But not such a great singer he can interest simple pop fans in his own songs. Alas, he's also such a great singer he doesn't have to. If only Luther had a little less integrity he might sell out-he's such a great singer he could transform crossover twaddle into universal trivia without even breathing hard. Nice Guy even orders his treat-him-bad woman to "hit the road"-although it is his femme backups who utter the actual words. Marcus Miller makes the fast ones hop to, and the ballads retain their shape no matter how far Luther stretches them-only dud's the ridiculously well-named "My Sensitivity (Gets in the Way)." On "It's Over Now" Mr. Though Vandross's devotion to pure singing will always be too pure to admit much content, his material has improved.
In short, he sounds like an ambitious backup singer. Nor does Luther augment the support system's golden-voiced rep by sharing "How Many Times Can We Say Goodbye" with Dionne Warwick, who cuts him from here to Sunday. Not counting "Superstar" and "Until You Come Back to Me," which perish in the tragic flood of feeling that finishes this album off, the only songs here that might conceivably survive without their support system are "I'll Let You Slide," which Luther lets slip, and the one that donates its title to the venture. But only on "She Loves Me Back" (set apart by the hard K at the end of the title phrase) do I really love him back myself. His voice is so luxuriant I can understand why fans go all the way with him. Well, depends on what you mean by love-like any studio habitue Vandross is a sensualist at heart, an aural libertine who revels in sheer sound at the expense of any but the most received sense. But when his touch is just a little off, the great hit single you've just heard (or at least the good one that's sure to follow) seems almost as forgettable as the loser he's singing. So Vandross can attach tropes like "sugar and spice" and "she's a super lady" to undistinguished melodies and make me like them.
In music as tactful as this, where so much of the meaning is carried on the skip and flow of rhythm and timbre, songwriting doesn't matter all that much. Later Grammy winners like 1991’s “Power of Love/Love Power” and 2003’s “Dance With My Father” remain as technically accomplished as they are emotionally moving, on both counts standing as testaments to his enduring legacy. In the decades that followed, Vandross continued to find ways to push the art forward instead of relying on the tried and true. Along with the irresistibly joyful title track of Vandross’ 1981 solo debut, Never Too Much, “A House Is Not a Home” also helped launch him after many years of working behind the scenes as a session vocalist and arranger for acts like David Bowie and Bette Midler and as the singer of “Searching” and “The Glow of Love,” two classy hits for the Italian/American disco group Change. Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, and Celine Dion have all acknowledged the impact that their sometime duet partner had on them. In the process, he transcends the ‘60s divas who inspired him-Dionne Warwick, Diana Ross, Aretha Franklin-to create a model for those who followed. That’s just what he did on his astonishing 1981 cover of “A House Is Not a Home,” transforming the Burt Bacharach/Hal David classic into an acutely personal demonstration of his control, dexterity, and expressiveness. A suave yet warmhearted New Yorker who became one of R&B’s beloved balladeers from his solo breakthrough in the early ‘80s to his untimely death in 2005, Vandross was also a vocalist whose understanding of singing as an art form was so profound, he changed notions of what it could be. Luther Vandross was more than just a great singer.