I Will Always Love You, Whitney Houston (Part II)

Welcome to part deux of my own little retrospective journey through Whitney Houston’s influence in my life, and my feeble attempt at explaining why her passing has had such an impact on me.

Things get a bit murkier here, because the exact moments of most of these songs’ intersections with my own life have been lost to the fog of age and memory. This makes it a bit harder to tell a cohesive narrative, but I’ll try nonetheless. 

It was quite some time after “The Bodyguard” that I finally got around to watching “The Preacher’s Wife.” In fact, I think I watched “Waiting to Exhale” (1995) first—yes, I went through a brief Terry McMillan phase—but was disappointed (excepting Angela Bassett’s ‘fiery’ portrayal and the ever-awesome Loretta Devine). As a result, I was a little gun-shy over giving Whitney another chance on the silver screen. But finally, being the Christmastime movie enthusiast that I am, I finally broke down and watched “The Preacher’s Wife.” 

Fell. In. Love.

One of the reasons I became hooked was the presence of the Georgia Mass Choir, which accompanied Houston on many of the album’s songs, such as “I Go to the Rock”:

It really does make you feel like you’ve just been taken to church, in that special way that only a commanding voice like hers and an enthusiastic ensemble like theirs can do. It’s uplifting, it’s positive, it’s encouraging, &c. And, to this day, every Christmas season you will find me blaring this song!

Two of my other favorite songs also sprang from this album. The first also happens to be the film’s signature song: 

Though the official video for “I Believe in You and Me” is one of Whitney’s worst, the song itself—like so many others—speaks to the inner-romantic within me. Yes, I admit that I want that mythically simple, all-consuming love that lasts not just until the end of one’s life but also into the next. And I believe that falling in love can oft make you a more complete person through the companionship you gain with another. And, yes, I believe the act of falling in love is a miracle—after all, how can one account for the joining of two hearts in the face of so many intrinsic differences between those same people? (Then again, perhaps it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m feeling mushy, and I miss Nic—even though he detests this song, LOL!)

“The Preacher’s Wife” soundtrack also gave us this song:

What hasn’t “Step by Step” meant to me at various points in my life: an affirmation to continue to be me throughout the coming out journey? Check. Whitney telling her disheartened and worried fans that she would be fine following the gut-wrenching 2002 interview with Dianne Sawyer? Check. An inspiration for some of my dance moves? Check.

Now, since we’ve jumped back to the early ’90s courtesy of “The Preacher’s Wife,” let’s look at two of Whitney’s songs from 1990:

You may recall that I said earlier “I Believe in You and Me” spawned one of Whitney’s worst videos—but it had nothing on “My Name is Not Susan.” I can’t help but feel that the director spliced together scenes from about 12 other videos that had been left on the cutting room floor (though, supposedly it’s an homage to Hitchcock’s Vertigo). And what was Monie Love’s role exactly? You got me.

Nonetheless, I really, really like the song. And I don’t have a lot to say about “My Name is Not Susan” beyond that… Oh, except that if a lover ever called me by the wrong name, I’d do a hell of a lot more than just write a song about it…

Moving back into this millennium, we journey to (circa) 2002. The “anti-Christ” and I were broken-up (though I can’t recall if this was the final time or not), and I was still stinging from the repeated infidelities—and I was still in that warm and fuzzy post-break-up phase of wanting him to not only never find happiness, but also for his soul to burn in hell. On a happier note, I was also madly, deeply in love with the music of Deborah Cox—in particular, “Absolutely Not,” which was receiving widespread play in the clubs at the time.

Well, somewhere around that time—probably courtesy of a remix at Nation or Ziegfeld’s—I encountered the following:

“Same Script, Different Cast” featured two of my favorite divas, and they seemed to be singing about a situation I was intimately familiar with at that moment in time—almost to a ‘T.’

But the above song wasn’t the only time Whitney spoke to me in 2002 (and, yes, I know “Same Script, Different Cast” was originally released in 2000). She did it again with “Try It On My Own,” off of the album “Just Whitney.”

Yes, in this particular song, Ms. Houston preached that it was never too late to get back ‘out there’ and start from scratch, which was a message I needed to hear at the time.

