“I Just Can’t Stop Loving You” was a strange pick for the first single from Bad—more like a placeholder until the real hits showed up. Yet, on clout alone, this limp entry—one of the most forgettable in the Jackson catalog, Rebbie’s included—sailed to number one. Siedah Garrett was brought in at the last minute after Barbra Streisand and Whitney Houston scoffed, tossing out flimsy excuses for passing. The truth? The song is just plain bad.

Siedah admired MJ too much to give his song the raspberry it earned, so when asked to duet at the spur of the moment, she stayed firmly in her lane. Maybe out of respect. Or maybe because it wasn’t worth wasting much breath on a track this weak.

Winner: Michael.

’80s-era Bobby Womack seemed to take real pleasure in pairing his jagged-whiskey-glass vocals with the siren-like textures of powerhouse singers like Patti LaBelle, who shows up on multiple tracks from his "Poet II" album. Bobby was a great singer in his own right—but Patti is Patti, and at her peak, nobody on earth could out-scream her.

Now, I’m not one of those ride-or-die Patti fans (and there are many out there), but I know effective vocals when I hear them. Patti served up a generous helping here, full-bodied and on-brand. And Bobby? He had the good sense to step back and let her cook. No competition, no resistance—just smooth collaboration. Bobby ain’t no fool.

Winner: Patti.

Stacy comes into this duet singing like she had something to prove, while Johnny sounds like he just happened to be passing through on his way home from a sweaty workout at the YMCA. We all know Johnny Gill has powerhouse vocals, but he didn’t bring them here—probably because he wanted no real association with a song this turrbull, the musical equivalent of a chocolate-vanilla swirl cone served straight from Satan’s soft-serve machine.

Still, he lent his voice to the track, a duet that kept Lattisaw’s career afloat in the early ’80s until we all eventually got tired of her at-times squeaky singing. That said, she actually turns in a pretty solid performance here, despite the composition being as trite as all get-out.

Winner: Stacy.

This is how corny this song is: when I was a kid—without the assistance of video music television or the internet—I thought white people like Frankie Valli or Anne Murray sang this. For years. I remember thinking it was weird that the Black radio station was playing the living hell out of it. Even more baffling was that my mom—who had absolutely zero love for anything wipepo had to offer—went out and bought the 45. My mom! Purchasing a record by white people! The temperature must've dropped in hell that day.

I think it wasn’t until Marilyn McCoo started hosting "Solid Gold" that I realized it had actually been Black folks behind that ridiculously blah song. And as pretty as McCoo was, there was still something kinda bland about her, too. I remember wondering when they were gonna bring the edgier and blacker Dionne Warwick back to reclaim her "Solid Gold" throne. McCoo was sweet and pleasant, but as flavorless as some thoroughly chewed gum stuck to the bottom of a school desk.

Oh, and about “You Don’t Have to Be a Star (To Be in My Show)”? It’s hard to pick a winner in a song that could’ve doubled as a jingle for a Colgate commercial.

Winner: Billy, I guess.

Williams may win vocally, but it’s really the listener who ultimately loses on this cheese doodle of a duet. (Honestly, I prefer the one she and Mathis did for the Family Ties theme song. Niecy wins that one, too.)

These days, "Family Ties" star Michael J. Fox (Alex P. Keaton) is bravely battling Parkinson’s Disease, while things have gone even worse for Justine Bateman (Mallory), who’s gone full Trumper. As for the artists, since the “Too Much, Too Little, Too Late” days, Deniece has gone gospel and Mathis finally came out of a closet that didn’t have a door on it to begin with.

Do you see a trend here? When I can’t stand a song, I end up talking about everything except the song I’m supposed to be profiling. Please bear with me…

Winner: Deniece.

Ms. McGhee didn’t have to try very hard to gain the vocal upper hand over the beggin’, pleadin’, and vocally underwhelmin’ Keith Sweat. I’ve often wondered how he became a legend in R&B. From what I understand, Sweat was a savvy businessman and shrewd negotiator who learned how the game worked before entering it. That doesn’t mean he ever took a singing lesson, though.

To his credit, Sweat was a solid songwriter, and he knew a track as strong as “Make It Last Forever” needed a female voice to really sell it. I don’t know where he found Jacci McGhee, but she did a bang-up job injecting passion and credibility into the composition. Yes, she can sing. Now we just need her to do something about the ridiculoid spelling of her name.

