It’s always a tricky thing when you declare someone “underrated.”
Take, for instance, Luther Vandross, the legendary R&B singer of the most enduring love songs of the last quarter of the 20th century. In his lifetime, he won eight Grammys, released 15 Platinum albums and four Top 10 singles on the Hot 100, and collaborated with everyone from Aretha Franklin to Richard Marx. If you know anything about Black music, you know Luther Vandross, so how can he be underrated?
Luther: Never Too Much challenges that thinking. Dawn Porter’s documentary traverses the extraordinary scope of Vandross’s career, hitting the cultural touchstones and the deep cuts that might surprise even his biggest admirers. Alongside archival footage and behind-the-scenes moments from his tours and performances, the film shares recollections from Vandross’s closest friends and musical collaborators, as well as industry luminaries like Valerie Simpson, Dionne Warwick, and Mariah Carey. Through the prism of Vandross’s career, the documentary also explores Black singers’ challenges, including the importance of crossing over onto the pop charts and the industry’s institutional barriers against R&B.
Given the relatively short runtime, how much of Vandross’s prolific career that Never Too Much covers is remarkable. The film digs particularly deep into his early work as a vocal arranger, producer, songwriter, and background singer. If you aren’t familiar with his early years, plenty of surprises are in store. There is his delightful stint on Sesame Street as a member of the singing group Listen My Brother, borne from Jim Henson listening to them sing in Harlem. Vandross’s presence in the burgeoning Philadelphia soul scene caught the ear of David Bowie, who tapped him to work on his Young Americans album. He even made millions writing and singing jingles for Juicy Fruit Gum and Gino’s Pizza. As Porter catalogs Vandross’s contributions to the work of Chic, Marvin Gaye, and Roberta Flack, it is abundantly clear that his fingerprints are all over American popular music.
Even as the film reaches the memorable moments of Vandross’s career, such as his iconic first single, “Never Too Much,” the focus remains on his tenacious effort. Porter demonstrates Vandross’s deep involvement in his work, even down to his background singers’s costumes on tour. You feel his talent and skill’s impact in how his colleagues spoke of him, like Dionne Warwick recounting his tribute for her at the NAACP Image Awards, or even looked at him, like Bowie during the Young Americans recording sessions. One major takeaway from the documentary is how deeply loved and respected Vandross was by his industry peers.
The other, more damning takeaway from Never Too Much is how everyone else deeply misunderstood his importance. As incredibly talented as he was, Vandross was often, as Richard Marx aptly puts it in his interview, “shrunken to a soundbite about his weight.” From his days on Sesame Street, Vandross faced barriers because of fluctuating weight. He was relegated to the background of Listen My Brother on television because he was heavy. In interviews with Katie Couric, Oprah Winfrey, Regis Philbin, and Kathie Lee Gifford, the prevailing topic of discussion was either the weight he lost or gained or lost again. He was subjected to jokes from Cedric the Entertainer and Eddie Murphy. (Vandross clapped back splendidly by bringing out a giant KFC bucket and singing a jingle.)
Vandross’s good-natured humor and grace don’t wash away the cosmic damage caused by the public fascination over his weight. It also doesn’t absolve the music industry’s racism that limited his career potential. Vandross was an R&B titan, but Porter details how his label and the industry’s guardrails for Black artists circumvented Vandross’s efforts to cross over onto the pop charts. Journalist Danyel Smith explains how it was common practice for record stores to shove R&B music to the back, actively diminishing their discoverability. Combined with the segregation of Black music from Top 40 radio, Vandross was set up for failure from the start. And yet, he persevered.
Vandross’s perseverance is admirable and inspiring, but where Never Too Much falls short is in personal context. Vandross was notoriously private, which naturally caps what candor the film can offer. However, the lack of it is felt. Vandross’s friends share what they can without disrespecting his memory, but the film sometimes yearns for a closer vantage point. We know little of his relationship with his parents, which lessens the narrative impact of Vandross’s “career song,” 2003’s “Dance with My Father.” His childhood is primarily supplanted by archival footage of the Supremes, Franklin, and Warrick, which is more helpful in denoting his musical influences than exploring what he was like as a boy.
The most significant blindspot is Vandross’s love life. His sexuality has been speculated about for years, and several people, including Patti LaBelle, have confirmed since his death that he was gay. The film is mostly circumspect about the issue, with mostly everyone relegating their comments to Vandross’s loneliness and yearning for romantic love. The most notable perspective comes from Richard Marx, who expressed his frustration at friends who betrayed Vandross’s confidence by speaking about his sexual identity after his death. There is an irony in distancing Vandross’s romantic life from his work, given how heavily love factored into his musical legacy, and the film actively engages that tension. However, it argues that Vandross’s sexuality was beside the point of why he mattered to the world.
Never Too Much ultimately succeeds in presenting its argument. With all Vandross’s professional accomplishments that the documentary does and doesn’t cover, personal curiosities like his weight and choice of romantic partner feel largely inconsequential. The film reinforces what should be conventional wisdom: Vandross was a musical savant whose fingerprints are all over American popular music from the last 50 years. Despite his stature in Black households, it also demonstrates that he is significantly underrated in a mainstream context. Nearly twenty years after his death, it is time to give Vandross his due. Never Too Much is a great first step.
Luther: Never Too Much had its World Premiere in the Premieres section of the 2024 Sundance Film Festival.
Director: Dawn Porter
Rated: NR
Runtime: 101m
Nearly twenty years after his death, it is time to give Vandross his due. Never Too Much is a great first step.
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A late-stage millennial lover of most things related to pop culture. Becomes irrationally irritated by Oscar predictions that don’t come true.