Luther Vandross: Make It Your Own

I enjoyed a recent documentary about the life and work of Luther Vandross. (‘Luther: Never Too Much’, 2024, directed by Dawn Porter)

‘I want to be remembered as a premier singer of our day, not as the love doctor.’
Luther Vandross

Vandross was a soul singer, songwriter, arranger and producer. Gifted with a smooth velvet tenor voice, which could quiver excitedly and then settle securely on a simple refrain, he sang of love sought, cherished and lost, and so charmed his way into the hearts of millions. His career was marked by single-mindedness and self-belief; by pragmatism and versatility; and by an ability to seize new opportunities in his own distinctive style. 

‘I’m going to focus my entire life and whole energy into [music]. And there is no other consideration. So rejection will just have to happen. And if it happens, it’ll happen, and I’ll keep on going.’

'All of the band was on time for rehearsal
And played everything just right.
Then came the news telling me not to worry,
The show is selling out tonight.
Well, the lights went on, and suddenly the crowd began to scream,
And as you could well imagine, it was like living a dream.
Oh, but when the lights went down and the standing "O" was done,
I was just another lonely guy who didn't have no one.
Give me your love, give me your love, give me your love.
I wanted your love, your love baby, your love baby, your love.’
‘I Wanted Your Love'

Vandross was born in Manhattan in 1951. Though his beloved father, an upholsterer and singer, died of diabetes when he was 8, he had a happy childhood.

‘The funniest thing is, if there’s enough love in your house and in your home and in your life, poor, rich, none of that stuff registers.’

Raised by his mother, a nurse, on the Lower East Side and then the Bronx, Vandross delighted in watching Motown acts on the TV and drew pictures of the Supremes in art class. Having taught himself to play piano by ear, his love of music was crystalised when his sisters took him aged 13 to see Dionne Warwick at the Apollo Theater, Harlem. 

‘I knew from that moment that I wanted to be able to affect people the way that she affected me that day.’

With high school friends, Vandross formed the Shades of Jade, insisting that they each invest $23 on emerald-green patent leather shoes. He performed at the Apollo as part of the vocal harmony act Listen My Brother, and subsequently appeared with the group in the first season of Sesame Street. He dropped out of Western Michigan University so as to pursue his career.

‘I really did not want a Plan B. I said it’s going to be this or I’m going to be 80 trying to do it.’

Gradually Vandross made a name for himself as a backing singer. During the recording of the soul-inflected 1975 album ‘Young Americans’, David Bowie was so impressed with Vandross’ ability to make up vocal parts on the spot, that he asked him to arrange the whole album, and adapted one of Vandross’ songs into ‘Fascination.’  

David Bowie and Luther Vandross

For much of the ‘70s Vandross provided backing vocals for the great talents of the day, including Roberta Flack & Donny Hathaway, Chaka Khan, Bette Midler, Diana Ross, Carly Simon, Barbra Streisand, Donna Summer, Chic and Sister Sledge. He also took lucrative work singing advertising jingles - for brands such as Miller and Lowenbrau beers, Mountain Dew and Juicy Fruit; NBC, KFC and Burger King. When asked to communicate that Gino’s Pizza was sizzling hot, he invented his signature quivering vocal styling.

Throughout this period, Vandross worked hard and earned good money. And yet solo success did not come easily, and his efforts with his own band Luther were unsuccessful.

‘I have a sound in my head, and I want to get it out.’

All started to change when Vandross featured as lead singer on two 1980 hits by the French-Italian studio group Change. ‘The Glow of Love’ and ‘Searching’ were propulsive dance numbers that perfectly showcased his smooth, sensuous vocal delivery. The band wanted him to sign on for a second album, but he resisted.

‘Flower's blooming, morning dew
And the beauty seems to say,
It's a pleasure when you treasure
All that's new and true and gay.
Easy living and we're giving
What we know we're dreaming of.
We are one having fun
Walking in the glow of love.’
Change, 'The Glow of Love' (D Romani / M Malavasi / W K Garfield)

Finally, Roberta Flack, on hearing Vandross conducting a phenomenal sound check for one of her gigs, insisted that he make his own way in the world.

