Maybe. Perhaps as the gods of pop were weighing the scales, they decided that as one king fell, a queen had to rise up take his place. In their estimation, it was all very medieval. So who better than Whitney Houston? Some crackpot psychologists argue that there are seven stages of grief: shock, guilt, bargaining, despair, the turn-around, reconstruction, and acceptance. And maybe after spending the better part of a decade as a punchline, Houston's the perfect catalyst to make us jump between despair (where most of us have stalled) and the turn-around.

At London's Mandarin Oriental Hotel last night, Houston was on hand to launch her first studio album in seven years -- I Look to You. While she was sparkling and radiant, the album itself and the lead single are terrible. But it's the principle of the comeback. Moreover, it's the idea of Houston being fit enough to wear Dolce & Gabbana again. And in this case, Houston's otherwise milquetoast jab at a comeback is tailor-made for the occasion. Because the general, hysterical public needs a familiar face to triumphantly return to grace and lord over all the novelty pop neophytes. Like how it used to be in the 80s.

At one point, that could've been Mariah Carey. She had her moment with past albums but since settled into the kind of crippling complacency that's responsible for new music videos shot on shoestring budgets. She can't be responsible for easing a manic nation back into a Michael Jackson-less reality.

But here, the timing's perfect. America's on the rebound and Whitney Houston is finally sentient again. And with others from her time being practically unrecognizable, Houston may be the single diva who can cradle and nurse the country's fractured psyche back to full health. Or at least, back to whatever mess it was in previously.
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