​I don't know how I learned that Whitney Houston's birthday was August 9th when I was little, but I'm sure my obsession with her lead to that revelation. I was so infatuated with her, that I'd get in trouble at school for writing her name on my textbooks and talking about her during tutoring sessions. Such minor infractions, right? The teacher in question used to shade me a lot in class too; she clearly had a vendetta, haha. Anyway, I'd always brag to people that Whitney's birthday was the day before mine. In my mind, that made us connected in a special way.
 
To celebrate Whitney's life and discography today, here's a lovely photo motion video below from Brandon Wiggins and Houston aficionado Jamaal D. Pittman. Pittman hilariously voiced Houston in the divalicious web-series, Got to Be Real. Houston would have been 54.
 
#WhitneyForever 

The morning of April 21, 2016, I was in a pretty sunny mood. I'd been on the phone, joking with some  friends about what the upcoming Beyoncé Lemonade HBO special could be. I didn't know what my queen diva was up to, but I was anxious to find out. I got ready to text something silly, when "RIP Prince" came up on my phone screen. I can't recall if I replied or not, but I took a deep, exasperated breath. I said, "No. Not again, not him, not today, no," in a firm tone, as if I was chastising the universe, God, the Grim Reaper, what and whoever was making the decision to continually rip my precious artisans from me. I received another text: something to the effect of "Tell me Prince isn't dead and some other mishap is going on." At the outset, most reputable sources reported there was an unresponsive person at Prince's studio complex, Paisley Park. I thought "Okay, well, it doesn't have to be him. It doesn't have to be that anyone's dead at all," but this was a happening all too familiar. I knew how things were going to pan out. It was going to be him and he was going to be dead. Yes. Yes again, yes him, yes today. Someone had to break my little music heart again.
 
Actress Carrie Fisher (who we lost 8 months later) was quoted as saying "Take your broken heart, make it into art." When you're a writer who's a lover of music, your first impulse in these scenarios is to do just that, but I couldn't. I was steeped in anger, frustration and the doldrums. After repeated attempts to write a memoriam, only the following sentences came naturally:
 
                "I'm tired of this; sick of it, really. I'm completely tapped out on waking up and going about my day, only to be shattered by the sudden news that yet another precious figure of my life and/or childhood is irreversibly gone. Dead. Never to hit the stage or sing a note again. The last time I saw or heard from them etched in my psyche. My memories, no matter how happy or wonderful, to forever end in a sigh. That awful, incessant feeling of shakiness coming over me because I got a cold, hard reminder that I could lose anything or anyone at any given moment. I'm tired of there being a situation where I have to somehow muster words and phrases to encapsulate someone's significance to me--a frankly impossible task in which I'd be scratching the surface at best. So, here I am, exhaustedly sad before you again, to scratch the surface. 'His Purple Majesty, Royal Badness,' Prince Nelson Rogers, needs to be commemorated. I'm not sure where to start, so I guess I'll go with the beginning."
 
The plan was to tell the story of how I came to love Prince, but reminiscing felt contrived. I thought maybe going "off the cuff" would be a better angle, but my innate reflections were too bitter and did a disservice to my remembrances. I just wasn't ready. I decided I'd try again for his birthday, June 7th. Less than 2 months later? Who was I kidding?! Surely, I could etch something by the first anniversary, right? Needless to say, April 2017 came and went. I felt it would be disrespectful  to let the year pass without a tribute, so I told myself that no matter what, I'd rip the band-aid off and take (brief) breaks when I needed to. On Day 1, as I did previously, I stared at a blank Microsoft Word canvas unsure of where to start. After an hour of that, I conceded to taking the leap with my original idea: coming from the beginning.

