever made. That reignited the inner fangirl in my again.

Oh, Michael.

The fall from grace came shortly thereafter. I can’t deny that the allegations of child molestation — despite his consequent acquittal didn’t make Michael hard to defend. The allegations and the trial tarnished his image while the world watched. Michael Jackson became the universal punchline for filthy jokes. And he didn’t do his own image any favors in that time, or afterwards, in that heartbreaking Martin Bashir documentary, or when he dangled his baby from the hotel window… so many times after that. He did so much to tarnish his own legacy and make even his fans question his sanity. I’d see his increasingly gaunt, increasingly wan, increasingly unrecognizable visage on television shake my head and think, oh Michael. What has become of you? What have you done to yourself? What’s happening in your mind and in your heart? Maybe even he wondered.

Michael Jackson became Shakespearean tragedy. He became Howard Hughes. He became Citizen Kane. He became Sunset Boulevard’s Norma Desmond — terrifying, confused, detached from reality, detached from his roots, detached from what made him the world’s superstar. I was cheering for him to make a comeback, but I must admit — I did on Twitter recently, maybe 2 weeks ago — I had knots of doubt in my stomach that he had the physical ability to do so. And now, the King of Pop, the boy from Gary, Indiana who showed the world music and moves we will never forget, is dead at the age of 50. To borrow the title of one of his most maudlin songs, Gone Too Soon.

I’ve been fighting with myself to not snap like an attack dog at every online comment that disparages his name and questions his legacy. I’ve been trying to laugh off the people who seem so confident in theirknowledge of who’s got a place in hell and who doesn’t. I’ve been trying not to take it personally. But for some reason, this cuts close to the bone. That’s because his music truly was the soundtrack of my life.

So many memories, so much emotion wrapped up in his silken voice. So sad to think that he is no longer with us.

I choose to celebrate his legacy instead of express bitterness at his transgressions and strangeness. I choose to remember the time, when I fell in love. I hope in death, he finds reprieve from the physical and mental pain he so publicly endured.

Oh, Michael. All I can say is, I hope you truly do Rest In Peace.

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Generations of starlets who have probably never even sat through one of her films beginning to end claim her as their idol. Lilo might pose like her, Kim Kardashian might try to channel her spirit, and deluded Paris Hilton might claim herself to be this generation’s “iconic blond,” but none of them can hold a candle.

To commemorate the 25th anniversary of Vanity Fair, the secret files of Marilyn Monroe are being featured in print and online. If you’re an old Hollywood buff, it makes for fascinating reading. You get a sense of the woman behind the icon in the letters she wrote — she wrote letters to Arthur Miller’s children in the voice of Hugo, the family basset hound. Vanity Fair’s collection of materials is staggering in its scope.

Click here to browse through 586 artifacts, ranging from letters and telegrams to prescriptions and keepsakes — cookbooks, candleabras, the yellowed and darkened bottle of Chanel No. 5 found on her dresser.

If you’re as fascinated with old Hollywood glamor as I am, the best finds of all are the clothes — Marilyn had handbags to die for — and the jewelry. Diamonds were indeed her best friend, and so were jade, pearls, and gold. Here’s a slideshow for your viewing pleasure.

Love that elegant gold necklace!

I love vintage jewelry, and I’m obsessed with anything that brings to mind that old Hollywood glam. I just might need that necklace in my life.

Do you have a Marilyn Monroe fascination too?

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It seems like it was just yesterday when I was listening to Love Me in a Special Way on my little tape player, and wishing you were singing to me. And who could forget the family’s appearance on Solid Gold? Not me! (At one time, Solid Gold was totally my favorite show. I thought Madame was the funniest thing ever).

Here’s hoping El can get it together. But it doesn’t look good, TMZ is reporting that he’s being held on outstanding warrants which include vandalism, drugs, and driving with a suspended license. No bail, so he’s stuck in jail. That’s a far cry from the heady days of 1986. Man, the downfall from fame can be so vicious.

This just makes me want to curl up and listen to All This Love. Won’t you join me?

Vibe Magazine has a great, very timely story on the rise and fall of the DeBarge family. A must-read, if you ever were a fan.

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So I had one too many appletinis and now I’m exhausted, and running late for a long day at work. But I couldn’t just let the day go by without posting something, so here’s a Friday teaser for an upcoming Lost One.

