Statuesque and magnificent, Phyllis Hyman visually represented the ideal of a modern-day goddess. Over six feet tall in heels and donning headgear reminiscent of the crowns worn by Egyptian royalty, Phyllis was a sight to behold. When she opened her mouth to sing, the image of divinity was further cinched.
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After the bounce
Whether you first heard of her, like I did, when listening to Norman Conners' "You Are My Starship" when I was in elementary school and a burgeoning music lover, or later, when she made a cameo in Spike Lee's movie School Daze, you could not help but be mesmerized with her rich, vibrant vocals magnified by a penetrating delivery. My list of Phyllis favorites spans the years--from "Betcha By Golly Wow" and "You Know How To Love Me" to "Living All Alone" and "Meet Me On The Moon." My love affair with her voice never faltered.
When I first heard of her passing 15 years ago yesterday, I was a recent college graduate with the hope of the world on my shoulders. I thought anything was possible. But not that. Not her death and the way she died. To learn that her death was owed to the feelings of lonliness and depression that had enveloped her was devastating to comprehend. Her death shattered my naivete in an instant and honed in the truth that those in the public eye are, above all, human beings. Human, and with feelings that ran painfully deep, Phyllis Hyman left our world physically, yet, her voice remains our treasured gift that will forever be remembered as legendary.
I just wanted to take the time to say that I miss you, Phyllis.
