Notes From The Emergency Ward

In 1997 I listened to Bjork as she outlined the previous five years of her career - from 'Debut' and 'Post' to the more reflective 'Homogenic'. She had sold many records but the human purchase had been severe. There were spats at airports, stalkers, a letter bomb and finally the suicide of a misguided fan. The only way she could manage this plus the promotional schedules and media scrutiny was to pitch herself into a sustained "state of emergency".

That was five years of adrenalin and self-administered fever. She had once been a carefree, spontaneous soul, conditioned by anarchism. Now here she was, unhappily manic and co-opted into the music biz. So in 1997, she was starting to steer herself away from the mainstream, not wanting to be consumed so utterly.

So what must Whitney Houston have gone though? She had been succoured in music as a child and schooled in the great traditions of gospel and soul. Her mother Cissy had been party to many legendary recordings, likewise with cousin Dionne Warwick and godmother Aretha. And with record boss Clive Davis, she had the protection of a proper music man.

But her success had been so exponentially huge that there were no signposts out there. The Eighties were about the brand, the visuals and the market penetration. Whitney delivered the voice, the looks and the application. Records sold: 170 million. Emotional distress: incalculable.

A few musicians have been able to live with this intensity. But for many there's a whiplash effect some time afterwards. It might become manifested in drugs or some related kind of over indulgence. Becoming famous needs a fixity of purpose, huge resources of discipline. But in the post-traumatic period, the going can become inversely messy and the record sales taper off. Which may put the lifestyle into a more horrendous tailspin.

That seems to be the essential curve of the Whitney story. Amazing commercial results but a G-force that couldn't be humanly sustained. Tragic, of course.