The history of reggae music is filled with joyous, meaningful music, and littered with heartbreaking gone-too-soon stories. One of the most tragic losses was that of Dennis Brown. This video clip is one of the biggest songs in reggae music, in my opinion. Holla if you hear me, Caribbean massive. If you haven’t ever heard it, do yourself a favor. This is Revolution.

If we wanna live forever, we gotta love each other. Happy Friday to one and all, and big things coming up next week!

Soak up the summertime and have a beautiful weekend, bellas and fellas!

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He was so handsome, so incredibly talented. He had so much potential left, and a career that could have continued on for so much longer — if only. Who did it bigger or better than Marvin Gaye? I have a hard time thinking of any contemporary artist that’s even in his league.

Marvin Pentz Gay Jr. grew up in a very religious home. From all accounts, his father preached in a strict sect of the Seventh-day Adventist Church called the House of God, which blended Orthodox Judaism with Pentecostalism. Young Marvin sang in his father’s church, and played instruments in the choir.

After a brief stint in the Air Force (he was discharged for not following orders), he started a career at the fledgling Motown Records, changing his name to separate his identity from his father’s, and also in homage to Sam Cooke, who had also added an “e” on to his last name.

When Marvin Gaye first emerged, he sang in doo wop groups that had minor hits. He played drums on early Motown hits like Please Mr. Postman and Fingertips part 2, Stevie Wonder’s first hit. He co-wrote Dancing in the Street. He practically pleaded with record company execs to become a singer in his own right. Appropriately enough, his first solo hit was Stubborn Kind of Fellow.

His early successes were lovey-dovey dance songs performed to screaming fans, like Hitch Hike. In those days, the Motown singers were like a family. So many of Marvin Gaye’s earliest tracks feature backing vocals by the likes of The Supremes, Martha and the Vandellas, and The Temptations. Marvin’s good looks and smooth singing style made him a desirable duet partner, and he sang with many of Motown’s best. His collaborations with the stunningly beautiful Tammi Terrell stand among his most lasting hits. The Onion Song, Your Precious Love, and of course, Ain’t No Mountain High Enough — click there for an early music video with the two in their mid-Sixties heyday. Tammi was just amazing, beautiful and talented. In 1967, Marvin Gaye was performing on stage with her when she collapsed in his arms. She was later diagnosed with a brain tumor. Her health deteriorated as Motown released more of their hits, Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing, and You’re All I Need To Get By. She succumbed to the illness in 1970. They say Marvin Gaye never recovered from her death.

That was the beginning of a downward spiral that led to a great deal of introspection for Marvin Gaye.

His marriage to Anna Gordy was crumbling, and he felt frustrated by his musical expectations, singing silly love songs in the midst of personal turmoil and worldwide political upheaval. He recorded What’s Going On on June 1, 1970. Berry Gordy called it uncommercial, and refused to release it. Marvin Gaye refused to record any more songs until he did. And we all know how that ended.

What’s Going On became one of Marvin Gaye’s career highlights, and put him in an entirely new direction. He might not be considered the legend that he is, were it not for What’s Going On. It’s a song that is truly timeless and tragic. “Father, father; We don’t need to escalate. You see, war is not the answer, For only love can conquer hate.” As long as there is strife in the world, that song will never die. Same goes for Mercy Mercy Me, and Inner City Blues. Those songs will live forever, and they’re just as fresh today as they were thirty-odd years ago.

For the remainder of the decade, Marvin continued on as a hit making machine. Trouble Man, Let’s Get It On, his duets with Diana Ross — Stop, Look, Listen (To Your Heart). I Want You. Got To Give It Up In the Seventies, Marvin Gaye seemed unstoppable, and the variety of his lyrical and musical range inspired legions of artists to follow. But personal demons threatened to devour him whole. Divorce, drug addiction, depression, record label conflicts, and the taxman led Marvin to flee. By 1979 he was living in a bread van in Hawaii.

During his self-imposed exile, he moved to Europe and recorded In Our Lifetime?, an album that proved to be his last with Motown. From his new residence in Belgium, he signed with Columbia Records to release his final album, 1982’s Midnight Love, which spawned the hit “Sexual Healing.” Marvin Gaye’s last two big public performances were the National Anthem at the 1983 NBA All Star Game, and What’s Going On at the Motown 25 celebration in 1983. After that, he moved back into his parents house to get his head straight.

