I'm Every Woman: Whitney Houston, one year later
Occasionally, a celebrity death affects me more than it
should. Michael Jackson’s passing, for example, was particularly difficult for
me, having grown up a huge fan of his music. Author David Foster Wallace’s
death in 2008, at the time was very surprising, but with the more I read his
work, and the more I learn about his life, and the debilitating depression he
suffered from, the more grim it is for me to handle.
For people from earlier generations, they may remember where
they were when JFK died, or where they were when John Lennon was shot. For my
generation, it’s where they were when they learned that Kurt Cobain had
committed suicide.
I remember where I was when I first heard the news about
Whitney Houston’s death. I was at an annual gathering with a group of
friends—Bad Movie Weekend, it’s called. The name of the event pretty much
explains what occurs. And while I was sitting through yet another horrible
motion picture that someone was subjecting us to, I started to futz around on
my phone. On Twitter, I started seeing things about Whitney Houston having
died. Certainly this was some kind of mistake, or Internet hoax. But sure
enough, on Saturday February 11th, Whitney Houston passed away from
what was later determined to be and accidental overdose of cocaine, among other
things found in her system.
Since I am originally from the 80s, the pure pop music of
Houston’s early days hold a special place in my memories. The singles off of
her second album, Whitney, alone are
synonymous with the decade—“I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” “So Emotional,” and
“Where Do Broken Hearts Go?” just to name a few.
Then there’s the soundtrack to the 1992 motion picture The Bodyguard—the first side comprised
of six new recording from Houston, including the now iconic performance of “I
Will Always Love You.” And the 1995 single “Exhale (Shoop Shoop)” from the film
Waiting to Exhale, followed later on
by the 1998 “comeback” record My Love is
Your Love, featuring Houston backed by a more modern R&B sound—a
standout from which is the possibly obscure by now single “Heartbreak Hotel,”
featuring Faith Evans and Kelly Price.
An interesting fact to note if you look over the career of
Whitney Houston—she only released six true studio albums. I read that after her
1990 album, I’m Your Baby Tonight,
and her foray into acting with The
Bodyguard, she had planned some kind of Barbra Streisand-esq
semi-retirement from recording, only contributing songs to soundtracks of films
she happened to be in. That however was not the case, which was what lead to
the aforementioned My Love, as well
as her final two studio releases from 2002, and 2009, respectively.
Then of course, there’s her personal life, which over time, overshadowed
her talent and musical career. There was her marriage to Bobby Brown. There was
her erratic behavior, only worsening over time. And then there were the years
of substance abuse.
Whitney Houston passed away on the eve of the Grammy Awards
last year. She was expected to attend a party in the hotel that she died in,
hosted by music mogul Clive Davis—who was instrumental in the success of her
career. Many within the industry were disgusted with the fact that the party
still proceeded—Houston’s body hadn’t even been taken out of the building. And
many in the press saw a tragic irony to the entire event; that she died in a
hotel where a pre-Grammy Awards party was being held, making her rise and fall
another example of the problems that come from success and excess within the
entertainment industry.
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The day after Houston’s death, my wife and I watched the
movie Waiting to Exhale. Neither of
us had seen it before, and save for the scene where Angela Bassett sets her
husband’s care on fire, it was a movie that didn’t really speak to either of
us. Perhaps that is because neither of us are middle-aged African-American
women, struggling with our identity and place in the world.
Shortly before her passing, I had rediscovered the title
song from Waiting to Exhale, “Exhale
(Shoop Shoop.)” Upon its release in 1995, I was in middle school, and I don’t
remember caring much for it. But more than fifteen years later, I came to
realize what an incredible song it is—a stellar example of Kenneth “Babyface”
Edmonds’ early-to-mid 90s run of songwriting and production at it’s best.
In a recent R. Kelly song, there’s a lyric that goes, “funny
how they wait until you gone just to miss you.” Similarly to the music of
Michael Jackson, I remember the radio hits of Whitney Houston soundtracking my
childhood in the late 1980’s. I remember buying the cassette tape of The Bodyguard soundtrack for some
reason, and listening to the first side—the Houston side—over and over again.
Whitney Houston was an iconic name, and an iconic voice, in contemporary
popular music. And a year after her passing, I wonder if that is how she will
be remembered—if time will be kind to her memory and legacy, or if the troubles
she carried in her life will still weigh her down in death.
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