I've gone back and forth as to how – or whether – to address Whitney Houston's untimely demise last week on the eve of the GRAMMYs. On the one hand, I had a great appreciation for her talent – particularly her voice, which has been rightly hailed as one of the great instruments in the history pop music. It's also difficult to overlook her enormous success, much of which can be attributed to her relentless drive and ambition.
But, I can't claim that I was ever much of a fan. Nor did I grasp why so many people have felt so distraught for someone who hasn't been relevant – musically or otherwise – for a very long time.
But, during the GRAMMY's last week, and again today while watching the parade of stars perform and preach at Houston's funeral, it was clear that this was someone who had earned wide respect and admiration. Tony Bennett – no slouch himself – told Clive Davis she was, "the greatest singer I ever heard in my life."
And then, I read about Hedwig Berthold, 40, and Rhonda Owens, 32: two teachers who spent $600 each to fly here from Miami, even though they weren't invited to either Houston's viewing or funeral. Three years ago, they flew to California to visit Neverland and be near Michael Jackson’s memorial service.
“We have friends who say: ‘Are you guys nuts to fly there? Whitney didn’t know you, Michael didn’t know you, and you’re going to go spend money to pay your respects for someone who didn’t know you?’ ” Ms. Berthold said.
“Our relationship," she said, "is with how much we love them, how much we love their music.”
Immediately, I saw myself in Hedwig and Rhonda. Indeed, I made a similar pilgrimage over the holidays to pay respect to many of the musicians who have added so much to my own life: Beethoven, Schubert, Brahms, Bruckner, Bartok. Because, as morbid and pointless as it might seem, it was as close as I'll ever get to meeting them in person.
Such is what it means to be a fan. Such is the spell that music places on us, thrilling and enchanting us long after the musicians themselves are gone.