It is a time remembered for incredible music (thank you, Madonna and Whitney Houston 🙏), fantastic dancing, and classic '80s movies that we still love to watch today. Ramsey, Jr.If you're anything like Ree Drummond, the '80s was one of your favorite decades. The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of Guthrie P. In the end, the voice just couldn’t keep up with the extravagances and toils of her life in the spotlight. Remember how she performed that voice how she allowed us to witness it, how she obviously enjoyed it herself. Now that she’s gone, we can do nothing but remember: Remember how she and “the voice” seemed like two separate entities. She was discovered, given a record deal, provided material and the rest was lots of hard and endless work. Houston became a pop star the old fashioned way – not through a virile YouTube video or as a contestant on “American Idol.” Miss Whitney’s ubiquity in the media made that seem like a reasonable dream for many of the young women she mesmerized. Certainly, this infectious package of beauty and talent was at least one of the reasons my youngest daughter, now a budding operatic coloratura soprano, is pursuing a life of long, beautiful gowns and very, very high notes. Her exquisite beauty together with that “come hither/don’t take another step closer or I’ll call my cousin” camera presence intrigued us. Through musical economy and powerful execution, Houston could shape the emotional contour of a song whether in long concert-versions or on a four-minute record.
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This allowed many of us to sing along with her at full voice, by ourselves, in the car. She mostly executed them in clever twists at the ends of phrases or tossed them off with stunning ease between plainly rendered melodic statements. Although her work grew more melismatic as her career progressed, she never overused this technique like some of her myriad imitators. Her sense of musical balance allowed her “crowd” the cadences of a song’s key passages with “just enough” sonic information before landing coyly in the next structural part of the song. When every note is perfectly in tune, as they were in a classic Houston performance, we relaxed and gave in to the sheer beauty of music.īeyond the gift of her instrument, Houston’s musicianship comprised an uncanny way of handling the material she was given with such expertise and attention to detail that the songs became hers and hers alone. Her impeccable intonation – just one of the reasons her “Star-Spangled Banner” has become iconic – instilled a “trust” in her listeners. This unique quality was highlighted because when she did flip into the “head voice,” it was employed as a subtle garnish, a precious design element in a phrase. Houston seemingly had no natural break between the high and low registers of her instrument. What was remarkable is that she hardly ever “bailed out” by flipping into a falsetto voice – you know, that head-buzzing sound that men emit when they’re doing bad imitations of female opera singers. Some of her songs spanned quite a bit of vocal territory, from alto to the highest soprano. Houston was famous for having a very wide range. Never noticed that, right? That’s because she was so good at it. And the sheer stamina it took to achieve this elusive aspect of a singer’s art separates the wannabes from the real McCoy. Houston belted out chorus after chorus on hit after hit, demonstrating white-knuckled control over this parameter of her “singer’s toolbox” with an aplomb that seemed unfair to lesser vocalists. This effect was facilitated by her deceivingly effortless diaphragmic support. So what made “The Voice” so glorious in the transcendent musicianship that Houston displayed in her recordings and concerts? Despite her battles with drugs and alcohol, many people have good memories of her and her songs. I’ve heard plenty about Houston’s troubles during the course of the week.
But they reveled in emulating Houston nonetheless. (Imagine “and I-eee-I-eee-I will always love you” at earsplitting, hilarious volume).Ī few of the high notes were clearly out of my girls’ easy reach in their spontaneous renditions. Their voices were unleashed in that gleeful, full-throated and uninhibited way that only pre-teen girls seemed to do. Sent by my 25-year-old daughter, the announcement shocked me but soon triggered fond memories of the days when she and her younger sister would belt out Houston’s latest hit along with the radio. Like many of us living in the digital age, I learned that the pop diva passed away by way of text message. The words “Whitney Houston died” appeared on my BlackBerry screen.
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