There's A Boy I Know, He's The One I Dream Of...

One of the few music genres that I can not embrace is Overwrought Female Ballads, a style of music that has tortured me for more than a 2 decades. Clive Davis- the music executive who discovered Whitney Houston (God bless her), apparently coached her world class, glorious gospel voice, to belt out every song at maximum volume, stretching out every note to the point of torture, trilling up & down the scale for a few minutes before finishing a phrase. Houston’s success paved the way for the frightening Maria Carey, Christina Aguilera, & an untold number of American Idol contestants.

There are few songs that put me on edge like I Will Always Love You, Houston’s monstrous, inescapable hit. When it was receiving unending air play, the Houston version made me noxious. The song, as written & performed by Dolly Parton, is subtle & touching. Houston sucked the emotion out of it.

I hold up another gifted singer with a substance abuse problem who died in the past year- Amy Winehouse. Her instrument, her recordings & the production values sent me over the moon.

Yesterday morning, The Husband tossed off: "They are running a lot of stories about Whitney Houston on the news. Did she die or something?" Stephen: " No, she has been making the rounds, & think there is some sort of comeback going on." I was wrong, but I was right. Whitney's Greatest Hits is #1 on Itunes this morning. She will have a comeback of sorts. Newly deceased artists always sell well. The irony is not lost.

I do have a Whitney Houston Anecdote: Winter of 1986, Reagan was the President, AIDS was snatching away someone I knew every week, & The Challenger Space Shuttle had exploded while I was watching the lift off on TV. I flew from Seattle to LA to visit my 2 college buddies. Stephen B (now Father Stephen B & a resident at the Vatican) picked me up at LAX & whisked me to West Hollywood for lunch & shopping. We avoided the freeways, taking surface streets at my request. Stephen was driving a little red  sports car with the top down. Only a few hours before, I was in dreary, dank Seattle & now it was 80 & sunny & I was flying along with a very attractive man in a sexy little car with the radio blaring: "There's a boy I know, he's the one I dream of. Looks into my eyes, takes me to the clouds above. I lose control, can't seem to get enough.When I wake from dreaming, tell me is it really love?"

Within the first chorus, the pair of Stephens were singing along & gesturing to the new pop song. It was a prefect day in a very imperfect life. I think of that day & those few minutes of uncensored joy & the unfettered lightness of an easy friendship, while the bright, warm California sunlight bounced around the hot little red convertible, as the 2 Stephens sang & smiled. 25 years later, we are both still alive & living lives that never would have been presumed that afternoon. My Whitney Moment.