Winner: Jacci.

Is Michael Henderson here the same Michael Henderson behind the zany #4 R&B hit “Wide Receiver”—the one loaded with loony, barely-veiled gay sex innuendo? Yes. Yes, he is. Which makes it all the more surprising to see him show up here in full-on Quiet Storm mode, delivering a respectable performance on this mid-tempo duet. Known more for funk grooves and eyebrow-raising lyrics than tender love songs, it’s actually nice to witness the man’s serious side for a change.

That said, while Henderson holds his own, he’s clearly outmatched by Phyllis Hyman, whose voice is, as always, a honey-smoked revelation. She sounds completely in control—rich, expressive, effortless. The track itself never really catches fire, content to simmer at a low emotional boil, but Phyllis brings enough depth to make you stick around until the end.

Winner: Phyllis.

Rene & Angela have a bunch of great songs under their belt, but the electro-funk gem “I’ll Be Good” is my personal favorite. While the two functioned as a songwriting and production team, Angela Winbush was always the unmistakable focal point. With her clear-as-a-bell tone, soaring range, and that signature moaning style that could stretch a note from over hurrr to way over thurrr, she made it abundantly clear that Rene was mostly there for ornamental purposes.

On “I’ll Be Good” — and pretty much everything they recorded together — the vocal winner isn’t even up for debate. Vocally, Winbush was fourchu lobster to Moore’s elementary school cafeteria fish sticks.

Winner: Angela.

This duet off the Batman soundtrack briefly put Prince back on top of the charts. For a minute, Sheena Easton had a valid ghetto pass thanks to her work with Prince and Babyface, turning out some solid R&B in the 80s. (Her "Lover in Me" album is some good stuff, folks.). But “Arms of Orion” is a rock-bottom moment for both Sheena and Prince—starting out nowhere and staying there. Sheena technically wins the duet on the strength of her lovely voice, but on a song this uninspired, that victory feels hollow.

Winner: Sheena.

I genuinely like Valerie Simpson — she strikes me as warm, grounded, and gracious despite her immense success as a songwriter and producer. But when it comes to singing? I can’t help it… Nick Ashford’s quirky, unmistakable monkey-man vocals are absolutely irresistible to my ears.

I only own one Ashford & Simpson album and know a handful of their singles, but every time their music comes on, I find myself zeroing in on Nick. Those drawn-out “oh-ohs” he delivers at the start of each verse on “Solid” feel like a sonic hug — comforting, familiar, and as satisfying as a hot cup of cocoa with a splash of Bailey’s Negro Cream.

And let’s not forget how on Diana Ross' "The Boss" album, his background vocals almost upstages Diana's on stompers like "Once in the Morning" and "No One Gets the Prize", not an easy feat. And on "Solid", someone DOES get the prize, and his name is Nick Ashford, ya'll.

Winner: Nick. Nick. This time and every time. Nick.

I have very little desire to dive deep into Marvin Gaye’s early Motown catalogue — I’ve just never been a fan of that assembly-line, cookie-cutter R&B sound from the era. Unless it came out of Stax, Atlantic or Chess Records, it usually doesn’t move me. That said, some songs are simply inescapable, and “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” is one of them.

There are probably a ga-zillion versions of this Ashford & Simpson classic out there, but the definitive take — the one that lives rent-free in our collective memory — is the Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell version. Originally intended for Dusty Springfield (until Motown snatched it back), this was the first duet Marvin and Tammi ever recorded. And while Tammi absolutely held her own with poise and charm, the truth is that Marvin brought a level of nuance, vulnerability, and controlled grit that was tough to match.

You can hear Marvin’s genius in every line — the sense of yearning, the scratch in his tone just where it needed to be, the emotional intelligence embedded in each word. He had a way of making his duet partners sound like his support act. And it wasn’t just Tammi: Marvin recorded duet albums with both Mary Wells and Kim Weston, and each woman ended up abruptly leaving Motown not long after. Even Tammi, who recorded her parts separately out of understandable nervousness, couldn’t avoid being cast in Marvin’s shadow. After her tragic collapse on stage and untimely death, Marvin blamed himself, thinking he was the common denominator in all three of these situations. He vowed to never do another duet album again.

