Certain voices stand like monuments upon the landscape of 20th century pop, defining the architecture of their times, sheltering the dreams of millions and inspiring the climbing careers of countless imitators. Whitney Houston owns one of those voices.
When she was at her best, nothing could match her huge, clean, cool mezzo-soprano - not Madonna's canny chirp, not Bono's stone church wail nor Bruce Springsteen's ramshackle growl. No, it was Houston who best embodied the feminine but gym-toned, black-inspired but aspirationally post-racial sound of global crossover pop. Like a Trump skyscraper, Houston the singer was as showily dominant as corporate capitalism itself.
Then, like many a glorious edifice, Houston's voice fell into disrepair. Drug addiction and a rocky marriage to Bobby Brown made her a tabloid staple. More tragically (for listeners, at least), her excesses trashed her instrument, which age and normal wear and tear would have imperilled anyway.
I Look to You is a costly renovation overseen by her mentor, Clive Davis, and enacted by the best craftspeople money can buy, including the producers Akon, Stargate and Nate "Danja" Hills and the songwriters Diane Warren and Alicia Keys. It's not unsuccessful: This is a habitable set of songs. But there's a limit to what Houston can accomplish, and operating within limits becomes the album's overriding theme.
This happens beneath the music's surface, which balances inspirational balladry with bubblicious club pop, as Houston's music always has done. Houston's songwriters and producers provide her with top-notch tools; she wields them cautiously and almost humbly, never falling because she never reaches too high.
The best giant ballad is the Warren-penned, David Foster-produced I Didn't Know My Own Strength, an exhibition of battle scars that's richer for the weary, injury-protecting quality of Houston's vocal. If she does earn the Grammy she's virtually been promised for a song from this set, it should be for this one.
On most of the album, platinum beats overshadow any vocal pyrotechnics, and Houston interacts with her backing tracks with the muscle memory of a dance-floor veteran. It's rewarding when she really settles into her rougher midlife tone, especially on the Danja-produced Nothin' But Love.
When she aims for sweet, as in the hooky Worth It, or spirited, as on the disco-fab climax of the Leon Russell cover A Song for You, she gets there with effort.
Though I Look to You doesn't soar like the old days, it's fine to hear Houston working on her own recovery plan.
