Whitney Houston was the first cassette tape my uncle bought along with a brand new player back in 1985. And while listening to “Saving All My Love” at the age of 10 was when I first really understood unrequited love and loss.
This isn’t about a post about memorializing celebrities, burnouts and addicts. It isn’t even about fame and addiction. It notes the talent and beauty of one female 80s musician, and her songs and videos that were so much a part of some of us growing up. We had our Depeche Mode, Madonna, Thomas Dolby, Wham! and all the pop and New Wave you can(not) handle, but we had Whitney Houston and it made all the difference. I can assure you that Lady Gaga and M.I.A. will not make as lasting an impression on today’s teenagers as Whitney and Madonna made on us. Maybe Adele, maybe.
Yet, it’s sad how some of the same folks who don’t care for Whitney Houston’s downward spiral and untimely death because they “don’t mourn junkies” consider a trip to Graceland a must-do. Elvis sank and died in a very similar fashion, you know.
