By: Dale M. King
As I write this column, I can hear the sounds of talking heads from the TV in the next room. They are discussing Whitney Houston. Occasionally, the talk is broken up by clips of Whitney singing.
There is one common thread among all the people talking on this TV program. Whitney Houston, a woman with a voice that soared above others, a lady that at least one New York tabloid dubbed “the Queen of Pop,” has died at the much too young age of 48.
Two memories come to mind. One took place some 20 years ago when my wife and I went to an outdoor music venue in the town of Mansfield, Mass., called Great Woods, to hear a young singer who had just burst onto the scene. We loved her strong, clear voice and her songs that ranged from haunting to up-tempo. Her name was Whitney Houston, whose impeccable vocals filled the woodland air.
The other memory stretches out over a couple of years – from the time music phenom Michael Jackson died through the trial of his doctor, Conrad Murray. The talk of what happened to Jackson, what Murray did, how Jackson’s kids reacted when Murray realized he had doped up the singer with too much propofol and how the memory of Jackson will live on in staged shows was non-stop.
There’s something compelling about the death of a star. It has come to the fore with people like Michael Jackson, Amy Winehouse and Whitney Houston. But think back to the legend of Marilyn Monroe and the mystery of her death in 1962. Her memory and the theories of what happened continue to make news today.
Just compare Marilyn’s death with that of Whitney Houston. Both were virtually alone, Marilyn at her home, Whitney at a hotel. Both deaths apparently involved alcohol and drugs. Both died after their careers hit the skids. And it’s likely that both of their lives and their careers will be studied, restudied and reviewed for a long time.
So many celebrities have passed away under clouds of pain. The music world hit a long spell with the losses of Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin. Even back in 1955, we lost James Dean to a tragic car accident – yet his visage continues to be seen on posters and portraits.
Look at the many, many other losses that dragged celebrity baggage along with them. Rock Hudson died of AIDS, a death that unraveled the life of a virile, masculine film star.
And can we ever, ever forget the death of ‘The King,” Elvis Presley, a man who washed down prescription meds with scads of fried food? My wife and her sister saw Elvis in concert in Providence a couple of months before his death, and recalled the bloated man who did his best to perform on stage.
A few minutes ago, I was walking through the TV room where my wife was watching a program about Whitney Houston. “She was so thin,” she said.
Yes, we will always love Whitney Houston. But we will also remember that she bears at least some responsibility for enduring a marriage with Bobby Brown, whose life of drug abuse rubbed off on her with lethal results. We can only hope that her daughter can overcome the pain of losing her mother and can find a straight path – away from drugs and away from Bobby Brown.
Whitney sang like no one else can – and probably like no one ever will. She was one of a kind, and her music will be her legacy.
Undoubtedly, we will hear more over the next few days about her drug use, her deteriorated career, her activities in the hours before her death and the reason why she was in a bathtub at a Beverly Hills hotel, surrounded (apparently) by pill bottles.
We should remember her for her marvelous voice and big heart. As time passes, that is all we need to recall.