A dozen indie producers may be putting together tributes to the King of Pop even as I key in these words the morning after his death. Until one of these productions is uploaded onto PRX, Jae Sinnett’s piece will fill the gap. His hour-long show on the Jackson 5 is like one of those slow-movement introductions in an old-fashioned symphony that gets going full-blast after a few minutes. Another way of looking at—or listening to—Sinnett’s program is to compare it to the Jacksons in their Garden of Eden—not too far from Gary, Indiana—before everything hit the fan.

Pop-culture historians and diehard fans will of course replay Sinnett’s piece if only to revel in the Jacksonian sweetness of doo-wop, the Motown sound that had gathered strength alongside that of Presley and the Beatles. But the superstar of the Jackson 5, that cutie surrounded by his brothers in the photo on PRX’s home page, stepped as far away from his siblings as his Moon Walk allowed. His song-and-dance routine catapulted him into an orbit we know about but seldom have observed so poignantly.

I don’t need to go into the details of his meteoric rise and fall. America seems to need sacrificial lambs more than enduring lions. Right now we’re still not sure precisely the cause of Michael’s death. Whatever his autopsy turns up, his legacy will transcend it and the gossip that shadowed his life. Even if you forget his androgynous physical appearance and the timbre of his voice—and who can forget these things?—his gifts as a dancer are unforgivable.

Rest well, Michael.