‘Luther Vandross likes to say that I fired him. But I never really fired him. What I did was encourage him to believe in his own ability to produce his first album.’
Roberta Flack

At last Vandross broke through on his own terms. He recorded a succession of stunningly good modern soul albums, channelling the sophisticated spirit of the Philadelphia sound. These records featured irresistible floor-fillers and heart-rending romantic ballads: ‘Never Too Much’, ‘I Wanted Your Love’, ‘I’ll Let You Slide’, '’Til My Baby Comes Home.’

Vandross then set about organising his legendary touring act. Wearing sequinned sports jackets and spangly shirts, silk bow ties and flamboyant pocket handkerchiefs; with carefully choreographed dance routines from glamorously attired backing singers, he put on a show. In the pursuit of excellence, he could be a hard taskmaster.

‘Excuse me. I’m not playing the lottery. Get it right!’

In the documentary Vandross’ long-term bassist and writing partner, Marcus Miller, observes that Vandross kept his musicians in check too. 

‘There’s one point in the song [‘Superstar'] where he goes: ‘Keep it right there. Keep it right there.’ …He was telling me and the rest of the guys who like to play jazz: Don’t jazz this thing up. Keep it right there. Play it easy.’
Marcus Miller

Luther’s second album

'Long ago
And oh so far away,
I fell In love with you
Before the second show.
And your guitar
And you sound so sweet and clear,
But you're not really here.
It's just the radio.’
‘Superstar' (L Russell, B Bramlett)

Vandross was a master of the cover version, recording distinctive interpretations of the Temptations’ ‘Since I Lost My Baby’, The Carpenters’ ‘Superstar’, Brenda Russell’s ‘If Only for One Night,’ and Dionne Warwick’s ‘Anyone Who Has a Heart.’  

‘I try to do songs that I think I can do differently, that I think fit me. Sort of like when somebody chooses what to wear when they are going to go to the Academy Awards or something. They choose that special thing.’

At the 1987 NAACP Image Awards, Vandross performed an extraordinary rendition of the Bacharach and David song ‘A House Is Not a Home’ - with Dionne Warwick, who originally made the number famous, present in the audience. On film you can see her joy as Vandross puts his own individual stamp on the classic number. Finally, overwhelmed, she wipes a tear from her eye.

‘What I loved more than anything else about hearing the songs that he decided he wanted to record of mine, was that he made them his own.’
Dionne Warwick

I was quite struck by Warwick’s observation. In the world of commercial creativity, we often inherit other people’s concepts. We are asked to reinvent or reinvigorate an incumbent campaign, to breathe new life into a tired brand. We have to pick up where others have left off. Vandross teaches us that we should always seek to stamp our work with our own identity, enhancing it with our own ideas and interpretations. We should strive to make it our own.

‘A chair is still a chair, even when there's no one sitting there.
But a chair is not a house, and a house is not a home,
When there's no one there to hold you tight,
And no one there you can kiss goodnight.
A room is still a room, even when there's nothing there but gloom.
But a room is not a house and a house is not a home,
When the two of us are far apart
And one of us has a broken heart.’
’A House Is Not a Home’ (B Bacharach / H David)

Every year from 1981 to 1994, Vandross achieved at least one top 10 R&B hit, and he went on to achieve hitherto elusive crossover success. He worked with his heroes - Dionne Warwick, Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Stevie Wonder - and collaborated with the next generation of female R&B singers - Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey and Janet Jackson. 

‘Fame and fortune… Fortune is cool, fame is not always so cool.’
Marcus Miller

And yet Vandross was a troubled man. He was unlucky in love and uncomfortable discussing his sexuality. He revealed that his most personal lyric was in his song ‘Any Love.’

‘I speak to myself sometimes, and I say, "Oh my,
In a lot of ways, you're a lucky guy,
And now all you need is a chance to try any love."
In my heart there's a need to shout,
Dying, screaming, crying “Let me out”,
Are all those feelings that want to touch
Any love?’
‘Any Love'

From an early age Vandross struggled with his weight, and periodically he went on crash diets. The media speculated endlessly about his sexuality and his see-sawing waistline. 

