LOS ANGELES -- There are pop stars and then, there are pop superstars. Michael Jackson was the kind of iconic figure whose status, success and influence might be unimaginable and likely unrepeatable in the iPod era.

"Once a singer stood at a world crossroads," rock critic Greil Marcus wrote in "The Old, Weird America," his treatise about Bob Dylan's "Basement Tapes" recordings. "For a moment, he held a stage no one has more than mounted since -- a stage that may no longer exist." While Jackson's music might not have had the wit, wisdom or conscience of Dylan's, the singer's impact on pop music and culture rivals those of the bard and can't be overstated. (At the very least, Dylan never sold out stadiums the way Jackson did.)

If, as Bruce Springsteen once remarked, Dylan's music is the intellectual counterpart to Elvis Presley's visceral power and onstage physicality, Michael Jackson sought to keep a foot in both camps. Like Presley, his music ranked rhythm above all else. At the same time, he cleverly sought to infuse as many styles and sounds into his songs in order to create the most irresistible blend possible. For his daring and ambition, Jackson became a music titan unsurpassed in the years since his prime.

Equally noteworthy as Jackson's monumental musical and cultural achievements was how his life and career were first marred and then subsumed by his offstage eccentricities and sometimes baffling actions. Fans have always loved, or at least, tolerated Jackson's quirkiness: the high-pitched voice, the crotch grabbing, the rhinestone glove and faux military uniforms, his pet chimpanzee, etc. It was clear that the former child star had a few issues, but his music was so potent that many ignored the weirdness. Unfortunately, it only got stranger and eventually, downright creepy. There was the plastic surgery metamorphosis of his face, the screwy treatment of his shrouded children and then worst of all, accusations of child molestation.

Despite Jackson's death, the questions about Jackson's behavior -- innocent or otherwise -- look no closer to reaching resolution, chiefly because he was the musical equivalent of Howard Hughes. He was a mysterious millionaire who performed before millions of fans, and yet whose life away from the media glare was rife with rumor, scandal and innuendo. His attempts to set the record straight only spawned more curiosity about his unconventional lifestyle. This was no ordinary rock star, to be sure, but how much was and how much was a product of his phenomenal fame achieved during the Reagan years.

Jackson's career pinnacle of the '80s and early '90s allowed him to be last true megastar of the analog era. More than his contemporaries, Jackson was the kind of performer tailor-made for a post-World War II, polarized world -- whether it was the two global superpowers, the Big Three TV networks or two global soft drink manufacturers. Before the '90s explosion of cable and satellite TV, DVDs and the Internet, pop-culture consumers had fewer media options and that placed a heavy burden on artists performing in the rarefied spotlight. The demographic of each outlet was broad. The ability of a performer to reach and gather a mass audience and to be commercially appealing was prized above all, even above any concerns about authenticity or commercialism.

And throughout his career, Jackson was the kind of singer and global musical brand that excelled when faced with such stipulations, bridging racial, cultural and class barriers with each pop smash.

The fact that Jackson proved to be pop music's most captivating and persistent ambassadors of the late 20th century stems from his beginnings as a child star and musical prodigy. From his poverty-stricken start in Gary, Ind., with his brothers in the Jackson 5, his music mindset was about blending styles. The Jackson 5's emergence in the late '60s and early '70s came just as R&B and urban pop was looking to outgrow the stylized, nightclub chic image exported by Berry Gordie's Motown or the sanctified soul music pioneered by the Stax Records label. The Jackson 5 was less particular in their tastes. The group and their handlers took the Motown music template of tight rhythmic arrangements and punchy vocal harmonies and infused it with the funk energy of James Brown and Sly Stone and the drive of hippie-era rock. Instead of seeking to appease Las Vegas bookers or Memphis DJs, the 5's songs like "ABC" or "I'll Be There" were utilitarian compositions and aspired only to dominate the radio and by default, everyone's turntable.

As the group's pint-sized, Afro-ed lead singer, Jackson was the band's focal point and his preening voice WAS their most effective draw. He was always a professional beyond his years and the allegations of abuse that he endured at the hands of his offstage father Joe are infamous in music history lore. Many commentators have speculated the loss of Jackson's childhood, as well as the alleged abuse, were at the core of Jackson's eccentricities.

As the Jackson 5's career stalled in the mid-'70s, a young adult Jackson transitioned into a solo career and he quickly established himself as a rising musical force. His "Off The Wall" album spawned a handful of top 10 smashes, including disco-era staples like "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" and "Rock With You." At this point, Jackson was R&B's top draw and a staple at every Studio 54 wannabe, but he wasn't yet the cultural behemoth he'd become.