Also, going back to the Dianne Sawyer interview for a moment, this song offered fans such as myself hope that Whitney was finally letting go of that deplorable, disgusting, abusive piece of shit Bobby Brown—and, hopefully, that she was ready to get her career and life back on track. Sadly, we know now that was not completely the case at the time, but the glimmer of hope therein meant a great deal to those of us who admired her and wanted desperately for her to continue blowing our sox off!

Okay, time for the last three songs in my little count-down…

All three come from Whitney’s final album, 2009’s “I Look to You.” It seems fitting to close with these three, as their intersection with my life came at a time of harmony and peace, compared to many of the others I’ve discussed. 

Yes, Whitney’s music had carried me through some rather tumultuous moments of my life, particularly in the relationship-arena. But, by 2009, I was in the midst of Year 5 of a real (read: at times smooth-sailing and at others rocky), much healthier and happier relationship with Nic. And, from the sounds of the album, Whitney herself was also in a much happier, healthier place. Once again, we seemed in-sync emotionally.

Two of the album’s songs—“Call You Tonight” and “I Didn’t Know My Own Strength”—I appreciate because they signified for me (and, it seemed, for her) the ‘other side’ of the hard-road, and having successfully emerged a stronger person in spite of the trials and tribulations.

Now we come to the final song on my list—certainly, last but not least! The song is the title-song off the album, “I Look to You.” Now, I’ve enjoyed the song since the first time I heard it. But, it wasn’t until tonight—in preparing this entry—that I carefully watched the video. I have to say, the experience has reduced me to tears for about the last fifteen minutes. I encourage you to watch for yourself:

In light of this week’s sad event, the fact that this was Whitney Houston’s penultimate video becomes that much more symbolic, moving, and breathtaking. As a fan, it’s also cathartic in a way, especially with lines like: “I need you to set me free / Take me far away from the battle / I need you / Shine on me...”

I, for one, choose to think that, in the end, this legendary woman was at peace. The fact that the authorities found no illegal substances in her room is testament—again, I choose to believe—to the fact that she was free for the moment from so many of the toxins that contributed to her misery over the years. 

Yes, in the end  I choose to think that she was just as strong-willed, fierce, and amazing as I always knew her to be.

Rest in peace, Whitney Houston. I will always love you.

I Will Always Love You, Whitney Houston (Part I)

I’ve been debating whether or not I wanted to do something like this. It seems so cliché. But, having allowed a few days to pass since Whitney Houston’s untimely passing, I find that I’m still struggling with the loss of a pop-culture figure who has been ‘with me’ throughout various epochs in my life.

I know that sounds silly. I mean, it wasn’t as if I really knew her, or likely ever would.  So, what makes the loss of Ms. Houston so much more home-hitting for me than, say, the loss of the late (great) Eartha Kitt, or Etta James?

The answer lies, as I alluded to earlier, in Whitney’s prominent, mediated place in my life over the years. To that end, I’ve compiled a list of my personal top 20 songs—because ten was simply not enough—with bits of explanation thrown in here-and-there discussing how they factored in to what was going on with me at the time. 

(NB: the list is in roughly chronological order, not in order of preference—I simply couldn’t pull off the latter. Also this is just numbers 1-10, and 11-20 will be in a subsequent update.)

 

Out of Whitney’s earlier works—the ’80s years, if you will—"Saving All My Love" is definitely my favorite. It lacks the poppy, teenagery feel of other early songs like “How Will I Know?” and, overall, feels more adult in my opinion. It also features that sexy saxophone element which, even as a kid, I was drawn to.

 Now, I’m going to step out of order for a moment here because, owing to an unfortunate lapse into country music fandom (followed by a much more respectful rise into a love of Motown, oldies, &c.). The next time I encountered Whitney was in 1992. 

On a school bus. 

You see, during my middle school years—which I loathed with a passion—I was forced to ride the bus, wherein the driver would play a local radio station called WPGC. Since I was still in my Motown phase at that point, I found most of what was played on WPGC to be less enjoyable than having one’s hair set on fire. But, my peers enjoyed it, as did the driver, so for three years I was subjected to it.

