An ELLE Editor's Unabashed, Overly Enthusiastic, Possibly Tear-Stained Love Letter to Celine Dion
First, a disclaimer: This post will not seek to maintain any sort of journalistic non-bias toward its subject matter—I admit with a full and rapturous heart that I openly adore Celine Dion. I loved Celine as a closeted gay kid in Fort Smith, Arkansas, when I’d clandestinely listen to her CDs in my room, mouthing every word and practicing matching my lip tremble to her vibrato. I loved Celine in college at NYU, where, through our mutual love of perhaps the world’s most important French Canadian, I made a best friend for life—we’d opt for Friday nights swigging gin and watching music videos and/or Celine’s more esoteric performances over a night out. I continue to love Celine as an adult, and I count seeing her rattle the rafters of Madison Square Garden with a mind-blowing outro to "All By Myself"—as she did on September 15th, 2008—as one of the most magical moments of my life .I’d thought that latter moment could never be superseded. But last night, at New York City’s Edison Ballroom, it was. Because I had the extreme pleasure of viewing—no, experiencing—the woman, the legend at an hour-long concert surrounded by no more than 200 fellow Celiniacs (a first for a woman who routinely sells out arenas the world over). Entitled "An Evening with Celine Dion"—and yes, it felt that intimate—the Pandora-sponsored performance was thrown in celebration of her new album, Loved Me Back to Life, Ms. Dion’s first English-speaking album in six years. Ever sensitive to her fans hopes and dreams and needs, she kicked off the show with a string of well-known hits (her seamless segue from "It’s All Coming Back to Me Now" into "Power of Love" was truly epic), followed by three songs from her new album, including the first single, "Loved Me Back to Life," and a cover of the Janis Ian classic, "At Seventeen." Then, naturally, she ended the show by reducing us all to emotional shells of ourselves with "My Heart Will Go On." Every number was glorious, every note pitch-perfect. And I found myself again and again marveling at how, 23 years after becoming a household name, Celine can still, with nary a hint of strain on her face, belt these songs to their fullest extent. Mariah, Christina (dare I say?), even Barbra—they’re all powerhouse divas in their own right, but not one of them has maintained the efficacy and fullness of their voice as an instrument the way Celine has. She’s known for the measures she takes to keep her vocal chords at maximum usage, including regimented warm-ups and saline-solution inhalations, and their effectiveness is evident. If I’m not mistaken, she never took one drink of water during the entire hour of performing. Like, what?
Afterward, I was one of a chosen few to get a few seconds with Celine in a meet and greet—yes, I was on the same plane, in the same space, breathing the same Celine-scented air (she smells of honey and ambrosia) as the diva herself. One of the things that I’ve always loved so much about Celine is how her unabashed enthusiasm and appreciation for her fans facilitates an unmatched energy and presence on stage. Some call it cheesy—I call it kinetic. And it matches the devotion and worship of her fans in the audience.
As I stood in that room mustering the courage and poise required to address Celine Dion, I overheard two very illustrative things. First, as two men approached her whom she may or may not have known, she sang to them. She literally belted out a riff right in their faces. I immediately turned to a label publicist who was manning the line of meet-and-greeters and asked, with the most pleading of looks, "Can Celine Dion sing in my face?" No dice. But then, as an acquaintance of mine began speaking to her, he asked Celine how she keeps it together on stage while her fans lose their minds. She coolly responded, "If my fans don’t lose their minds, I will lose mine!" And that sums up the give-and-take, mind-melding—soul-melding!—magic of Celine. When you hear the opening notes to that one song of hers that you’ve been waiting all night to hear, you fear you’ll need an exorcism, and because she understands you, because she understands the power of the voice she was blessed with, because she understands that, if you could, you would Ursula the sh*t out of that voice—she almost takes over your spirit. During last night’s show, I was in a crowd of editors and colleagues, and yet when the opening lick to "River Deep, Mountain High" began, Celine air-guitaring along, professionalism was out the window, and I was using the shoulders of an editor from Marie Claire for leverage to jump higher so Celine could hear me screaming at her.
I understand, though, that I am on the extreme end of the Celine spectrum. Still, even if you just don’t get why Celine has to do that chest-pound thing she does while singing—which, come on, we’ve all done at karaoke—you have to respect her dedication to pushing her music forward while still giving her fans the Celineisms we crave. What those detractors forget when they hold her "cheesy" '90s oeuvre against her is that, in the last decade or so, she’s worked with hit-makers like Kara DioGuardi ("Taking Chances"), Will.i.am ("Eyes on Me"), and The-Dream ("Skies of L.A."). Even on her new album, the soaring "Loved Me Back to Life" was written exclusively for Celine by Sia, and, on "Incredible," she and Ne-Yo make a surprisingly deft vocal pairing. So, to me, Loved Me Back to Life proves that, while Celine has never taken her finger off the pulse of current pop music, she’s still able to produce albums that transcend its trends. Whether slaying ballads, crooning almost-lullabies, or letting loose on up-tempo jammers (check out "Somebody Loves Somebody"), Celine’s still got it. She’s got it good.
I could go on. And on and on and on about Celine and what she means to me. But let me just say this: As the pop-machine continues to spit out a succession of supposed obsessions, all you hear is "she’s the next this" or "she’s a mini her." No one ever says "the next Celine." We aren’t looking for "mini-Dions." Celine Dion is truly one and only. She’s moments of gold. She’s flashes of light. And for those of us in that room last night, she might be all we’ll ever need.
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