The first I heard of Whitney Houston's death was when I received an email from Blogcritics asking if I would like to write an article on her death. After performing due diligence (also known as checking Wikipedia) I confirmed that Blogcritics was not yanking my chain and that, true enough, Houston was really dead, and like any aspiring writer I decided I would write an article.
And then it dawned upon me. Like many a writer before me I had committed to penning a piece on a subject I know next to nothing about. Sure, I know the basics: Houston was a singer and actress, had a history of substance abuse, and was once married to Bobby Brown (which I discovered after I inadvertently purchased his single 'My Prerogative' as a teenager – honest). But, in all truth, the first thing that jumps into mind when I hear the name Whitney Houston is Tim Minchin's pastiche of 'I Will Always Love You' in his song 'Confessions' when he sings 'I will always love boobs.'
I will venture a hypothesis, however. Even among the majority of individuals whose appreciation of Houston's oeuvre greatly surpasses my own Whitney Houston's death is, ultimately, meaningless. Subjectively speaking Houston means nothing to me. Her death is sad in precisely the same way as the death of any middle-aged woman whom I have no relationship with is sad. Tomorrow, and the day after that, I will – hopefully – wake up and my life will be none the poorer for her death. Of course, that has nothing to do with any deficit on Houston's part. There will be hundreds of deaths in the next few days of people whom are, subjectively, nobody to me.
For all the column inches that will be written – and you can be sure there will be a hastily written 'memoir' hitting the bookshops soon and some 'best of' releases gracing the digital download stores in optimum visibility for visitors – I did not, do not, and never will in any real sense know Whitney Houston, or the legion of celebrities who will in coming months continue to vie for public attention. That brute fact is I hope clear. So, given this absence of actually knowing the deceased I have one simple question: 'why the hell does it matter?' I mean that seriously.
Article comments
1 - Richard
Thank you for penning this... I am sure there are thousands upon thousands of people that feel the same way as you and I. Death is not nice thing, but is inevitable, The fact it occurs as you rightly points out to many people every week, day, minute doesn't bother the masses.
What I believe you're article highlights, is the masses obsession with celebrity, but that is another debate altogether and well debated it has been.
2 - Richard
damn my spelling and grammar is poor
3 - Igor
I'm indifferent to Houston. She seemed like just one in a long line of gospel belters who commercialized their heritage for money, most of which went to handlers and managers who kept her hooked on drugs so she'd passively put up with exploitation. Very sad, but that doesn't improve her music which seemed ordinary to me.
4 - Casper
And yet, here I find myself having written an article on this very same subject. Hypocrisy?
5 - XtianZzyzx
The sad thing is that people say the media exploded on the subject because she was a musical "treasure." Her music was mediocre at best and yet musicians like Ronnie James Dio- Of Black Sabbath and Rainbow Fame- who died in 2010 didn't get any media mention and he had a much greater impact on the music industry. People who say those things, THEy are hypocrits.
6 - XtianZzyzx
Sorry for spelling and grammatical errors. I'm tired. haha