I grew-up listening to the music of the 1970s, for which I feel fortunate because that was a period when record sales tended to reflect the amount of effort put into reproducing symphonic sounds, and record companies spared no expense in providing recording artists with all the resources they wanted. But as record sales started to stagnate and costs escalated in the 1980s, production became leaner and more reliant on synthesized sound to fill in the gaps (still better than most of today’s music, which sounds weak and dull to my ears). Nevertheless the Eighties were, however, the period when my level of music appreciation increased, since I finally had money to buy records and CDs of the music I grew-up listening to. But I didn’t completely ignore contemporary music, especially since many of the stars of the Seventies (and sometimes even of the Sixties) were still plying their trade. But by 1985, I discovered that there were perhaps ten songs in the top 40 at any one time that I liked, and as time went on that number was reduced near to the zero. Only an occasional Katy Perry song reminds me of the lush productions that were “music” to my ears. I’m not saying that she is “better” than Adele, but frankly no matter how much the double-chinned Adele dolls herself up, her song “Rolling in the Deep” remains a misandrist anthem for unappealing women searching for someone else to blame. I figure she won all those Grammy awards because voters wanted to make a political statement—much as they did in 1996, when Alanis Morissette’s revenge fantasy opus Jagged Little Pill won album of the year.
Anyways, by 1985, the hangover from the Seventies was nearing its end. One day I heard a voice on the radio that gave me pause; I couldn’t decide of this signaled an end or a beginning, or if I liked what I was hearing, or not. Whitney Houston may have had a hit before “Saving All My Love For You,” although if she did, I hadn’t noticed before. But oh did I now. She had a BIG voice that stayed all day on one note, overwhelming the slight melody. At first blush, she seemed to follow in the same tradition of piped-up “divas” like Diana Ross and Donna Summer before her, and Mariah Carey afterwards. But Ross and Summer were capable of moving a song in a wide emotive arc (Ross’ “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” and “Love Hangover” are prime examples), while Houston and Carey were vocal “technicians” for whom conveying emotion was less important than impressing listeners with their prowess at vocal gymnastics. This may or may not be because Ross and Summer had the benefit of having better material to work with, but there was no mistaking the fact that singers like Houston brought immediate attention to themselves because their voices, rather than to the songs or production.
As I recall, critics were impressed by Houston’s voice, although not necessarily by the way it was used. Some people couldn’t help but point out that she was a fashion model, and this supposedly was proof that she had no artistic credibility. It certainly did seem that because of her lack of formal training, someone had to reign-in her penchant for bombast, and was just barely successful. Most of Houston’s hits are catchy enough, and I don’t find them irritating at all (except “I’ll Always Love You,” which sounds as if Houston is trying to mimic Carey); still, I find it telling that the only Houston song that I like enough to put on my mp3 player is her duet with Teddy Pendergrass, “Hold Me”; Pendergrass’ subtle, passionate vocal seems to force Houston to match it. I kind of laugh when I hear contemporary singers claim that they were “influenced” by Houston, but that is only because their taste in songs is so poor; otherwise, what I hear from her “disciples” is Houston run amok.
I know I am being unkind, given Houston’s unfortunate passing at the age of 48, apparently from drowning in a bathtub after losing consciousness. But she left us with a certain set of memories, ones that overwhelmed her talents through no one’s fault but her own. Many people have blamed her ex-husband Bobby Brown for her turn from glory to carnival oddity; prior to the airing of her 2009 interview with Houston, Oprah Winfrey said that contrary to her own uber-feminist belief, what Houston had to say for herself "will leave you gasping. She does not blame her ex-husband Bobby Brown and she takes full responsibility for her engagement in drugs." Why should we have been “shocked” by this? In a 2002 interview with “shock jock” Wendy Williams, Houston responded to questions about her drug use with a steady stream of expletives and suggestions that if Williams had “insulted” her in this way in her pre-stardom days in Newark, they’d be settling this disagreement with their fists. In another interview with Diane Sawyer, Houston surprised listeners by making light about the supposed dysfunction of her life, including her drug use. In fact, she seemed mystified and angry about people making judgments about her and her marriage to Brown; when the subject of domestic violence arose, Houston suggested that she could give as good as she got. In the infamous “Being Bobby Brown” reality TV series, Houston was the “star,” and it was clear that the carefully-controlled image of her, courtesy of Arista Records exec Clive Davis, was a contrivance; we were seeing the real Whitney unmasked. Her most memorable line was “Kiss my ass,” while dressed-up like a gangster staring at the camera. In another episode, she is seen at a picnic in a park, suggesting that she and Brown go behind a tree down by the river--to do the dirty deed.
Yet Winfrey still had the conceit to suggest that Houston had to “lower her standards” to live with Brown. "The thing most shocking to me is that Whitney tried to make herself smaller to fit in a marriage so the man could be bigger. How many women have done that? I deeply felt for her.” But the reality was that Houston was only being herself, not the record company-created image of her. And Houston’s behavior did not markedly improve after her 2007 divorce from Brown; in fact Brown seemed to benefit more from their separation. Her voice was shot, continued drug use led to physical breakdowns that caused her to miss performances, and bizarre and aggressive behavior, such as that which disconcerted observers in the days and hours leading up to her death, bespoke of a life going further out of control with help of her enablers.
But what of the music, which is what should really matter when we consider Whitney Houston. I will grant that her bombastic singing style set her apart from virtually anyone else on the radio until Carey came along. I did think that some of her songs were catchy pop fodder (it really annoyed me to discover that the original versions of “So Emotional” and “I Wanna To Dance With Somebody” on her latest hits compilations were replaced by execrable remixes). Her time in the limelight should have naturally ended by the mid-90s, because of the onrush of hip-hop and rap. But she stayed in it for reasons that perhaps were better left unscrutinized. Other music icons like Elvis Presley, Jimmy Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin are remembered for their successes rather than their excesses. Houston should have left us with memories of her pop successes, but in this hyped media age, it is her personal excesses that particularly stick.
No comments:
Post a Comment