It was through his creative partnership with producer Quincy Jones that Jackson would achieve the kind of fame and renown that few could command. While Jackson was already a fixture on the dance music scene, Jackson and Jones connived with his next album to create the greatest crossover album of all time and they essentially achieved that dream with 1982's "Thriller." The pair crafted songs that blurred the lines between R&B, dance, rock and pop. They enlisted an eclectic cast of songwriters (including Paul McCartney) and backing musicians, including metal guitar god Eddie Van Halen, to pitch in on the album. The gamble paid off as "Thriller" became a gargantuan smash. To this day, only a volume of the Eagles' greatest hits has sold more copies than "Thriller" in pop music history.

But just as Jackson became the music world and pop culture's biggest star, the seeds of his eventual downfall were sown as unflattering stories about his private life began to tear at his tightly managed public image. His eccentricities -- real and contrived -- began to appear in more and more headlines. Rumors that he slept in an oxygen-rich chamber, that he owned the bones of Victorian-era sideshow star John Merrick, the so-called Elephant Man and the childish attractions at his Neverland Ranch painted the singer as a weirdo.

Most peculiar of all was the transformation of Jackson's appearance throughout the '80s. His nose and facial features were drastically altered and his skin took on a ghastly pallor. While Jackson claimed that he was suffering from a rare skin condition, the fact that he obviously fibbed about how many plastic surgeries he'd undergone fed rumors that the star was bleaching his skin. In his later years, the use of heavy makeup and wigs transformed what once was an iconic visage into a real-life kabuki performance.

Musically, Jackson couldn't repeat the success of "Thriller." His follow-up, 1987's "Bad," was a strong seller and produced several more hits, but it didn't outsell its predecessor. This wouldn't satisfy someone as ambitious as Jackson. As time went on, what Jackson couldn't achieve on the mic, he attempted to manufacture using his clout. When he delivered his next album, 1991's "Dangerous," he bullied media outlets and TV networks into calling him the "King of Pop."

And for a time, he did achieve a kind of comeback with the "Dangerous" single, "Black & White" and the eye-catching technology used in its MTV video. Shortly after though, Jackson's life and career crossed the line, becoming too outrageous for most fans to tolerate. His music became more and more irrelevant. The spectacle of Jackson's life was more intriguing to the public than anything he could manage in the studio. There was the strange quickie marriage to Elvis' daughter, Lisa Marie Presley, sleepovers with young children, the enormous statues of himself that he tried to erect in various locations, an admitted addiction to painkillers, among other oddities. Perhaps most sinister of all, were the two public accusations of child molestation, which threatened to permanently end his career. The first, alleged by a 13-year-old boy, was settled out of court and Jackson was never charged. The second, occurred a decade later and allegedly involved a 14-year-old boy. Jackson was charged and stood trial, but was subsequently acquitted.

The years since saw Jackson become even more of a recluse. His name only popped up amid reports of his legal and financial troubles. He attempted to resurrect his career amid the sea of bad press, but it was for naught. Styles and tastes had changed. A middle-aged Jackson was a relic of a bygone era. Although he was reportedly planning a series of concerts in the United Kingdom before his death, most music watchers saw the shows not as a comeback, but a tacky, Las Vegas-style greatest-hits review occurring half a world away from Sin City's city limits. For a performer who was once so devoted to exceed expectations and break down barriers, it was a concession to his aging (and shrinking) audience and his hefty financial obligations.

Despite Jackson's tarnished and complicated legacy, few would deny the sway that he still carries in the pop world. Last year, "American Idol" winner David Cook performed a rock arrangement of "Billie Jean" that was credited for giving him a boost. Jackson, after all, is the sonic template for which most of the shows contestants based themselves on. That Jackson's music still enjoys the public's affection given the scandals and rumors is testament to his skills as singer, dancer and performer. We might have chuckled, shook our head or been repulsed by what we heard or saw about Jackson, but his music was no laughing matter. The songs really are irresistible.

While his music remains infectious, it's unlikely we'll see his like again. Album sales seem to be in a permanent decline. The stage that Jackson occupied thanks to albums like "Off The Wall" and "Thriller" surely no longer exists as music shrinks from being the influence it once was in public life.

Or maybe that's what's wrong. Music industry no longer has someone willing or capable to bridge the gaps. In the constellation of music stars, none dares to set their sights as high as Jackson did.

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Note: David's music column, Soundbytes, appears Wednesdays in our Entertainment section. He welcomes your questions and comments