You My Friend By Johnny Gill - How Are

In the pantheon of late 1980s and early 1990s R&B, few songs capture the exquisite tension between raw physical desire and earnest emotional yearning quite like Johnny Gill’s “My, My, My.” While often remembered as the quintessential slow jam for a night of romance, to reduce the track to mere bedroom ambiance is to miss its profound complexity. Released in 1990 as the second single from Gill’s self-titled album, “My, My, My” stands as a masterclass in the New Jack Swing subgenre—a seamless fusion of hip-hop’s rhythmic drive and classic soul’s vocal grandeur. More than a song, it is a three-act drama of pursuit, vulnerability, and declarative passion, anchored by one of the most powerful and nuanced vocal performances of its era. The Context: Johnny Gill’s Metamorphosis To understand the impact of “My, My, My,” one must appreciate the artist who delivered it. Johnny Gill began his career as a teen prodigy in the mid-1980s, a clean-cut crooner in the mold of Luther Vandross but without a distinct identity. His early work, while technically proficient, lacked the edge that defined the burgeoning New Jack Swing movement led by producers Jimmy Jam, Terry Lewis, and Teddy Riley. By 1990, Gill had joined the revamped version of New Edition, and his solo career was at a crossroads. Enter producers LA Reid and Babyface, then at the height of their creative powers. They recognized that Gill’s secret weapon was not just his five-octave range but his ability to project a man’s unguarded sincerity.

From this gentle opening, the song builds methodically. The verses detail a private fantasy: “I often dream of you / Holding you close and feeling you near.” There is no aggression here, no possessive demand. Instead, Gill positions himself as a man humbled by attraction, admitting that he is “lost in a world of you.” The chorus then erupts as a release of that tension: “My, my, my / I wanna be your man / My, my, my / I wanna be the one who understands.” The repetition of “my, my, my” functions as both an exclamation of awe and a possessive pronoun—a declaration that he wants to transform admiration into ownership, but an ownership rooted in empathy and understanding. how are you my friend by johnny gill

More importantly, “My, My, My” influenced a decade of R&B ballads. It demonstrated that a slow jam could be rhythmically urgent without losing its tenderness. Artists from Boyz II Men to Usher to Chris Brown owe a debt to the blueprint Gill, Reid, and Babyface created: the idea that a man’s strength in love is best expressed through emotional transparency, backed by an irresistible groove. Thirty years later, “My, My, My” remains a touchstone. It plays at wedding receptions, nostalgic cookouts, and quiet evenings alike. Its longevity is not due to nostalgia alone but to its timeless emotional truth. The song captures that universal, terrifying, and exhilarating moment when casual friendship tips into something deeper—when you realize that “how are you” is no longer a polite question but a prelude to a lifetime. Johnny Gill, with his towering voice and unguarded heart, turned that moment into art. He answered the question he posed: He is not just a friend. He is a man who wants to be the man. And for the duration of four minutes and forty-eight seconds, we believe him completely. In the pantheon of late 1980s and early

What makes this performance remarkable is its control within chaos. Gill never shouts; he projects. He uses dynamics masterfully, dropping to a whisper on “I wanna be the one who understands” before exploding into the climactic high notes. This mirrors the song’s central tension: the conflict between the refined gentleman and the primal lover. Gill reconciles these two by proving that the most powerful declaration of desire is not a growl but a well-sung, heartfelt cry. Released at the dawn of the 1990s, “My, My, My” became an anthem for a generation navigating the post-civil rights, hip-hop-inflected landscape of Black love and romance. It dominated radio, MTV’s late-night R&B programming, and the nascent “quiet storm” format. The song’s music video—featuring Gill in sleek, monochromatic outfits, singing directly to the camera with an intensity that borders on vulnerability—cemented his image as the sensitive heartthrob. The Context: Johnny Gill’s Metamorphosis To understand the

The bridge elevates the song to its emotional climax. Gill abandons metaphor and sings with naked directness: “I can’t hide this feeling inside / And I won’t even try / I want you for myself.” In a lesser singer’s hands, these lines could sound arrogant. But Gill’s voice, cracking with controlled desperation, transforms them into a plea. He is not demanding the woman; he is surrendering to his own need for her. If the lyrics provide the map, Johnny Gill’s voice provides the terrain. “My, My, My” is a showcase of what critics have called “the scream”—Gill’s ability to ascend from a honeyed tenor to a piercing, full-chested high note without losing melodic coherence. The song’s production wisely leaves space for these vocal pyrotechnics. Just before the final chorus, Gill unleashes a series of ad-libs— “I wanna love you!” “I need you!” —that are not merely ornamental. They are the sound of emotional restraint finally shattering.

“My, My, My” was the result. The song opens not with a drum machine or a synth pad, but with a simple, almost hesitant piano chord—a signal that what follows will be a confession, not a conquest. Then, the signature New Jack Swing beat drops: a crisp, syncopated drum pattern and a buoyant bassline that immediately gets the head nodding. This fusion—romantic lyrics over a danceable, hip-hop-influenced track—was the genius of the era, and “My, My, My” perfected the formula for the slow jam. The song’s colloquial title, “How Are You My Friend,” derived from its opening line, is deceptively simple. The lyric, “My, my, my / How are you, my friend?” is a stroke of narrative genius. It begins with casual, almost platonic familiarity—the language of a man testing the waters. But Gill’s delivery immediately subverts the words. The elongated, breathy “my, my, my” is less a greeting and more a visceral reaction to the woman’s presence. It’s the sound of composure crumbling.