Mourning a diva

OPINION

BY CLYDE MCKENZIE

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

AS I pondered the implications of what has been alliteratively referred to as the 'Death of a Diva', I could not help but reflect on Ernest Hemingway's morose musing on mortality summed up in his succinct observation "all true stories end in death".

As if to underscore the veracity of his analysis, Hemingway brought his own story to an explosive and tragic end. Yet, despite incontrovertible evidence to the contrary, we still cling to the vain hope that through fame and fortune we can escape the mortal clutches of the inevitable. It is this quest for immortality which perhaps explains our utter devastation at the untimely passing of the superlatively gifted Whitney Houston. After all, if Houston with her phenomenal gifts and fabulous fame was unable to stall the advance of the Grim Reaper what chance do we have in eluding his suffocating embrace?

Yet, as we mourn the loss of what must certainly be one of the most sublime vocal talents in human history, we should strive to extract the essence of what lessons her life might yet provide. From Ms Houston's stellar but troubled life, we learn that fame can be addictive and that those who seek to find permanent happiness through chemical intervention often end their days still in search of the elusive state. It is not ironic that many of those in relentless pursuit of this elusive condition are those who engage in artistic endeavours. Art, after all, is about making the transient permanent. We seek to capture those experiences we value most and immortalise them through our art.

Whitney Houston and other supremely gifted practitioners of her craft who would have attained immortality through their works might well have harboured the vain notion that through some supposedly magical powder or ingeniously concocted potion they could infuse perpetual happiness in their souls. Houston would not have been singular in her belief that perpetual happiness would be her lot if only she could tweak the workings of her consciousness nor was she alone in the painful realisation that this state of perpetual euphoria could not be attained through artificial means.

Many now, in mourning and sack cloth are wondering how could this tragedy have been averted? Did no one see this coming? Sadly, there were many who saw this slow motion train wreck but would do nothing for fear of undermining their own welfare. Doctors and other respectable health professionals are not immune to the guiles and solicitations of their wily and resourceful clients. They too sometimes deem it impolitic and professionally suicidal to confront their clients with the plain bald truth as artistes are wont to banish the bearers of bad news to the nether reaches of obscurity. Inevitably the desire for perpetual happiness is supplanted by the sheer force of reality. February 12, 2012, will go down as a day in history when the yen for fantasy was once again crushed by the relentless power of reality.

Yet those of us who continue to enjoy this gift of life will take solace in the march of progress hoping that the advances in stem cell technology and other scientific marvels will not only undo the ravages of injury but forestall the advances of death. Those of us

fortunate to be classified among the living and breathing will continue to yearn for that day when death will be no more for as Alexander Pope wisely observed, "hope springs eternal from the breast of every man." Yet it would also be wise to heed the words of the philosopher king Marcus Aurelius who warned that "all is ephemeral, fame and the famous as well".

A Child shall lead them

My fifteen-year-old son, Trimane, was obsessed with Whitney Houston since he was three years old. He would through the years harangue me with what he saw as evidence supporting his claim that Houston was the greatest vocalist ever to walk the planet. It was a point of view I studiously avoided as I am often averse to such epithets as "the greatest ever". Yet I must confess that my son in his supposedly juvenile judgement might well have been on to something. In the wake of her passing I have had a chance to critically assay her incredible displays of vocal acrobatics and must concede that this is one of the purest examples of the marvellous possibilities of the human voice in song that we may ever encounter. I was always convinced that her rendition of the Star Spangled Banner was an incredible feat of vocal dexterity and was only discussing this fact some three days before she passed with Dennis Howard who fulsomely agreed. It was a conversation I had with Big A a few days earlier. Yet it has for me assumed greater levels emotional intensity since her passing.

On this, we also agreed, Whitney was an original. She did not have to be the first to be the best. She was not the first to perform The Greatest Love, I am Every Woman nor I Will Always Love You but she certainly provided us with the most memorable renditions of these songs. In her mouth, a song took on new meaning and endless possibilities of expression. A Houston performance of a song was unlike any other we had heard ever before. She was always better. To generations, yet unborn, she will be held up as the touchstone of vocal prowess and a tragic example of human frailty.

As we mourn her passing, let us rejoice in the fact that Whitney did walk among us and despite her human failings has left the planet richer than she found it.

cpamckenzie@gmail.com

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Mourning a diva