![]() ![]() The 1989 Grammy-winning wedding staple “Here and Now” gave him a crossover hit and became his biggest single at that point. It’s a telling sign that each album after his solo debut, “Never Too Much” (save for its 1982 follow-up, “Forever, for Always, for Love”), consciously tailored his sound to suit a wider audience without obscuring his pop-soul trademarks. But even with commercial and critical success, Vandross craved greater mainstream success beyond his large R&B following. Always a stellar live showman, he staged glitzy concerts replete with call-and-response tactics, dynamic background singers, classy choreography and bejeweled glamour. When hip-hop had a strong foothold in Black music, he amassed a consistent streak of platinum-selling albums and R&B hits that were beloved by his devoted fan base. And if his singular talents as a vocal stylist and arranger weren’t enough of a draw, he was a supreme producer and songwriter with a penchant for lushly arranged paeans to love and heartbreak.īy the ‘90s, Vandross was already a superstar. His dazzling vocal technique, typified by controlled velvety croons and shimmering runs, could make anyone swoon. His vulnerable tenor conveyed delicate sentimentality and heartfelt emotion. His approach was elegant, straightforward and conservative. Sidestepping the raunch and flashy pyrotechnics that ruled the era, Vandross embraced a yesteryear pop-soul style, recalling a halcyon period when singers were credited solely by their vocal abilities. I was Luther.”Īs soul music fell into a state of malaise after disco’s tumultuous backlash at the onset of the ‘80s, Vandross’ brand of soothing, slow-burn ballads and feel-good, uptempo grooves was more than welcome. In that spirit, the late, great Luther Vandross makes a notable revelation during this intimate concert film, “Always and Forever.” Reflecting on his place among other revered Black male singers when he first emerged as a solo artist in the early 1980s, he quips, “I was never heralded as the new Otis Redding, the new Sam Cooke, the new Teddy Pendergrass or Smokey Robinson. Whether it’s the gutsy, hard-edged shout and belting style that defined the likes of Wilson Pickett, Joe Tex and James Brown, or the sensuous, gospel-inflected harmonization that made Al Green, Marvin Gaye and Eddie Kendricks popular figures in the 1970s, the way singers stamp their personality and feel onto a song directly affects the resonance it has. The expressive breadth and emotional power of the Black male voice has long been a fascinating asset in soul music. ![]()
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