Prince is one of a handful of artists my musician father has on his "Holy Grail" list. He's such a fan, he even owns Prince's critically-panned film, Under the Cherry Moon on DVD. My mother had "The Purple One" on a list too: "People My Kid isn't Allowed to Listen to." Of course, things fell through the cracks, and mother had her approved selections, like "Diamonds & Pearls," and "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World." My personal reaction to him was mixed. Being a child that rarely disagreed with my parent's judgment calls, I understood my mother's aversion to him in my space: he seemed to have no couth. That tongue was always wagging, those booty-cheeks were always out, and it was like he never had a shirt on, haha. I thought he was kind of gross. When he was at war with the Warner Bros. label and painted "Slave" on his face in the early 90's, I thought he was pulling a melodramatic stunt (despite me not grasping the particulars). At the same time, however, there was a magnetism...an intrigue. His brooding idiosyncrasy and mysteriousness came off to me as jerk-ish, but also as the mark of a genius. They say the line between genius and madness is thin. Also, as I hinted earlier, my father was/is very restrained in his admiration of and compliments to other artists (he refutes this, but I digress, haha). So,  I knew Prince must've had a gift to enthrall him. Dad would watch and listen to Prince so intently; air drumming and fluttering his fingers like he was at his piano, I could see him processing Prince's work. Till' this day, he has pure joy on his face when he practices covers, especially for "Pop Life." Rehearsal joy doesn't always occur in the world of event performing. These were indicators that there was more to Prince than what met the eye, and musicianship was one of them. A spiel on that in a bit.

Every year on or around January 16th and August 25th, I usually do something to commemorate the life of R&B singer Aaliyah, who died in a plane crash in 2001. Since I’ve had this blog, I’ve written tribute pieces, trying to describe and relay to my audience why Aaliyah was so important to music, to me and why losing her still impacts me to this day, but it seems there are never enough words to fully convey it. For those who adore and appreciate her as I do, I need not explain, but there are many who the significance is lost upon (for various reasons). These people were once again mystified when there was such a strong reaction to news of the production and casting of an Aaliyah biopic on the Lifetime network.

For years, there were stirrings that some form of a film was in the making. Fans were split about whether or not a movie should happen. Some were flat-out against the idea, saying “let her rest.” Others formed their opinion based on how Aaliyah’s family felt (the latest statement was given by Aaliyah’s cousin and record label associate, Jomo Hankerson, who said the desire was for a major studio release, not a TV movie). The remaining portion of her followers were adamant about seeing Aaliyah’s story onscreen, but only if it was done “right:” a non-salacious and quality script, brilliant actors with close-enough likeness and involvement with her family and/or close friends, like her primary creative partners, Missy Elliott and Timothy “Timbaland” Mosley. A similar reactionary effect would occur anytime there were rumors of posthumous music. Hankerson ceased development of an alleged duet album produced by Drake and Noah “40” Shebib that would pair Aaliyah’s unreleased vocals with various artists after a backlash from fans and disapproval from her immediate family. Despite Drake making his adulation for Aaliyah extraordinarily known, fans just weren’t comfortable with anyone touching her music but Elliott and Mosley. To put it lightly, there was a less-than-enthusiastic response in June to 17-year-old Disney star Zendaya Coleman being cast as Aaliyah for the Lifetime project, with complaints that she may not have the acting chops, didn’t resemble Aaliyah enough and wasn’t the proper race even (Coleman is half black and half white). Let me just say, though I didn’t think Coleman was the best fit, she is a very talented young lady and claiming that she isn’t “black enough” because of part of her lineage and sending her hate messages is divisive, ignorant and cruel. Now, back to our regularly scheduled program…showing how guarding of the Aaliyah brand Zendaya is herself as a fellow devotee, she pulled out of the film, stating “…the production value wasn’t there, there were complications with the music rights, and I just felt like it wasn’t being handled delicately considering the situation…I tried my best to reach out to the family on my own and I wrote a letter, but I was unable to do so, therefore, I felt not really morally okay with moving forward with the project.”

