"Luther Vandross: Never Too Much" - Review

“Luther Vandross: Never Too Much” - Review

I’ve always been a fan of Luther Vandross – the smooth voice, the meaningful lyrics, the showmanship - after being introduced to his work by my dad playing his albums during my childhood.  The documentary “Luther Vandross: Never Too Much” recently premiered on CNN, and it was a heartbreaking portrait of Luther himself in addition to a celebration of his music.  My dad warned me that this documentary would be impossible to watch without tearing up, and he was right.

I remembered hearing in the news that Luther had a massive stroke and that he passed away in his early 50s, but I didn’t remember that he had survived the stroke after several months in a coma and struggled to even speak again.  The footage of his final interview before his death was hard to watch because he struggled to talk – and when he did, he talked about his goal of learning to live with his condition that had resulted from the stroke complications.  Here was a broken man whose serious demons and sad past had caught up with him, who had likely permanently lost the ability to sing and perform, trying to be positive.

The most touching part of the documentary was the commentary from Luther’s close friends and his colleagues in the music industry.  Their statements convey reverence for his talent and his extensive body of work, but the most poignant words were about how sad they were after losing a friend who couldn’t quite get a handle on his emotional turmoil and physical health.  Several spoke about his song “Any Love,” and how they came to understand the full weight of the loneliness that the lyrics conveyed.  Luther was so loved, yet so lonely and so haunted by health problems and personal tragedies and struggles with his sexuality.

Childhood and early performance photos and videos made it clear that Luther had a lifelong struggle with his weight.  Luther’s music was coming to prominence around the time that tabloids would ruthlessly judge a celebrity’s appearance, and musical acts were no exception.  I vaguely recalled that Luther had lost a good amount of weight at some point and then gained most of it back, but my dad and I were both shocked at the extent of the fluctuations. There were several time periods marked by extreme - as in, medically concerning - obesity, which were then followed by extreme dieting results.  Thin Luther looked suave and awesome in my humble opinion, especially since he loved flashy fashion statements involving rich greens and purples, often topped off with sparkling sequins.  Alas, the reprieve from obesity and the celebration in flaunting his weight loss were temporary.

Luther’s friends and colleagues worried about both his periods of being overweight and the extremity of the fluctuations since he also had type 2 diabetes.  He admitted to them that he thought obsessively about food every day from the minute he woke up for as long as he could remember, and this statement was very poignant to me because of the parallel to my own experience with disordered eating. Though my issues were not so visibly extreme, I myself have struggled since early childhood with food obsession, binge eating and/or excessive restriction, and at times feeling that my mind is churning every waking moment about what I’ve already eaten and when/what I can or should or shouldn’t eat next.  Food addiction and disordered eating are a lifelong struggle, and only recently at age 45 do I feel like I’m getting a handle on accepting a sustainable body weight, being able to indulge in moderation, and quieting that constant inner voice that stays hyper-focused on food and my weight.

Luther’s weight issues were exacerbated by personal tragedy.  He was involved in a car accident in which he was the driver and his passenger, who was a close friend, ended up dying.  He had lost a lot of weight and was looking suave and confident in his bold fashions, showing off his brand new self during concert performances and TV interviews.  He was emotionally devastated in the aftermath of the tragic accident and exhausted from the stress of the legal proceedings against him that resulted from it.  While he didn’t end up with jail time, he did end up gaining all of his weight back and then some.

Thankfully for the world of great music, Luther did get back on the road touring despite being uncomfortable in his own skin after the weight gain.  He slimmed down again eventually but had deeper issues that continued to make him vulnerable to overeating.  It’s now widely believed (and now confirmed by several close friends after his death) that Luther was gay but insisted on remaining closeted. Those closest to him are convinced that the stress of deciding to hide such a big part of himself from the world contributed to his binge eating. He faced constant badgering from the media to either deny or affirm his sexuality, but he refused to comment.

Luther would consistently deflect the question of whether or not he was gay by saying that he only owed the public musical entertainment and hard work.  While this is absolutely a true statement, the refusal to state his sexual preference intensified speculation further.  Reading this from the perspective of 2025 America, it’s a bit puzzling that he wouldn’t just embrace his homosexuality and move forward.  However, it was a very different time in the 80s and 90s.  Not only was it the heyday of the AIDS crisis, but also it was a time when the black community didn’t consider any sexuality other than straight to be socially acceptable. While George Michael, a white artist, ended up still plenty successful being “out and proud,” Luther simply didn’t see coming out as a viable option for himself and his career.

To add fuel to the fire, speculation that Luther’s weight loss was due to AIDS made the rounds in the tabloids in the mid-80s.  The more feminine proclivities that Luther openly displayed, such as a love for sequins and home decor, didn’t help matters as far as quieting the rumors.  Ironically, these “flair” elements are part of what made Luther’s performances so special.  I learned in the documentary that he spent millions of dollars of his own personal fortune to create multiple elaborate custom gowns for his backup singers.  He was a perfectionist who simply wanted his show to be spectacular and had extra money to throw toward the concert performances.  Not surprisingly, one of the early childhood stories about Luther involved his dedication to watching the Supremes in their TV performances and meticulously critiquing their outfits and dance steps.

Richard Marx, a collaborator on many of Luther’s later works, was heavily featured in the second half of the documentary.  It’s obvious that their dynamic transcended that of a simple business and creative partnership in that Marx cared deeply for Luther as a friend and a human being.  Luther passed away in 2005 due to complications from his stroke, but before that, while he was in a coma and then starting an intensive recovery process, Marx accepted a Grammy award on his behalf for the song “Dance With My Father,” a song that they produced together and one that would be the last song Luther would release.  In his acceptance speech, Marx lightens the mood by joking that Luther would be actively critiquing everyone’s fashion if he was there at the Grammys.

Marx and all of the other friends and colleagues of Luther’s get emotional throughout the documentary when they talk about the mental turmoil that he faced due to hiding his sexuality and his binge eating.  He had a great support system of true friends, many adoring fans, a celebrated body of musical works, and plenty of money, but he was never able to find inner peace.  Those who were closest to him seemed to feel the most helpless because they couldn’t ultimately help him feel better in his own skin.  While they all mourned the loss of a generational talent, they mourned the loss of Luther the human being even more. 

Rest in peace, Luther Vandross, and thank you for all of the great music!