If I were a lazy writer I’d just cut and paste a few lines from a post a couple of weeks ago when I rambled on about the reality that from time to time in the middle ages we face the passing of figures from our younger days.
I didn’t think I’d be traveling down this road again so soon.
Back in the mid 80s when I probably should have been focusing on the considerable academic responsibilities of a college upperclassman, I was watching MTV videos featuring a hot performer from Jersey who sang so well that it mattered little that she didn’t have Jacksonesque or Madonnaian choreography.
This is just one of many Whitney memories and like many of you, I have many more.
Like many of you, I danced to the up tempo hits and did other things to the ballads. Like many of you, I scratched my head when she exercised her prerogative and married Bobby. Like many of you I don’t remember who played in the ’91 Super Bowl, but I remember Whitney singing the hell out of the National anthem. Like many of you I wondered how Babyface got the idea for Shoop Shoop.
Like many of you, I was oh so looking forward to Whitney getting clean, regaining her voice and her divaliciousness, getting a fat record deal and staging what would have, arguably, been one of the greatest comebacks in music history (Sadly, a couple of years ago, I was hoping the same for Michael Jackson).
Like many of you, I will miss Whitney Houston. May she rest in peace.