1987 · Behind the Songs
Written in 1983, released in 1989, and sung partly in Swahili, “Liberian Girl” closed out the Bad era with Michael Jackson’s most quietly romantic single.
By the time “Liberian Girl” reached record stores as a single on July 3, 1989, it had already lived several lives. Michael Jackson first wrote the song as early as 1983, in the afterglow of Thriller, when he was the biggest star on earth and writing constantly. The song was even considered for the Jacksons’ Victory album before Jackson reclaimed it, reworked it, and rewrote it for his own next project. When Bad arrived in 1987, “Liberian Girl” was there among its eleven tracks — a gentle, Swahili-touched ballad tucked between the album’s harder-edged hits. And when the Bad singles campaign finally wound down two years later, “Liberian Girl” was chosen as its ninth and final single, released in Europe, Japan, New Zealand, and Australia. America never got it as a single at all. It was a closing chapter written for the rest of the world.
The world responded warmly. “Liberian Girl” reached the top fifteen in country after country: number 1 in Ireland, number 9 in Finland, number 12 in both Belgium and Switzerland, number 13 in the United Kingdom, number 14 in the Netherlands, number 15 in France, number 24 on the Eurochart, number 23 in Germany, number 31 in New Zealand, and number 50 in Australia. It was not the chart-conquering monster that “Bad” or “Smooth Criminal” had been, but it did not need to be. As the last word of the Bad era, it played like a exhale — soft, romantic, and worlds away from the album’s sharper edges.
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A Song in Two Languages
What sets “Liberian Girl” apart in Jackson’s catalog is its sound of Africa. The track features the South African singer Letta Mbulu singing a chant in Swahili, arranged by Caiphus Semenya — a genuine African voice woven into an American pop ballad. It was a striking choice, and a sincere one: Jackson had long been fascinated by Africa and its music, and here he placed that fascination at the center of a love song. The chant gives the record its atmosphere — mysterious, warm, and unlike anything else on Bad.
The studio band, meanwhile, was pure Los Angeles precision. Jackson himself was the songwriter and co-producer, and he sang the lead vocals while also contributing drums and the rhythm and vocal arrangements. Quincy Jones produced. The players included John Barnes, Michael Boddicker, Miko Brando, and Christopher Currell on Synclavier, Paulinho da Costa on percussion, Douglas Getschal on drum programming, Jerry Hey on horns, David Paich and Steve Porcaro on keyboards, John Robinson on drums, and Larry Williams on saxophone — cut at Westlake Studio D in Los Angeles. It was the Bad machine at full power, directed toward the album’s softest moment.
There is a lovely footnote in the single’s packaging. The B-side of “Liberian Girl” was “Girlfriend” — the album version of the Paul McCartney-penned Off the Wall track. Whether by design or by happy accident, the final single of the Bad era carried on its flip side a song from the dawn of Jackson’s adult solo career. A decade of music history, pressed onto two sides of vinyl.
What the Critics Heard
Reviewers found much to admire in the album track. Jon Pareles, writing in The New York Times, noted that a melody line from “Billie Jean” seemed to reappear in “Liberian Girl” — a subtle self-quotation from an artist revisiting his own past. Davitt Sigerson, reviewing Bad for Rolling Stone, praised the song as richer and sexier than the lesser tracks on Thriller, arguing that even Jackson’s filler outshone most artists’ best. Q magazine placed it at number 1001 in its 2003 list of the “1001 Best Songs Ever,” and Entertainment Weekly called it “the only real R&B ballad on the album” — high praise on a record better known for its funk and pop.
In Liberia itself, the reaction was pride. When Jackson died in 2009, the Washington Times quoted Liberians who remembered the song as a positive and empowering tribute — a global superstar singing their country’s name with love. Margaret Carson, quoted in that 2009 report, spoke for many when she described what the song had meant. For a nation more often in the news for hardship, “Liberian Girl” was a rare moment of pure celebration.
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The Video Full of Friends
The music video, directed by Jim Yukich and produced by Paul Flattery, was an event in itself. Filmed over two days in April 1989 on the A&M Chaplin Stage in Los Angeles, it gathered dozens of Jackson’s celebrity friends — actors, musicians, and entertainers — who appear on camera waiting, watching, and wondering where Michael is. The joke of the video is that Jackson himself does not appear until the very end, revealed behind the camera, directing it all. Even a mummy makes a cameo. The clip was later included on HIStory on Film, Volume II, on the Vision collection, and on the Bad 25 Target-exclusive DVD — a time capsule of Jackson’s world at the peak of his fame.
The single earned a Silver certification in the United Kingdom for 200,000 copies sold, a solid commercial coda to the Bad campaign. But its real legacy is quieter. “Liberian Girl” remains Jackson’s most explicit musical love letter to Africa — a ballad that reached across an ocean in two languages and found, on the other side, listeners who took it to heart.
What to Listen For
Start with Letta Mbulu’s Swahili chant — it is the record’s soul, floating above Quincy Jones’s immaculate production. Then follow Jackson’s vocal, tender and unhurried, a world away from the percussive attack of “Smooth Criminal.” Listen for the Thriller echo that Pareles heard, the little melodic ghost of “Billie Jean” haunting the chorus. And notice the patience of the arrangement: this is a song in no hurry, written in 1983, released in 1989, and still in no rush to end. Some love letters take nine years to arrive. This one was worth the wait.