Skip to main content

Whitney vs. Mariah

I was in Provincetown last week, which means that an important question came up: Who is the better artist, Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey?

There's an obvious answer, and it's Whitney Houston.

However, an additional question popped up: How could anyone ever begin to imagine that the answer is Mariah Carey?

And I did some thinking. Here's what I believe. If you were in the Mariah camp, you would point to greater longevity, greater experimentation, greater risk-taking, greater variety.

Fair enough. But the better artist is still Whitney Houston. Even with the tepid material she was frequently handed, she still had that voice. It's correct to point out that Mariah had one early killer album, and then the voice started to fade.

Some crucial Whitney observations: I believe you can observe growth in the trip from "Saving All My Love" to "All the Man That I Need." The early numbers--"Saving All My," "Greatest Love of All," "All at Once"--show obvious virtuosity, and yet there's something slightly unpolished at times. The mid-early career is where Whitney seems basically indomitable to me. I'm talking about "All the Man That I Need" and "Where Do Broken Hearts Go." There's a new maturity in those songs. You have the sense the voice could now do (almost) literally anything it wanted to do.

Another important observation. There is an easy way to reach nirvana pretty much anywhere, at any time, in any day. The thing to do is to go to "All the Man That I Need" and fast-forward to the bombastic climax.

Right after the gospel choir enters (because of course a choir is needed), Whitney seems to be tooling around with some new arpeggios. She gives the impression of just sort of inventing riffs as they come along. And she sings: "He gives me LOVE....More more love...more love....more love....mo-oo-oore lo-oo-oove...." And that is actually heaven on Earth. Hitting "more" on the off-beat brings to mind certain Aretha stylings. And then--to go up and down a scale (or a chord?)--on the end phrase, "more love"--? Unnecessary and totally thrilling.

That's the Mona Lisa. That's "Guernica." It's not something Mariah has ever come anywhere near to.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...