How Should We Remember Our Fallen Stars?

25^th June, 2009. I’m relaxing at home after a stressful couple of weeks of exams. I get a text from my sister and, after opening the message, I don’t believe what I’m reading and instantly flick on a news channel.

Sure enough, Michael Jackson’s dead.

A similarly bewildering moment happened on Sunday morning, when, opening up my computer, social networks were trending Whitney. And another star had passed too soon.

One of the advantages of this modern society is that the integration of technology allows not only this quick relay of information, but in these cases, a sentimental outpouring of emotion when we lose an influential figure.

However, with these new mediums of information, what is appropriate decorum when talking of the deceased? When famous personas have had their lives taken under a microscope as public property, how should that public remember them?

Case in point: sitting with a friend in a café last July, the radio broke the news that Amy Winehouse had passed away. The reporter’s very next words were: “The troubled star, who was known for her drug addictions and love life…” as though her singing career did not merit a mention. Amy has been defined by her misdemeanours.

With the death of Whitney Houston, this act of remembrance is called into question once again. When looking back at such an iconic songstress, should we look to her rise or fall?

Without doubt, the talent of the young Houston cannot be denied. Hailing from musical genes, Whitney was signed at the tender age of 19 after a performance in a Manhattan night club. Her eponymous debut was the biggest selling album by a debut artist when it was released in 1985.

Houston enjoyed seven consecutive number one singles, surpassing the record set by The Beatles, and had notched up over 200million album sales by the late 80s alone. Yet eclipsing even all of these staggering achievements, the resounding number ‘I Will Always Love You’ is the biggest selling single by a female of all time (and is sure to notch up another batch of sales posthumously).

Serene images were shattered with Houston’s decline into abuse of crack cocaine and marijuana. Her tumultuous marriage to Bobby Brown constantly attracted headlines and her once famed voice was broken.

Yet, which era of the star’s life should the public focus on?

Unfortunately, intrigue and bad news are always awarded more coverage: these are the stories with more layers, more depth, high interest and, immorally, make people feel much better about themselves. Even if Whitney had not been signed, there is the possibility that she, or countless others like her, like Amy, would have made headlines for their solvent abuse. They would have been paraded as examples of a breakdown in society, without a saving voice, so to speak.

Of course, perhaps without the fame, these people would not have resorted to drugs, without the attention, they may not have performed crazy stunts, such as hanging children over balconies. But whose fault is this? Are these people victims of self-nurtured decline, or of outer afflictions?

Society is constructed in such a way that we pressure a number of stars into depression, ruts, abuse. From music to film and beyond, pop culture means we are able to highlight the likes of Britney Spears, Macaulay Culkin, Charlie Sheen, Lindsay Lohan as testimony to the breakdown culture that has been nurtured by modern life. Some, like Robert Downey Jr, make it back; other stars, like Kurt Cobain and Winehouse, never defeat their demons.

But do their devils add meaning to their work. In the case of ‘Nevermind’ by Nirvana, material dealt with lost loves, with ‘Back to Black’, the album can be seen as shaped from Winehouse’s indiscretions and media attention.

However, for the stars like Jackson and Houston, whose prime came before a spectacular fall, their records should be remembered and replayed without the clouds of rumour that have come to outshine their talents. For, certainly, these people became famous for their gifts, and should be thought of in this light.

In 2002, Houston told ABC's Diane Sawyer in an interview that: "The biggest devil is me. I'm either my best friend or my worst enemy."

Perceptive as this analysis is, perhaps the biggest devil to Houston, and to her fallen contemporaries, lies in public responsibility.

Just as we facilitate the rise of a star, we are compliant in their demise.

Remembering where I was when I heard of the deaths of these stars proves something: that these people touched our lives with their songs, their albums, or whatever their gifts. We have a public responsibility to keep that spirit of their talents alive.