Top opera singers can come from wherever there’s a conservatory. But Whitney Houston could only come from America. Here’s some of what that fine music conservatory that doubles as the black church has given us, of which Houston is a quintessential example:
Aretha Franklin (18 Grammys)
Beyonce (16 Grammys)
Mary J. Blige (9 Grammys)
Whitney Houston (6 Grammys)
Toni Braxton (6 Grammys)
Etta James (6 Grammys)
Gladys Knight (4 Grammys)
Patti Labelle (2 Grammys)
Jennifer Holliday (Tony and Grammy Awards winner)
Dinah Washington
Sarah Vaughan
Della Reese
Nickolas Ashford and Valerie Simpson
Betty Wright
Diana Ross
Florence Ballard
Mary Wilson
Cindy Birdsong
Jasmine Sullivan
Chrisette Michele
Brandy
Monica
Kelly Price
Cissy Houston
SWV
Teddy Riley
Sam Cooke
Bobby Womack
Otis Redding
Marvin Gaye
James Brown
R. Kelly*
Jackie Wilson
Stevie Wonder
Donny Hathaway
Isaac Hayes
Teddy Pendergrass
Little Richard
Ray Charles
Brook Benton
Whitney’s church training displays prominently in all she recorded. The high point of her early hit “You Give Good Love” comes at the end, as typical when an R&B singer finishes moving through lyrics and is improvising her way out of a song in signature fashion. Whitney sings one of the prettiest and most recognizable melismas of her career in the syllable “oh” leading into the word “you”. It’s special because it’s actually off beat which Houston emphasizes along the entire 12-note melisma in notes 2, 5, 7, 9, and 11–something only super premium R&B singers can pull off and instinctively know how to time. It begins at 3:58 lasting to 4:02.
It’s akin to the off-beat double clapping in black churches, which emphasizes a beat by overplaying the off beat. The song is lyrically over at 3:40 but lasts another full minute as Whitney falsettically plays over the melody, like a real church singer who knows what to do with any blank aural canvass, switching hard into falsetto at 3:40 and shaping the song’s finish like some fine wine’s. The melisma’s sweetness and highness is inebriating. Bad radio cut off or talked over the song before this part, but music cognoscenti waited for it each time and relished it. It remains one of the prettiest and most creative exits to any song I’ve heard. Like a cooing lazy bird.
Less important than the notes Whitney hit are what she did in between them and after a note was over, as always the case with church singers. Notes can be taught. But holy ghosts come from the stuff all around them. And Whitney in absolute black church fashion mastered that.
R. Kelly* who recently wrote for Houston (as well as Aretha Franklin) was likely able to do so particularly because of their gospel roots. Regarding his work on her last CD, “He’s [R. Kelly] an anointed writer”, Houston said. He may comment on her artistry tonight. Kelly’s own iconic melisma in this blatantly secular song over the 2nd syllable of “confess” covering a staggering 24 notes–0:23-0:29–is mathematically perfect, nearly impossible to replicate by any current singer, and among R&B’s most recognizable. With clear roots in the unique American field holler, elegantly distributed in Whitney’s body of music, it’s exactly the musical advantage of the classic R&B vocal space. One no longer physically occupied by a shatteringly talented icon.
This was our mesmerizing introduction to Whitney in 1985. Whitney showcases in bewildering fashion what’s commonly termed her head voice and falsetto voice. As prominent are her spirit and fire and magnetism that leave the studio smoldering:
You knew what you were hearing and seeing was special. Really special. Transcendent. It’s why I remember where I was the first time I heard Whitney on the radio (Sally Sage McAlpin dorm room G-9, standing at the desk). I remember where I was the first time I knew she had catapulted to superstardom status (Belle Isle home living room, stopping in tracks hearing “I’ll Always Love You” the first time). And I remember where I was when news came I didn’t want to hear at all, and the sick feeling I got when station after station after station was playing her music.
Artists serve vital functions in our culture. Every culture. We pulled elder opera singers out of retirement after 9-11 to cope–and we don’t even listen to opera in this country. We had Nobel Laureates read poems to help inaugurate presidents. Music escorts us at the funeral, the wedding, the birthday and the new year. From the beginning we have painted caves and our bodies. We have chanted, danced, and ritualized the sensation that is the human experience. Art is more than art. Music is more than strings of notes. And singers like Whitney are more than voices. They are mystical entities. They change the biochemistry, brains and experiences of listeners without food or medicine or physical intervention. They mediate something. And it’s big and important. And when they go, some primal part of us fears terribly–and rightly–that it too has died.
Black American music is unique among the arts. Its humanity translates and travels breaching all cultural boundaries unlike any other art form with resonance around the world. It’s accessible to all. Its beauty is broadly perceivable by the most diverse human population. It may be the most commercial sound in human history. And at its shining best, it’s Whitney.
The most perfect video I’ve seen in the business:
*Artist likely to receive a Grammy tonight.
I may have done it recently. Japanese culture values the public bath (銭湯) and onsen or hot springs (温泉). Both are communal nude baths, something culturally observed to break down communication barriers and raise bonding.
Recent Comments