Eddy Cochran, Jimi Hendrix, Lennon – death has only sanctified their contribution to rock music. Now Michael Jackson, presumably the most commercially successful musician of all time. Great far beyond his exuberant, mesmeric performance, but in his composition too.

And weird. But then, aren’t we all? Who amongst us from the age of eight could have withstood the tsunami of attention, adulation, adoration, mystification, and emotion? Others know the detail. I only know the music and the effect it had on me and my generation. I was the statutory 18 when he was eight. We got his rhythm.

But in later life I retreated, if not from his music, at least from publicly talking about it. The weird seriously assaulted the memory of the music and its impact. As with R Kelly’s I Believe I Can Fly, I kept quiet about how much I loved it after his court case, never confessing that should Desert Island Discs call, R Kelly would have to be there.

But so would Jacko. Reconciling the strange surgery and the even stranger, even sinister, delight in the menagerie of young children with whom he consorted in his home, undermined my total appreciation of what he achieved, perhaps the greatest recording artist of all time.

And the manner of his passing, matching his life: sudden. From birth to performance, from performance to death – sudden – leaving hundreds of thousands ticketed for the greatest come back never made.

This was an individual of whom, for an absolute certainty we can say, we shall not see his like again.

What is it about Wacko Jacko? Odd from the outset. I mean, Neverland, that fascination with children and with in some way returning to childhood…

Michael Jackson has been a persistent enigma, not least because both his performance and his music are exceptional – or certainly were.

Now, to make up for his lost millions, he is holding a news conference in London today, lifting the curtain on a series of concerts at the O2 arena.

Will anyone go? How far has the recession hit them? And how far has Jacko’s own physical and other disintegration marred his fascination for the fans? The answer from the fans nosing around looking for him today would seem to be: not at all.

But how much would you pay to attend a Michael Jackson concert? Not sure I’d go beyond a fiver. Yet I’m reliably informed some would go beyond £500.

If I close my eyes to everything I know about him, I will admit to enjoying his music. And even if I open them he will still go down as one of the great stars of late 20th century pop.

But what’s with the face? What’s with Neverland? All very strange. And slightly intriguing to see whether he can indeed come back, or whether his strength and his appeal have gone the way of his face.