A barely-lit, slowly burning ember went out tonight . . . R.I.P. Whitney Houston - we will always love you . . .
I was a Private in the 82d Airborne when Whitney Houston exploded onto the scene. She was practically born into greatness; the daughter of gospel singer Cissy Houston, cousin of 1960s diva Dionne Warwick and goddaughter of soul singer Aretha Franklin. It didn't matter if you were into the black music - we called it boots in the dryer - or if you were a rocker - the soul brothers derided our music: "Ten thousand squealing guitars" -
It didn't matter - EVERYBODY listened to her: this girl had a set of pipes and she could WAIL.
We connected, on an almost astral level, she & I. It's a personal, private story - all I can say is Life DOES imitate Art . . .
We miss who you were, Whitney, before the lifestyle and the drugs took you down. Nothing beautiful lasts forever, but your hot spark burned too bright, too fast, and in the end your spark burned out too soon and you crashed to earth too fast, too hard. You're in a better place now - up there in Heaven with Janice, and Jimi, and Jim Morrison, and Elvis, and Teena Marie, and of course the late, great James Brown.
Sayonara . . .