Why is it all such a big deal? Why are we so protective when it comes to all things Aaliyah? We have different ideas on how things should be handled posthumously, but it’s all for the same reason. It’s because her story is unfinished. We got 2 fantastic albums that left us terribly yearning for another. When Aaliyah took a hiatus to reportedly finish school (she was really a teenager, huh?), many begged “When are you coming back?!” There was so much excitement about the things to come (which included a budding acting career) once there was buzz she had returned to the studio. We were eager to be reunited with our princess, our “cool older sister,” our BFF in our heads. We were granted with a simply timeless self-titled record after 5 years in July 2001, but just 39 days later, Aaliyah died. She was only 22….22. Her style and musical contributions to the history of R&B are indelible and iconized (a little more on that in a moment), but there’s a heartbreaking sense of unfulfillment because we knew the carving in the wood would’ve been driven even deeper. That’s why there are dozens of articles from magazines and blogs hypothesizing how our musical lives would’ve changed or been enhanced had she lived. In “Rock&Rant: Hip-Hop Killed R&B,” I suggested that R&B lost its identity while meshing with hip-hop.  Considering that Aaliyah was 1 of the pioneering figures in R&B’s hip-hop merger, could the influence of her ever-novel work with Missy and Timbaland have kept the genre from going off-course? We knew what she was, we knew what we had and we wanted the world outside of our own to see it, and since Aaliyah is not here to execute that dream, we circumspectly appraise anyone (or anything) that attempts to do it for her. We don’t want her narrative and definition to be altered or presented in a way that is not true to her essence.

News broke today that Robin Williams, the beloved and acclaimed Oscar-winning actor, died at age 63 of an apparent suicide. He reportedly suffered a long battle with depression.

As I stated on social media when I heard the news, I am utterly devastated. Another emblem of my childhood is gone. I have so many fond memories surrounding his work. My mind is spinning now with all the flashes of make-believe, wonder, joy and laughter my youth was infused with thanks to him. My brother and I were completely and giddily enamored with alien Mork of Mork and Mindy, religiously staying up late to catch the 1970’s series on Nick at Nite and throwing our parents off with the catchphrase “Nanu, nanu.” We so enjoyed the sarcasm and personality of the Genie; it made him almost cooler than Aladdin in our book. We made a recreation of the Jumanji game-board and just KNEW that we’d get the same time-traveling, living circus results and that if we just closed our eyes and concentrated hard enough, we could fly (Hook); evading the tumbles of growing up was just outside the window into the night sky. I never saw Death to Smoochy, but every time something broke down, died or fried, I’d say that; till this day I do. Williams brought such engaging life and a glow to his characters, that you forgot that they were characters. Could the guy at the One Hour Photo be plotting to stalk me? When and if I get engaged, pre-marital counseling is a must (Licensed to Wed). Even now, my mom avoids Mrs. Doubtfire because it makes her angry at Sally Field, whom she loves. “She (Field’s character, Miranda) is unfairly keeping him (Williams’ character, Daniel) from his children! Why didn’t she speak up in that courtroom?! He loves those children! I hate this movie because they still divorce at the end! Clearly, if he went to such great lengths to see his children, he’s not that bad of a father! I don’t like her in this movie! Nor Pierce Brosnan!” Mrs. Doubtfire is hands-down my favorite Robin Williams film. It’s so heartwarming and hilarious, but I don’t have to tell you that. My brother and I would throw fruit just so we can say “run by fruity!” I know Matthew Lawrence, the Heimlich maneuver, “Matchmaker, Matchmaker,” “Figaro” and Aerosmith’s “Dude Looks like a Lady” because of that film. When my mom would tell me to clean up? “I don’t do windows, I don’t do dishes…” Of course, I’d get a bad look for that and end up doing my chores anyway. Whenever I need a quick word or name, like when telemarketers call and want to know whose household it is if it isn’t who they intended to reach, I look at a newspaper and pick a word.

When I saw him last on television, I believe it was to promote The Crazy Ones with Sarah Michelle Gellar, I thought “he’s never going to not be funny. He’s perfection.”

Having studied psychology and struggled with depression myself, deaths of this nature always make my heart sink further and break a little more because I understand the hell that people who suffer with it go through just to have a “good” or “okay” day. I know what the hopelessness, desolation and despair when one contemplates suicide feels like. Depression comes in and dictates your life. I get so angry, thinking “Darn you, depression. You won again.” In 2012, I wrote “Suicidal & Judged” to help people get a better understanding of suicide ideation, as there are many misconceptions and false assumptions.

In the statement released by Williams’ wife, Susan Schneider, she appeals “As he is remembered, it is our hope the focus will not be on Robin's death, but on the countless moments of joy and laughter he gave to millions." This approach is probably best, because the memories are what death cannot touch. I’m thankful that I was exposed to the craft of Robin Williams, that he shared his gift with us and I have plenty of “happy thoughts” to “fly” to forever.

