Janet uses her rhythm to put things in focus

IT’S BEEN nearly 30 years since Janet Jackson called on “a generation full of courage” to join her on a march towards paradise, but the closer we get to Rhythm Nation, the further away it feels.

Maybe Jackson was always prepared for that kind of slog. Countless songwriters have written odes to wonderland, but Rhythm Nation never tried to delude us. We can dream of a better world, but then we have to build it.

“This is the test,” the song goes. “No struggle, no progress.”

So when Jackson sang that 1989 hit at Washington’s Capital One Arena on Thursday night, it almost sounded as if she had penned it earlier that afternoon.

The aptness of her lyrics and the determination in her voice aimed straight into the centre of this ugly American moment.

As for the rest of the show, it posited the 51-year-old as one of our greatest living pop stars, a singer whose zero-gravity falsetto can make heaviness feel light and lightness feel heavy.

As a stylist and a utopian, she’s a bridge between Parliament-Funkadelic and Beyoncé – or maybe a bridge into a future that still awaits us.

So why hasn’t Jackson had her name chiseled into the marble of the canon? For at least two reasons. Firstly, she did her greatest work – exuberant in the 1980s, sultry in the 1990s – in the shadow of her older brother, and we’re still catching up.

Secondly, her public image took a massive skid after Justin Timberlake tore a piece of her costume during a Super Bowl half-time show in 2004.

But last week, Jackson’s greatness was confirmed by her dancing alone.

Each gesture was designed to punctuate the sounds hitting our ears, yet Jackson hit every mark as if she were making it up on the spot. Has any pop star paced the stage with more confidence?

For the rest of us, dancing is a response to the beat. We hear something, then we tell our bodies how to move.

Onstage, Jackson’s music seemed to follow her, especially during That’s The Way Love Goes, a slow-burner from 1993 where the singer’s easy swivels and understated pivots seemed to dictate the rhythm

Everything snapped into focus, body and sound, melody and rhythm, past and future, during the second verse of Rhythm Nation, when she stood upright threw a clenched fist into the air and sang: “It’s time to give a damn” – her voice shooting up an octave, then floating back down – “Let’s work together!”