‘I was an emotional eater. If the music wasn’t sounding right, I ate to cope. Any excuse I could use, I would use to eat.’

Suffering from diabetes and hypertension, in 2003 Vandross had a severe stroke and fell into a coma for nearly two months. He died from a heart attack in 2005, at the age of 54.

Luther Vandross was a luminous talent, whose work still provides the soundtrack to our romances, celebrations and heartbreaks. His songs lift our spirits, gladden our hearts, and sustain us through tough times. He coaches us to be determined in pursuing a vision, to be agile in delivering a strategy; to be distinctive in execution. But there is another lesson to be taken from his life: we should appreciate people’s privacy; rein in our prurient curiosity. We should show some respect.

'I can't fool myself, I don't want nobody else to ever love me.
You are my shining star, my guiding light, my love fantasy.
There's not a minute, hour, day or night that I don't love you.
You're at the top of my list 'cause I'm always thinking of you.
I still remember in the days when I was scared to touch you,
How I spent my daydreaming planning how to say I love you.
You must have known that I had feelings deep enough to swim in.
That's when you opened up your heart, and you told me to come in.
A thousand kisses from you is never too much,
I just don't wanna stop.
Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much.
I just don't wanna stop.
Too much, never too much, never too much, never too much.’
‘Never Too Much'

No. 520

The Wise Physio: ‘Let’s Just Throw Everything at It’

Massage between wrestlers training 1904 . Vincent Monozlay

'Most people spend more time and energy going around problems than in trying to solve them.'
Henry Ford

In one of those senior moments that occur with increasing frequency nowadays, I’d fallen on the stairs while carrying a substantial plant pot to the roof. The incident left my right forearm in some considerable pain and it was taking many weeks to heal.

I knew I needed physiotherapy, but I was nervous about the prospect. Would it entail eccentric exercises, intimate massages and whale music?

My personal trainer pointed me in the direction of Dave, a body builder who used to run pubs in the East End. He sounded reassuringly robust.

Dave, who managed his physiotherapy practice out of a basement gym in Bethnal Green, had a muscular physique, a bald head and a firm handshake. 

‘What’s the problem, young man?’

As I explained my various aches and strains, Dave made a series of notes on his pad. He seemed to recognise my symptoms.

‘Yup. Yup. Got it,’ he said, as he fixed me with a hard analytical stare.

I was interested to hear Dave’s conclusions. Was there one particular method or manipulation that would soothe my condition? Did he have a favoured remedy to my specific injury?

At length Dave paused, put his pen to one side and announced:

‘Let’s just throw everything at it.’

And so, having positioned me face-down on a massage table, Dave proceeded to apply electrically charged acupuncture needles to my arm. These prompted my muscles to twitch in a slightly disconcerting fashion. He then vacuum-cupped the affected area to draw out the toxins. Next he scraped my sinews with a steel tool to stimulate the soft tissue. Finally he gave my right arm and shoulder a comprehensive massage.

I have to say it succeeded. There was definitely a sense of loosening and limbering. I’m not sure which of Dave’s battery of measures was most effective, but they certainly worked very well in concert. Indeed I was thoroughly impressed by his all-guns-blazing approach. 

In the world of commerce we may have a house style, a preferred method. We may like to address all problems with cool consideration and clinical precision. But occasionally – when there’s an escalation in events, when a big account is at risk  - we need to be prepared to change gear, to raise the metabolism, to set aside established techniques and best practice. Some urgent challenges demand that we explore all avenues; examine all fronts. They prompt us to restructure the team, review the process and relook at the data; to commission all manner of research and take on fresh perspectives. And more besides. As Dave would say:

‘Let’s just throw everything at it.’

'I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has had to overcome while trying to succeed.'
Booker T. Washington

On a subsequent visit to Dave’s studio, he sat me down and checked if I’d been following his instructions.

‘Have you done the hot-and-cold treatment like I asked you?’

I hesitated for a moment, noting the severity of his stare.

‘I did buy the hot-and-cold pack, Dave.’

Dave said nothing. Perhaps it would be best to come clean.

‘I haven’t actually used it yet.’