“He broke the mold when He made me. He made me very special.”-Mrs. Doubtfire (1993) 

By Jamaal D. Pittman, contributing writer

If you were around during the 80s and 90s, you would be hard-pressed to name a Whitney Houston hit that wasn’t associated with a life memory. She not only possessed a once-in-a-lifetime voice, but her songs are unforgettable and a part of the soundtrack of our lives. Whitney was exceptionally beautiful, poised and confident; part of a generation of pure talent who didn’t need flashy lights and intricate choreography to keep you transfixed. Her mezzo-soprano voice, impeccable stage presence and strong catalog of hits did all of her heavy lifting. If there was ever a gold standard for what a diva was supposed to be, Whitney Houston was it.

I wasn’t just your average fan. Long before Eminem coined the moniker, I was a Whitney “stan” and proud of it. From the time I was in middle school, I was a walking human encyclopedia of all things Whitney. I could easily rattle off her Billboard chart history and list of awards. I knew the lyrics of little-known album cuts like “Love is a Contact Sport” and “Thinking About You” just as well as classics like “I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)” and “I Will Always Love You.” It was nothing for me to throw in random Whitney-isms while singing along to other people’s songs, complete with her signature register changes, lightning-fast runs and “My Lord’s.” I even portrayed her on the hit web-series Got 2B Real. Musically speaking, she was and continues to be my everything. In this contest, there is no second-place prize.

Her legacy is undeniable. Every female singer who hit the scene after her was labeled the “next Whitney Houston,” and as much as it was an honor in a sense, these bold proclamations also annoyed and perplexed me. Sure, on one hand the comparisons reminded us that she was the benchmark, but on the other, they seemed to take her inimitable gifts for granted, suggesting that it wouldn’t take much for another of her kind to emerge. The irony of this—and one of the things that made her so special—is the fact that she was never trying to be the next anyone. She simply wanted to sing and touch people’s lives with her music and she did it better than anyone who ever stood behind a microphone.

So, the devastation I felt on the night she passed was undeniable and inescapable. Looking at the scrolling news tickers on the cable news networks, I couldn’t accept the finality of the end date affixed to the timeline of her incredible life. The fact that the words “Whitney Houston” and “dead” appeared side-by-side seemed like a cruel joke, especially as she had just wrapped production on the film Sparkle and was gearing up for a major comeback. 
Her death absolutely gutted me. A full year later, it still hurts. In a 1988 hit, she asked us a hauntingly enigmatic question: Where do broken hearts go? Just about every day since February 11, 2012, I’ve wished like hell that I had the answer. But I am certain of a few things: She is missed. She is loved. And she will never be forgotten as one of the greatest singers the world has ever known. 

May she rest in peace.

When it comes to Whitney's music, most refer to her classic and effortlessly sung ballads. I do as well, but my all-time personal favorites, the ones attached to cherished moments and feelings in my life, are the ones that brought the funk and edge. Yes, Whitney has funk and edge in her catalog. Below are 9 of my hand-picked cuts and why I adore them so much. As I felt with the passing of Michael Jackson, I felt I lost a piece of my childhood when Whitney died. It all seems like a bad dream that shouldn't be a reality. I always shake my head when thought that she's gone comes to me. It just doesn't seem right. When I saw Yolanda Adams performing "Count On Me" with CeCe Winans at the Grammy's tribute special, "We Will Always Love You" in 2012, it really hit home. Just to hear someone else in her place for that duet...it broke my heart, to say the least. It's all still so hard to accept and I don't know if I ever will. Please continue to keep her family and friends in your thoughts and prayers, as well as all of our other beloved entertainers who have to cope with everyday-life struggles under the lights.

Below is a gallery of some my favorite Aaliyah photos. Share your favorite photos by either commenting on this article & including a link, OR by posting a photo on the JSaysOnline Facebook wall. Also, feel free to comment here to share your memories or list your favorite songs. My favorite album is the last self-titled one, and my favorite song-HANDS DOWN- is "I Don't Wanna" (soundtrack single). It always makes me smile and I can listen to it over and over. See last year's tribute here.