Whitney Houston’s music filled my childhood. What grade school choir didn’t belt out “The Greatest Love of All?” What group of little girls didn’t bounce around with joy to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody?” Who can forget watching her sing the national anthem at the Super Bowl, a standard no one has since topped?
There’s never been a pop star with a voice as beautiful.
Perhaps this is a sign I’m getting older, but it’s hard to imagine much of today’s music appealing to such a broad audience and standing the test of time. Sorry Beyonce, your voice, your music and your impact do not compare to Whitney.
After her performance in “Waiting to Exhale,” we never saw the Whitney we knew and loved and again. It was painful to watch stories of her drug abuse and self-destruction.
The Associated Press was ready for this day, publishing a lengthy obit as news of her death broke. It’s standard practice for news organizations to have obits ready, but only in some cases. Houston’s lifestyle clearly prompted the advancer.
Houston was beautiful, talented and a part of my youth. She was also so human.