In high school I liked to put safety pins in my ears and listen to The Clash. Needless to say, Whitney Houston’s albums weren’t part of my record collection. That said, her songs and music videos were so pervasive in the 80s and 90s that I can easily sing every word to every hit she ever had.

I know this because I’ve been Googling her since Saturday, calling up old videos on YouTube and sitting awestruck as she hits high note beyond high note. They roll out of her like octave mountains in some country you’ve never heard of. At every microphone she approaches, her posture is impeccable, her eyes gleam, and her long, slender hands jab the air. It’s as if she can barely contain her own voice. How did I miss that?

I am of the generation that came of age with Whitney Houston. Her star was catapulting toward the stratosphere as I was making my way through adolescence and, though I didn’t actively dislike her, I never really connected to her, either. She seemed so perfect, so polished, so happy. I was a teenager moving between parents, changing high schools, and losing a brother, and, though deep down I really wanted to feel the greatest love of all, when that song came on the radio, I always changed the station. Continue reading “Reimagining Whitney Houston” »