If you’ve seen the E True Hollywood Story, you already know. Marvin Gaye’s last year was filled with threats of suicide, premonitions of his death, and finally – one day before his forty-fifth birthday, he was murdered by his father, the Minister. They say it was an argument over misplaced business documents. His father was then discovered to have a brain tumor, and because of that, his charges were reduced from first-degree murder to five years probation. He lived out the rest of his years in a home, and died of pneumonia in 1998.

Marvin Gaye’s life was certainly cinematic, but there have been hurdles en route to making a Marvin Gaye biopic — many of which have to do with music licensing. Law & Order’s Jesse L. Martin will play a late-period Marvin in Lauren Goodman’s biopic, Sexual Healing, which reveals the last three tortured years of his life and uses the music from Marvin’s Columbia Records period.

This was a tough Lost One to write, because the circumstances of Marvin Gaye’s death make me almost angry. It makes me feel robbed. That such a great talent was snuffed out… over what? When I contemplate the overall picture of his life, such a feeling of loss washes over me. If only he’d kicked his habit and found true love, after singing so many songs about it. If only he didn’t go back to his parents’ house. If only the weight of his foreshadowing didn’t turn out to be so crushingly true. If only.

This video clip is an excerpt from Real Thing: In Performance 1964-1981.

Who are the successors to Marvin Gaye’s throne? Many lay claims, but few fit the bill. One artist who seems to be following his trajectory — both in the good and bad ways — is D’Angelo. He’s an incredibly talented gentleman who seems to be struggling to find his way, and I’m waiting with baited breath for his next album. (Really Love is really hot. What a great, soothing, summertime barbecue jam).

It’s been more than twenty years, and we still miss you, Marvin.

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She was born into a turbulent Detroit household, with an abusive father who was murdered when she was 18. Her mother encouraged her to become a nurse. A relative once described her as being “a very weird child, even from birth, living in a wonderland, a dream.” Donyale Luna created her own dream. She made up a story to hide her painful upbringing, denied the reality revealed on her birth certificate and claimed that her biological father’s last name was Luna, and her mother was Mexican. Her grandmother became an Irishwoman who married a black interior decorator. And so the stage was set for this extraordinarily beautiful and troubled woman, whose created identity helped to bring her fame and fortune and all of the trappings that come with those things.

She was discovered by photographer David McCabe, and left Detroit behind for the lights of New York City. From all accounts, her rise was meteoric. A sketch of her appeared on the cover of Harper’s Bazaar in 1965, and Richard Avedon signed an exclusive contract to photograph her.

Time Magazine published an article about her, titled The Luna Year. The article already reveals the trouble she was already beginning to encounter: “A month after hitting New York, she married a young actor, divorced him after ten months, and now will not even give his name. “I love New York,” she says. “But there were bad things. People were on drugs or hung up on pot. There was homosexuality and lesbianism and people who liked to hurt.” Unhappy with that world but unwilling to give it all up and head back to Detroit, she fled to London and Paris last December.”

In 1966, she became the first African American model to appear on the cover of Vogue magazine, a photograph in which she covered her whole face with her hand, except for her boldly outlined eye. Reportedly, that shot was chosen so as to not offend the magazine’s regular readership.

Donyale Luna saw her heritage as a thorn in her side. She was known to wear blond wigs and obvious green contact lenses. The journalist Judy Stone wrote a profile for the New York Times in 1968, titled “Luna, Who Dreamed of Being Snow White,” and described her as “secretive, mysterious, contradictory, evasive, mercurial, and insistent upon her multiracial lineage — exotic, chameleon strands of Mexican, American Indian, Chinese, Irish, and, last but least escapable, Negro.”

When pressed about her African American identity and influence, Luna bristled. When interviewed about her groundbreaking roles in popular films, including the Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus, Fellini’s Satyricon, and Andy Warhol’s Camp, and asked about the fact that she was breaking down doors for her sisters to follow, Luna retorted, “If it brings about more jobs for Mexicans, Chinese, Indians, Negroes, groovy. It could be good, it could be bad. I couldn’t care less.“

By the swinging sixties, she was living it up in London and hanging with the Rolling Stones. She expressed her love for LSD, saying “I think it’s great. I learned that I like to live, I like to make love, I really do love somebody, I love flowers, I love the sky, I like bright colors, I like animals. [LSD] also showed me unhappy things — that I was stubborn, selfish, unreasonable, mean, that I hurt other people.” Unprofessional behavior proved to unravel her illustrious career. In a New York Times interview, Beverly Johnson complained about Luna’s wacked-out mannerisms, saying “[she] doesn’t wear shoes winter or summer. Ask her where she’s from — Mars? She went up and down the runways on her hands and knees. She didn’t show up for bookings. She didn’t have a hard time, she made it hard for herself.”