That is… until Motown coaxed him into doing one with Diana Ross. It was a disaster. They butted heads immediately, recorded most of the album separately, and as Diana had feared — Marvin sang circles around her.

In contrast, he was respectful and collaborative with Tammi. But make no mistake — Marvin held the aces.

Winner: Marvin.

I try to be as positive as I can, I really do. But sometimes it’s tough—especially when it comes to Aaron Hall, the painful, pus-filled boil on R&B’s butt. When I bought his first two solo albums (pre-YouTube days), I had no clue what kind of person he was. Then one VladTV interview later—wow. Somebody's got some serious self-esteem issues.

Faith Evans somehow tolerated Aaron long enough to cut this duet for his second album "Inside of You". Both are strong singers in their own lanes: Aaron with his gospel-drenched, over-embellished crooning; Faith with her clean tone and easy range. “If You Leave Me” opens with plucky Spanish guitar, Aaron handling the first verse in his usual undulated style, while Faith comes in smooth and steady. Nothing groundbreaking.

The real decider comes at the coda, when both go off-script to improvise. For reasons known only to the engineer, Faith’s soaring high notes get faded out—but even so, they give her the dubya on an otherwise underwhelming track from an insecure, insipid artist.

Winner: Faith.

I’m pretty sure Rick James and Smokey Robinson were somewhere deep in the throes of their, um, chemical era when they came together for “Ebony Eyes.” Rick wrote the track in response to folks calling him out for featuring too many white sweeties in his videos and post-show Freak Offs. So this was his way of reassuring the public that yes, he still saw the beauty of a Black woman, you know, the ones with ebony eyes.

Now, whatever they were smoking back then--crack. It was crack.--seemed to hit the two legends very differently. Rick? He came alive. His voice soars, he’s locked in, giving the song that classic Rick James urgency. Smokey? Not so much. While the song calls for tenderness, Smokey drifts into near-snooze territory. His vocals sound like he took a gentle nap in the booth and then woke up just in time to throw in a few soft moans as the track faded out.

It’s not that Smokey can’t sing — we know he can — but on this one, Rick carried the weight. He was invested. He was dialed in. Smokey? He was on a smoke break.

Winner: Rick.

Neither singer needed a lot of real air on "No Air" as the vocals of both Chris Brown and Jordin Sparks were slathered in the same thick layer of Auto-Tune, leaving their SpaceX-styled vocals nearly indistinguishable without the video. But once you hit play on YouTube, it’s clear: Jordin sings with intention and heart, while Chris sounds like he just clocked in, checked the boxes on his to-do list, and dipped.

Winner: Jordin.

When it comes to Lauryn Hill, I have to borrow the immortal words of Bugs Bunny: What’s all the hubbub, Bub?

I remember the tidal wave of hype around "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill"—you couldn’t escape it. That album was the soundtrack to every bougie backyard BBQ in Brooklyn and every high-steppin’, highfalutin cocktail party in Harlem for a solid year. And while the record had its moments, it also came packed with more filler than a dollar-store teddy bear.

“Nothing Even Matters” (yes, it really does have a name that ironic) is filler of the filler—a slow, meandering thing where both Lauryn and D’Angelo sound like the Ambien just kicked in as the tape started rolling. Back in the day, I don’t remember hearing anything quite as tired and uninspired as this duet—and the ’90s gave us plenty of musical reasons to feel blasé blasé. Honestly, I can’t name a winner here because I’ve never made it to the end of the song with both eyes open.

Winner: the finger snaps.

This is that one song on Mary’s excellent debut "What’s the 411?" that I usually skip right the fucc over. No amount of echo effects could save this off-key duet from falling flat on every front. The only thing worse than this mess is when they reunited for the torturous “Not Lookin’,” with K-Ci’s terribly diminished vocals and Mary’s endless complaining about stuff we just didn’t care about anymore.

The best thing the doomed-from-the-start relationship between these two stars gave us was Mary’s masterpiece "My Life", which—by the way—used K-Ci's talents in the most delightful way: they stuck him way in the background with the other support singers where he could do the least amount of damage.

Winner: No one.

Let’s go ahead and address the elephant in the room: L.A. and Babyface’s late ’80s and early ’90s productions were formulaic. There. I said it. But formulas are good. Aren't they what moms give their newborns so that their bones grow strong? (And to stop their own boobs from sagging from all that suckling?)

