Same with me - I know some will grumble that it's not a rock and roll album, but this is one of the very best R&B albums of the early '80s. Who could've predicted that the guy who did vocal arrangements and backing vox on David Bowie's
Young Americans and the Brecker Bros.
Back to Back would drop a classic album of his own a few years later?
Becoming "musically aware" in the early-mid '90s Luther wasn't on my radar at all because in my narrow teenage perspective I sort of perceived him (based on radio play anyway) as being part of that Celine Dion/Michael Bolton '80s power ballad holdover genre that dominated the charts in that era, and seemed desperately uncool, not to mention nails on a chalkboard to my tender ears.
It wasn't until about 20 years ago that I had a lightbulb moment when I heard Never Too Much on a CD compilation of 12" mixes and had a lightbulb moment: if he did one great song that I loved in 1981, the odds are that there must be more. Sure enough, I was right, and his solo debut of the same name exceeded my expectations in every regard. Not only is it full of certified funk bangers (NTM, She's a Super Lady, Sugar and Spice, I've Been Working) it also has a couple of smooth midtempo numbers (You Stopped Loving Me, Don't You Know That?) and his definitive take on the Burt Bacharach/Hal David classic A House is Not a Home - his
1988 live performance of this song to an audience that included the song's original singer, Dionne Warwicke, was one of the defining moments of Luther's career. I'm not normally one for big dramatic ballads, but Luther Vandross is an exception, not just because of his voice (top three all-time for me, easily) but also by the way he uses it almost as a conductor - you can tell he's in the studio singing at the same time that the backing track is being laid down, by the way he pushes and pulls the arrangement by modulating the level of his voice up and down, extending and releasing certain notes, adding vibrato and so on with the power and precision of a champion boxer.
Speaking of those musicians that played behind him, other preconception about Luther Vandross before I heard this album was that his music was faceless corporate background noise played by computers and synthesizers and drume machines (again like that of my arch-enemies, Bolton and Dion) but on these early albums at least, that couldn't be further from the truth. In fact, these albums could've easily been credited to The Luther Vandross Band, or similar, because it remained the same throughout most of the '80s. It included bassist Marcus Miller (one of the great funk bassists of the last 40 years) whose credits include everything from The Brecker Bros. and Bernard Right to Donald Fagen, to masterminding Miles Davis' 1968 comeback album
Tutu, keyboardist Nat Adderley Jr. (son of the famed jazz trumpeter of the same name, and nephew of Julian 'Cannonball' Adderley) and drummer Yogi Horton, who'd previously played with Ashford & Simpson and may have been one of the best young drummers of the early '80s. Horton is also credited with making the very first
instructional video for drummers in 1983, and it's a fascinating watch if you're interested in his music because it deals as much (or maybe even moreso) with the philosophy and history of drumming than actual technique - it's fascinating to hear him talk about growing up listening to Sly Stone and then go on to talk about how he modernized his own sound, incorporating influences from drum machines instead of being afraid of them.
All the music on this album was written (save the Bacharach song of course), arranged and performed by these guys, and it gives this album a tight, cohesive and unique sound, albeit one that would go on to be imitated to death in the years following based on how successful it was, but that doesn't detract from how great this album was, and still is. I also think there's another secret sauce at play that makes this album unique and contributes to its greatness, and it's based on a paradox: Vandross wrote lyrics and sang with the honesty and emotional vulnerability of a gay man to an audience who presumed he was singing about women. His touch was so deft though, and his subject matter so universal that almost anyone with a heart could relate. Talking about your
feelings as a guy (let alone broadcasting them to the world) is never an easy thing as I think we call can admit, and Vandross may not have been the very first male R&B singer to work in this area, but I think it's no coincidence that most of the R&B before
Never Too Much wasn't like this, and most of the R&B (and mainstream MOR/AOR ripoffs) was speaks volumes about how influential this record was.
While the Atmos mix for this album maybe isn't a 10/10, it's still very good and I'm looking forward to hearing it unbound from its lossy streaming chains. It would be nice to know who did the mix, but I have to wonder if it was Michael H. Brauer, who engineered the album originally - he has a load of 5.1 remix credits (including some of the Bob Dylan SACDs, check the Surround Engineers
link for more) though I don't know if he's gotten into immersive mixing or not. And if I could throw a pipe dream out there, I hope this release sells well enough that they commission Atmos remixes of Luther's two follow-up albums (1982's
Forever, for Always, For Love, and 1983's
Busy Body) because they're both in the same vein (and equally great) as
Never Too Much, even if the hit singles they spawned (and there are a bunch) aren't as generationally transcendent as
Never Too Much's title track.