She appeared nude in Playboy in April 1975, as photographed by her lover Luigi Cazzaniga. Today, Luna is survived by a daughter, Dream Cazzaniga, who works as a professional dancer in Italy. I was able to find only this photo. She is just as beautiful as her mother.

Hopefully more people will learn about her when Jennifer Poe’s documentary about Luna and Pat Hartley, the only black women to be part of Andy Warhol’s Factory, is finally released. For now, if you want to learn more about the mysterious and tragic beauty, visit this amazing website, which was my source for these beautiful photos. Also, there’s a teeshirt of her Warhol screen test on sale for $43.99 at Rock Rebel.

Donyale Luna died in 1979, of an accidental pill overdose in Rome. She was just 33 years old. Despite her tremendous fame in the Sixties and Seventies, today, Donyale Luna’s groundbreaking legacy is primarily remembered by the African American community, the very community she sought to distance herself from her whole life.

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So many of our celebrities have had tragic lives. So many of them have struggled to shoulder the weight of fame and come up against an industry that doesn’t seem designed to truly support and celebrate black artists. Some of these women have had rough childhoods, and many of them have battled substance abuse and depression. All of them are remarkably talented, and their legacies should never be forgotten.

Phyllis Hyman was an undeniable showstopper.

She was six feet tall, jaw droppingly gorgeous, with glowing caramel colored skin and a passion for fashion. And her voice was like warm butter.

As Jean Carne says in this article on Black America Web,

“If you close your eyes and listen to her voice, you would think of chinchilla and mink and diamond and pearls. She had a gorgeous tonal quality.”

Her late-Seventies hits like “Somewhere in my Lifetime” and You Know How to Love Me are among the era’s most perfect tracks, in my opinion.

She earned the nickname The Sophisticated Lady after her electrifying performance in Broadway’s electrifying tribute to Duke Ellington, Sophisticated Ladies. Watch Phyllis rip through “It Don’t Mean a Thing If You Ain’t Got That Swing if you want to learn a thing or two about stage presence.

Remember when BET was totally off the cuff and real? Check out this completely random clip of Phyllis Hyman delivering a bouquet of roses to Patti LaBelle, mid-interview with Donnie Simpson on the old-skool Video Soul set (complete with elevator, mind you). Phyllis came across as a sweet, self-effacing diva with an effortlessly enormous voice.

Listen to her range on this frustratingly truncated BET memorial video. Phyllis brought the quiet storm without even trying on this awards show duet version of Superwoman with Melba Moore. (I always loved Karyn White’s version of that song, BTW. Oh, the video is so Eighties. I love it!).

She had a signature style, and was known for wearing ornate, flowing garments and chandelier earrings. Nobody rocked a hat like Phyllis Hyman did — check out her signature headwear here on this 1992 clip from the Arsenio Hall Show. “When You Get Right Down To It” is one of my favorite songs of hers, and it’s from the tragically titled album Prime of My Life.

In this interview in 1991, she seemed so optimistic. Phyllis Hyman’s life took a tragic turn in 1993, when she lost her mother and grandmother within the span of a month.

She released her final album, I Refuse to Be Lonely, in 1995. I have never heard any of it, but I imagine it’s pretty dark stuff. All of the song titles reveal her pain. “Waiting for the Last Tear to Fall.” “This Too Shall Pass.” “Back to Paradise.” “Give Me One Good Reason to Stay.” By this point she was dealing with bipolar disorder, depression, alcoholism, and financial strife.

Hours before she was scheduled to perform at the Apollo and six days before her 46th birthday, Phyllis Hyman took her own life. By way of explanation, she left behind an enigmatic note. “I’m tired. I’m tired. Those of you that I love know who you are. May God bless you.”

Here she is, crooning “In a Sentimental Mood.”

She was simply larger than life. Your fans miss you. Phyllis.

If you’ve never been swept away by Phyllis Hyman, I highly recommend Ultimate Phyllis Hyman, a best-of album that features her hits from 1977 to 1995.

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3. Lost Ones: Donyale Luna