HOUSTON, WE HAD A REAL PROBLEM

"We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them."

-- Albert Einstein:

Deep in the hearts of many of the community’s members -- if we were really, truly honest with ourselves -- we knew this wasn’t going to end well.  Sudden death (absent of a sporting event) rarely does. No matter how many examples of this Shakespearean cycle we witness you never get used to the heartbreaking headlines:

Whitney Houston dead at 48.

Back in 2000, I read an article in Savoy Magazine that begged, almost pleaded with Whitney to get back to the place that made her a mainstream, household name and leave the arm pits of Newark, New Jersey in her life’s rearview. I find it ironic that mainstream believes that it’s the solution and not a huge part of the problem. Clearly a debate for a less somber time.  One of the more memorable quotes from the Savoy article went as follows: “Whitney, we love you but you are starting to act like the cousin no one wants to invite to the family cookout.”  A couple of years later, Being Bobby Brown made its Bravo television debut – or as some might bookmark, the beginning of the ending. 

If being Bobby or Whitney wasn’t distressing enough, adding television footage probably illuminated the CHECK ENGINE light.   I watched Being Bobby Brown, not because I like reality shows or Bobby or Whitney. I watched for the same reason Dave Chappelle quit – I just wasn’t sure why I was laughing anymore.     

In life, one’s career can easily be confused with WHO we are instead of WHAT we do. When you walk through the inner city streets that raised you, you’ll find yourself skipping to the choruses of: “That’s little Johnny, he works for UPS.” Or “That is Ms. Sharon’s kid, Rachael, she’s an executive at IBM” or “That’s Barack, he’s OUR president.” In the ‘hood that blurry idolatry is cemented on your life’s resume with very little room to wiggle.  It’s a badge that stays on long after the uniform doesn’t fit anymore – many wonder if it ever did. There are so many unspoken dynamics that make-up the 8 million stories in a ghetto like Newark – and most are too difficult to explain.  Muddled in that fact is an audience of millions far more concerned with what we do verses the horrific, viral inspirations that led us to do it. The price of that duality can be costly, sometimes deadly. Obviously.


Honestly, outside of Whitney’s sultry, angelic voice there wasn’t anything remotely “mainstream” about her.  It was funny catching a glimpse…, like in her less than mainstream single: “My Name is Not Susan.” Lyrically, Houston confronts a partner for uttering an ex’s name during sex.  We all breathed a sigh of relief when that “beef” stayed in the studio. There were also the less subtle revelations into Whitney’s upbringing.  One came in the form of a late-night interview with then-host Arsenio Hall. Hall asked Whitney: “Do you think Bobby will have a problem with you starring in a love scene with Kevin Costner?”


Whitney sharply replied; “Nah, just as long as he doesn’t try to stick his tongue down my throat!”  Those unfamiliar with the 201 area code gasped in astonishment.., everyone else felt reassured, almost relieved, that despite the TV and movie screen presentation Whitney wasn’t all that removed from the 'hood. 

Or as Biggie -- another victim of the streets -- once preached “if you don’t know, now you know.”

There were other more revealing interviews like the one with Diane Sawyer, which had the drug dealers questioning their mode of operation. Through it all, if you were paying attention, Houston always found a way to remind us of the paradox of loyalty.  You name it: child custody battles, public court appearances or slap boxing with old edition Bobby Brown -- in Newark, that's called Monday.  This R&B couple became the poster parents for a 12-step program and you couldn’t help but pray for the reproductive steps that Bobbi Kristina seemed destined to inherit.

Despite the many years of pushy public relations people; hours of A&R laborers, hair sessions of industry-styled weaves and wigs, Whitney was and always has been – for better or worse -- that chick from Newark, New Jersey.

Newark is a tunnel ride from Manhattan’s fashion frenzy fanfare in New York City but it is centuries away from anything remotely fashionable.  Newark is home to the most notorious, drug-infested, crime-riddled communities in this nation, any nation. Many boys and girls use basketball as an escape mechanism, but the New Jersey Nets said, fuck this, we’ll leave.  

Being a rugged resident like a Whitney Houston is the sort of rep that often affords an inner city dweller “diplomatic immunity”.  The rough exterior allows one to riffle through the streets with minimal collateral damage, almost like a bullet proof vest fitted for your inevitable character assassination.  You can really see it when you peep through the iron gates to watch a Rucker Park legend or if you stand in an apartment window watching the corner drug dealer.  It’s almost like a bible verse; you may not always understand it, but it’s necessary if you are plotting an escape.

The scripted bios of the hoop legends and drug dealers tend to intoxicate the young, wanna-bees that are mad at “The System", or mad at “The Man” or just mad!! Sometimes the anger fuels the success and while the community celebrates, mainstream counts the “wins” with a gold statue or concrete star. Take the Grand Master Flash & the Furious Five Rock and Roll induction; or a CSI investigation led by criminal Queens resident LL Cool J.  Even TBS gets an occasional Ice Cube for their Ice T.  It’s funny, sometimes in the ‘hood, even the wins feel like losses to the community that never changes.

Whatever the outcome, the ‘hood stream-to-mainstream story always starts the same.  An industry insider is willing to pluck a rare, talented jewel from their community and roll the dice or bet on black that true talent will triumph the toxic traits that plague the streets that bred them.  It’s a dynamic that has eluded the most-seasoned psychologists, who only tallies the mainstream wins.

I’ve seen published reports that rejoice in the fact that Whitney Houston’s illustrious voice has scanned more than 170 million copies worldwide. I’d be very curious how many of those people ever spent one night in Newark? 
Or how many understood that the fatal fact Whitney never left.  

 1 love,

Ray Lewis