Whitney Houston performed in Brisbane last night. Although, if you read the reviews or listen to anyone who went to the show, you might be forgiven for thinking that she actually punched everyone right in the kidneys and killed their dog. Vicious, hateful vitriol spewed forth from the internet and talkback radio today at a rate only seen since the last Schoolies Week.
But I think ultimately everyone is being a bit unfair on old Whitney. I think what’s happened here is that everybody went in to the concert with a certain expectation which is actually wrong to have in the first place. They thought they were going along to see a diva perform some songs. That’s not the show they bought tickets for.
They saw a MASSIVE DRUG ADDICT perform some songs.

Seriously, the mountain of chemical substances between Bodyguard-era Whitney and today would make Hunter S. Thompson whistle and say “that’s a lot of drugs”. Houston was like a specially designed drug hoover for nearly a decade. She went so far off the rails the people she met had never heard of trains.
And therefore, judging her by that criteria, she actually did pretty damn well. Sure she was breathless, couldn’t hit certain notes, and frequently appeared disoriented. But you take some speed freak you find in the Valley and put them up on stage and they’re just going to scream and soil themselves. And while that could be entertaining, it’s no Greatest Love of All.
And yes, she may have forgotten several of her band member’s names. And that was probably embarrassing for them. But most junkies couldn’t remember their own names, let alone the names of their friends or loved ones, and they sure as shit aren’t going to remember the names of several employees they met a week ago for fit-out rehersals.
And, I will grant you, she did take several LONG breaks during the show, ostensibly to change costumes, but more likely to be injected with more of the stuff that prevents her skin from sloughing off in great waves. However most serious drug fiends wouldn’t even bother leaving. They’d just start convulsing and shitting themselves right there under the centre-front spotlight. The audience are complaining about her missing notes when they should be glad the first three rows weren’t covered in excrement stinking of mescaline and fear.

So lay off Whitney. She did her best. And just think- if she’s this bad NOW imagine what she’ll be like by the END of the tour. You’ve actually probably seen her best show of the Australian leg. And you weren’t stabbed for stash money, so you’re a winner out of this deal.



















