1989 · Behind the Songs
“When the Queen of Soul met the Voice, the result was a one-time summit.”
In 1989, two of the greatest voices in American music finally sang together. Aretha Franklin, the Queen of Soul, was recording Through the Storm, an album of duets with younger stars. Whitney Houston, the twenty-five-year-old phenomenon with seven consecutive number-one singles, was the brightest star of her generation. When Franklin invited Houston to record “It Isn’t, It Wasn’t, It Ain’t Never Gonna Be,” it was more than a duet — it was a coronation, a passing of the torch from one queen to another, captured in under four minutes of pure vocal electricity. It was a moment fans had dreamed about for years.
Two Generations, One Studio
The song was written by Albert Hammond and Diane Warren, a pairing that bridged two eras of pop craftsmanship. Hammond, who had written “The Air That I Breathe” and co-written Tina Turner’s “I Don’t Wanna Lose You,” brought classic melodic instincts. Warren, then the most in-demand ballad writer in Los Angeles, brought modern urgency — she would go on to write “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” and countless other hits. Together they crafted a defiant kiss-off, a song about refusing to go back to a love that didn’t work. The lyric gave both singers something to bite into. The pairing was inspired.
Narada Michael Walden produced the track, and his touch is everywhere. Walden, who had produced Houston’s biggest hits including “How Will I Know” and “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” knew how to frame her voice in gleaming eighties production. For the single, remixer Teddy Riley — the inventor of new jack swing — added a harder edge, giving the song a streetwise bounce. The combination was deliberate: Franklin’s soul, Houston’s pop, Walden’s polish, Riley’s swing. It was 1989 in a bottle, and it crackled with energy to spare. It was a summit, not just a single. Without question.
Through the Storm was Franklin’s attempt to reclaim the pop charts, and the duets were its strategy. The album paired her with Elton John on the title track, with Whitney on “It Isn’t, It Wasn’t,” and with other contemporary stars. For Franklin, then forty-seven, it was a way to introduce herself to MTV’s audience. For Houston, it was a chance to sing with the woman every female vocalist called the standard. The album cover showed Franklin weathering a storm; the music showed her weathering changing times with grace and power. The strategy worked, at least artistically.
What to Listen For
Arista released the duet on June 10, 1989, as the album’s second single. It reached number forty-one on the Billboard Hot 100 — modest by Houston’s standards, but a solid showing for Franklin. On the R&B chart, it climbed to number five, and on the Dance chart to number eighteen, thanks to Riley’s remix. In Britain it reached number twenty-nine, in Ireland number fourteen, in Canada number forty-three. The numbers didn’t capture the event’s significance, but they kept both singers on the radio in a year dominated by younger acts. The song deserved better.
Listen for the handoff. Franklin takes the first verse with church-trained authority, her voice rich with decades of Sunday mornings. Houston answers with crystalline precision, every note in place, every run executed flawlessly. When they sing together on the chorus, it’s a study in contrast: Franklin’s grit against Houston’s gloss, experience against perfection. Neither tries to outsing the other; instead they trade lines like boxers trading jabs, respectful but competitive. The joy is audible. You can hear two generations smiling at each other. It is the sound of mutual admiration set to music. Indeed.
The recording was historic. Though Franklin and Houston moved in the same industry circles — both recorded for Arista under Clive Davis — they had never made a record together. Franklin was the voice Houston’s mother, Cissy, had sung behind as a backup singer; Houston was the prodigy Franklin had watched from afar. In the studio, the age gap disappeared. What remained were two professionals at the top of their game, each pushing the other to be better. Those sessions are the stuff of legend. The respect was mutual and obvious.
The song’s afterlife has been quiet but steady. It rarely appears on compilations, overshadowed by both singers’ bigger hits, but soul fans know it as a summit meeting. The Teddy Riley remix gave it a second life in clubs, and the original remains a favorite on quiet-storm radio. For Houston, it was a rare chance to play the junior partner, to learn at the feet of the master. For Franklin, it was proof she could still hang with the youngest, biggest voice of the day. And that is no small thing.
What makes the duet special is its lack of pretense. There’s no grand statement, no attempt to be historic — just two singers doing what they do, exceptionally well. The lyric is a kiss-off, but the performance is a love letter: to the craft, to the tradition, to each other. In an era of manufactured pop, “It Isn’t, It Wasn’t, It Ain’t Never Gonna Be” feels human, spontaneous, alive. You can hear the room, the band, the moment. That’s rarer than it should be. This is what great singing sounds like.
So listen for the queens. In a decade that often pitted female singers against each other, Aretha Franklin and Whitney Houston chose collaboration, and the result still shines. “It Isn’t, It Wasn’t, It Ain’t Never Gonna Be” may not be the biggest hit either singer made, but it’s one of the most meaningful — a moment when the past and future of soul stood side by side and sang. The torch was passed, the lesson was taught, and the music, thankfully, remains. Long may it play. It is a treasure. We are lucky to have it.