Statement on the death of Whitney Houston
February 12, 2012
I mourn the death of Whitney Houston, whom I adored. Her incomparable voice, which influenced almost every R&B and pop singer worldwide, her stage presence, which no one can touch, and her beauty, tough and sweet, moved me. Whitney … Whitney … was put back onstage before she was ready to perform – by the colossal pig Clive Davis – who continued his party in the same hotel where she died and where her body still lay. Heresy.
Whitney should have been allowed to study for a minimum of two years with a voice therapist/teacher before even rehearsing, let alone performing, onstage. It is a gigantic jump to go from not performing to performing – and a much larger one to go from not performing and living a life without discipline, the leisure life, in particular, to performing.
What was she put onstage as? A lesson that “drugs kill”? “Hey wanna see a crack ho sing?” Courtesy of Clive Davis. “Wow, man, that will be some freaky shit, right?” “You bet, man.”
Great. Now Mr. Davis will be able to package her death in frills and sell it big time – even during the nadir of record sales. (Sony and iTunes have already begun selling the back catalogue at exceedingly high prices, hours after her death, possibly minutes). And Clive and Sony will say, “Even though we do not hope to even break even with this uncompromising tribute to Whitney Houston, we feel, personally, that it is her due, as the foremost singer ever on our labels, and as lovely girl she always was to us.” Etc, etc, puke puke puke.
Mr. Davis thought nothing of keeping her up onstage while she received humiliating reviews and she represented DOPEFIEND LOSER of THE WAR ON DRUGS. He probably said, “Ignore those jealous fools, dear; the more you sing, the more you’ll begin to really sing.” Pure entertainment for the folks that know better.
And the press will make more correlations between death days and birthdays and dead dopefiend performers and pour more gasoline on her body. Another party where she was close by but unreachable.
I feel deep sorrow for Whitney. I feel no sorrow for anyone else other than her family and those who still loved her.
And a deep loathing for those who ran her into the ground. Sure, one was Bobby Brown, but he is a common idiot.
The bigger picture?
Think a minute.