And then, one morning, the usual garbage being pumped through the bus’s speakers was interrupted by a deceptively quiet, gentle voice proclaiming that if she stayed she would only be in the way. My personal recollection is that the bus fell silent in a way that is nigh-impossible for a group of 50-odd adolescents. What’s more: I was just as enraptured as they were.

 

Who was this siren of song? I wondered. The thing she does with her voice… The notes she can hit… 

It was all quite magical (not to mention emotionally evocative)—especially at the moment just over three minutes into the song, when it shifts into something quite beyond a power-ballad—and, when I finally realized who it was that was singing, I fell in love. For the next few months, every morning I was gifted with a 4 ½ minute reprieve from the hell that was middle school. 

I discovered shortly thereafter that the song was from the soundtrack to “The Bodyguard,” a movie starring both Houston and Costner. Now, at the time, I wasn’t in the habit of seeing movies in the theater—I was perfectly content to wait for them to come out on video (yes, VHS!). So, as soon as it hit the stores, I rented it. That’s when I discovered my other two favorite songs from this era:

and,

In the case of the first ("I Have Nothing"), I have to be completely honest: it was the Cleopatra-styled headdress that she wears which roped me in. But, moreover, it was the wailing expression of her longing, coupled with the powerful declaration of having “nothing, nothing, nothing” if she couldn’t have the object of her affection. Also, there was that same brief pause before an orchestral sweep found in “I Will Always Love You.”

Regarding “Run to You,” I was intrigued by the idea of the duality in people (not, of course, that I could have articulated it as such at the time): this notion of someone being completely different on the inside than they are on the outside. 

Indeed, courtesy of my struggles with depression at the time, I felt I understood all-too-well this duality—oh, people could tell there might be something going on within me (unlike Whitney’s “always in control” character), but no one—least of all my peers—grasped the destructive thoughts and emotions roiling beneath the surface. I wanted desperately to have someone to turn to, to talk all of that over with…but, there were no Costner-like characters in my life to fill that need at the time. And so, I simply had to live vicariously through the Rachel Marron character.

Now, with both of these, I would love to be able to say that they also spoke to me because of something or other to do with having to live a closeted life at the time. But, that wasn’t the case. Honestly, at the time, I wasn’t even fully aware of my sexual identity; but, I knew that I was missing out on something in terms of the whole love-thing, and both of these songs spoke to that missing something.

Between “The Bodyguard” soundtrack and Houston’s “My Love is Your Love” album, various things happened in my life: middle school, as I mentioned earlier, continued to be hellacious—but it somehow managed to get even worse for reasons I’d rather not get into here; my paternal grandparents, who were both very sick, moved in with us for an extended period of time (turning a small, one-bathroom, rambler-style house into a home for six people), leading to much conflict within the family; and my sister and I were at frequent logger-heads owing to the difference in our ages coupled with the earlier issues I referenced. 

All-in-all, it was a shitty time, and all time not spent at school—and I really do mean all time—was spent in my room, with the blinds drawn and the lights off, sleeping, because it was the only way I could avoid my reality at the time. During this dark time in my life, I didn’t listen to music (except when forced to on the bus). Period.

Now, the first song I actually caught from the “My Love is Your Love” album was “When You Believe” (Houston’s duet with Mariah Carey), and though I liked it—and it re-inspired my love for her music—it still wasn’t enough to get me to buy the album. That happened the first time I heard Whitney, accompanied by Faith Evans and Kelly Price, talking about the “Heartbreak Hotel.”

But what was it about this mythical hotel that caught my attention? Well, the song was released (as a single) in December of 1998. But, earlier that year—around May or June—I had experienced the most profound epiphany: I am gay! (The moment of this epiphany happened in my Spanish II class, and involved a peer—but that’s a story for another day. Maybe.)

At any rate, by December, I had had some time to process this grand revelation, and also to assume one of the most basic, stereotypical qualities of your average US American gay man: I had developed a deep-seated, profound respect, admiration, and love for strong black women. Especially when said-women could sing. 

Sure enough, “Heartbreak Hotel” stars three gorgeous, fierce women with voices that could level a mountain, and they’re giving a big “f*** you” to the men who’ve done them wrong. 

Hell. Yeah. 