Dave looked at me like a disappointed parent. I suspect he was accustomed to people falling short.

‘That’s alright, young man. All I demand from my clients is honesty.’

I breathed a sigh of relief and beat a hasty retreat. 

'And if you should miss my loving
One of these old days.
If you should ever miss the arms
That used to hold you so close, 
Or the lips that used to touch you so tenderly.
Just remember what I told you
The day I set you free.
Ain't no mountain high enough,
Ain't no valley low enough,
Ain't no river wild enough,
To keep me from you.’
Diana Ross, 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough’ (Ashford and Simpson)

No. 393

‘Don’t Just Do Something, Stand There’: In Praise of Inaction

In 217 BC Quintus Fabius Maximus found himself defending Rome against the superior forces of the great Carthaginian general Hannibal. Hannibal was an outstanding strategist, and he had already defeated two Roman armies on Italian soil.

Quintus was no fool. Naturally cautious, he knew better than to risk his regiments in another pitched battle. And so he targeted the enemy's supply lines. He harassed and frustrated, delayed and exhausted the Carthaginian troops. And gradually he ground them down. Rome survived to fight another day, and a grateful public named Quintus ‘Cunctator’, ‘the Delayer’. He was subsequently credited as the originator of guerrilla warfare

'One man, by delaying, restored the state to us.’
Ennius

Through the centuries many military leaders have been inspired by ‘The Delayer’. The Roman Emperor Augustus was wont to advise his commanders ‘festina lente’, which means ‘make haste slowly’ (or ’more haste, less speed’). And at the Battle of Austerlitz in 1805 Napoleon declared:

‘Never interfere with an enemy while he is in the process of destroying himself.’

The strategy of inaction has been deployed in other fields too. John Wayne summarised his acting style as: ‘Don’t act. React.’ And in 1945 the theatrical producer Martin Grabel is reported to have given this stage direction to an overly expressive actor:

‘Don’t just do something, stand there.’

Grabel’s play-on-words was subsequently enlisted to the field of politics by President Dwight Eisenhower. He used it to mock his industrious Secretary of State John Foster Dulles. In July 2016 The Economist observed that German commentators had coined a new verb:

‘“To merkel” means to delay decisions while time diminishes problems to a manageable size, and opponents make valuable mistakes.’ 

Clearly on occasion there is a real and tangible advantage to be gained by delaying; doing nothing; postponing; kicking the can down the road. Problems blow over, solutions reveal themselves, competitors expose their weaknesses.

One has to ask: Do we in the marketing and communications industry make proper use of the strategy of inaction?

Well, we like to think of ourselves as fast and flexible, agile and responsive. We’re proactive, always on, constantly improving. We seek first mover advantage. Delay is not generally something we advocate or celebrate, particularly in the digital age.

But, I wonder, in our day-to-day engagements do we occasionally jump too quickly to conclusions? Are we sometimes too ready with our responses; too free with our opinions; too prompt with our decisions? Do we leap before we look?

It seems to me our energy and sense of urgency on short-term issues mask our passivity and paralysis with regard to more serious long-term corporate challenges.

What happened to that new remuneration model? Where have we got to on the radical efficiency drive? How’s that plan to create our own brands? And what about that initiative to introduce more diversity to our ranks? Et cetera. Et cetera.

I fear we’re a sector of short-term vigour and long-term inertia. We rush in where angels fear to tread, and hesitate where angels hope for solutions. We merely create the illusion of industry.

There is one adman I’ve heard expound the strategy of inaction. The sage planner and entrepreneur Charles Vallance is fond of the dictum:

‘If you ignore a problem long enough, it will go away by itself.’

He might well add: ‘Leaving more time and space to focus on the serious issues.’

Vallance thereby aligns himself with Quintus Fabius Maximus, the Emperor Augustus, Napoleon, John Wayne, Eisenhower and Angela Merkel. They would make an entertaining dinner party.

'Ooh, little girl
Please don't wait for me.
Wait patiently for love
Someday will surely come.
And I'm still waiting.’

 Diana Ross, 'I’m Still Waiting’ (Hal Davis & Deke Richards)

No. 197