In term’s of the song’s video, it didn’t hurt either that I love the Florida coastline! Uhm…and the red dress-with-collar-and-white-fur-coat combination? Friggin’ exquisite! 

Speaking of (similar) amazing fashion choices: Whitney’s dress in the “It’s Not Right, But It’s Okay” video. 

Oh my gracious—that leather skirt! Whoo! 

Basically, the song ranks on here for the same reason as the last. In essence, Whitney is powerful, stunning, and the video appeals to my inner-drag-queen. (Plus, it gave me the whole “get goin’, get goin’” hand-flick that I frequently emulate when dancing and singing in the shower!)

Now, “It’s Not Right, But It’s Okay” also represents another new phase in my life. At the start of the new millennium, I was involved in a rather…trying relationship that extended well-past the expiration date. (If only I’d listened to my mother when she referred to him as the “anti-Christ!”)

 

However, one positive aspect of my life that came about as a result of this mauvaise relation was that, together, we entered into the world of drag culture. Practically every week we would make our way down to DC and watch the female illusionists at Ziegfeld’s work their magic alongside the music of MadisonAvenue, Brittney, Christina, Madonna, Cyndi, &c. Oh and, of course, Whitney. 

 

This merely added to my love of the over-the-top, spectacularly overly-dramatic, on-stage flair—which Whitney makes manifest in her video for “I Learned from the Best.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, on the one hand, this song spoke to me because of the video—there Whitney is, on a stage before an audience, with big hair and a kick-ass ensemble, just like so many queens I’ve known over the years. 

And then, on the other hand, the lyrics spoke to the intense feeling of betrayal and equally intense desire to end the disastrous, unfaithful relationship I was stuck in. (In fact, after I finally did end things—taking extra special care to be as spiteful and financially- and emotionally-vindictive as I could be, as a special “thank you” for all of the infidelities and emotional abuse over the years—this song helped ease me back into singlehood.)

Wash; rinse; and, repeat: you have the story of my love for “I Bow Out” as well.

The final song from this magnificent album I want to talk about is “If I Told You That.” Like the others, it hit me at just the right moment. (And yes, once again, I was mesmerized by her outfit as well!) 

Following my break-up with the “anti-Christ,” I entered into a succession of brief liaisons with numerous amazing people, many of whom number amongst my closest friends today. With that latter set, there were many times where I felt the bond was so strong between us that I was both intrigued by and scared of allowing it to cross into the mushy, wonderful realm of love. 

And that’s kind of what this song is all about—finding that balance between the closest of friendships and an affection so deep that it borders on love. In essence, should we or shouldn’t we? 

In the end, I never allowed the full transformation to take place. Quite simply, I was afraid and wasn’t ready (on an emotional level) as a result of what I’d just been through—and, honestly, I’m glad such was the case, because it enabled me to meet and develop a relationship with Nic years later, as well as maintain an amazing constellation of friends!

Okay, last one (for this part).

Circa 1999, I was listening to a lot of Enrique Iglesias—his music was pretty so-so, but I found him to be quite studly. Plus, I was coming out of my melancholy, post-relationship phase and ready to give love an honest shot once again, so the inner romantic in me was longing for the types of songs he was singing. 

Then, one day, I happened to be in a Radio Shack of all places. 

(What the hell was I doing in a Radio Shack? I couldn’t tell you, but I can say that it’s one of only about five times it’s ever happened in my life!)

At any rate, I was in the back of the store, and they had one of those TV walls—and there was Whitney, whispering “Dame un beso para siempre” (roughly: “kiss me forever”). 

Why was she speaking in Spanish? I was intrigued… 

And then, there was Enrique, too! Hotness!

And then that hotness proceeded to explode all over my face at the (roughly) 3:35 mark, when Enrique and Whitney start singing to each other in Spanish:

Enrique: S’lo, s’lo un beso, un beso para siempre
Whitney: Para siempre
Enrique: Dame un beso para siempre
Whitney: Para siempre-e-e-e-e

To this day, I find that to be one of the sexiest moments in music history! I can’t quite tell you why, but it spoke to the time and place that I was in at that moment in my life, and still resonates with me today!

Well, friends, I’ve rambled enough for this segment, I think. Part II will be up later (or maybe tomorrow).