The L.A. and Babyface formula worked wonders back then. Their magic wasn’t in reinventing the wheel for every song—it was in taking a solid, proven structure and applying it all over the place. “Love Saw It,” “Feels So Much Better” by Johnny Gill, “Why Do I Believe” by Pebbles—hell, you could swap out the vocals and keep the backing track. But if the formula works, you don’t mess with it. You ride that sucker straight to the bank.

Now, I’ve never been much of a Babyface vocal fan, but “Love Saw It” showed that he and Karyn White actually blended quite well. I really dig the staccato, machine-gun phrasing of the verses and the weeble-wobble bassline that creeps in on the bridge. Neither singer colors outside the lines here, and honestly, that’s the right move—a song this clean and minimal doesn’t need any extra riffing.

Performance-wise, it’s a draw. But I’m giving the edge to Karyn—because I’m biased and I’m okay with that.

Winner: Karyn, but only by the hair of her weavy-weave-weave.

To me, Quincy Jones’ "Back on the Block" got the "Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" treatment before Lauryn had even graduated high school. I owned the cassette and could never quite figure out why so many (white) critics were shitting their dungarees over it. Granted, I was a little closed-minded back then, so I recently gave "Back on the Block" another spin, hoping to hear what they heard.

Nope.

Turns out, my original take still holds: the album is long on ambition, short on bona fide jams.

Except for one glorious exception—its splendid album closer, “The Secret Garden (Sweet Seduction Suite).” This track brought together the generational talents of Barry White, James Ingram, and El DeBarge. (Al B. Sure was present, too.)

Each singer brought his own flavor. Barry delivered that deep, velvety baritone that nearly blew out the sad stereo speakers in my Suzuki Samurai. El crooned with his smooth, caramel-coated vocals. But James—James brought the fire, with his rich, soulful phrasing and soaring emotional delivery.

Honestly, I can’t think of a single duet or ensemble track Ingram was on that he didn’t dominate. No matter how stacked the roster, he always managed to snatch the mic and leave everyone else in his rearview. He was one of R&B’s greatest voices—forever underrated and forever confined to “Duet Dude” status.

But this is a competition, and in that spirit:

Winner: James.
Runner-up: Barry.
Third: El.
Also present: Al B. Sure.

Folks love them some Mariah. She’s got her Lambs, her elusive chanteuse thingy-bob, and a dating history full of eligible bachelors. And yes, once upon a time she had an exceptional voice. But aside from the "Butterfly" album and maybe three tracks off her debut, I’ve never been sold. Mase once hollered on her best song, “Honey,” that Mariah was on fie-ya, but you couldn’t prove that by me.

Back in the ’90s, I tolerated her—barely. The endless melisma runs, the overhyped whistle register—it wasn’t my thing. So when she dropped her MTV Unplugged EP with “I’ll Be There” as the centerpiece, I wasn’t exactly perched on the edge of my seat.

Enter Trey Lorenz. Suddenly people were buzzing about this unknown backup singer who tried his best to out-tweet the Tweety Bird. To Mariah’s credit, she stepped aside during the performance, egging him on like a proud stage mom. Someone at Epic Records liked what they heard enough to give Trey a deal, even stacking the deck with heavy hitters (Mariah included) to launch him into stardom.

But after one modestly successful single, the whole thing went splat! and Epic dropped him. Back to the background Trey went. Still, for that one glitter-dusted moment, Trey Lorenz almost—almost—outshined the main attraction. And I’ll give the boy his props for that.

Technically, “I’ll Be There” wasn’t a duet in the strict sense—Trey sang his parts, then respectfully scurried back into the wings. But since it’s been about 30 years since anyone mentioned Lil’ Lorenz, I figured I’d big him up.

Still, however I felt about Mariah, when she was in her prime, she had no rivals—and certainly not Lorenz. (And believe me, I wanted her to have some.)

Winner: Mariah.

Jesse Johnson once shared that the late, very great Sly Stone came into the studio and laid down his vocals for “Crazay” in a single take—refusing to do any retakes. That must’ve been both exhilarating and maddening for Johnson, a capable producer whose slick, catchy electro-funk helped keep the Minneapolis Sound alive and charting through the ’80s. (The RZA told a similar story about when he worked with Sly; Sly wanted his money up front and did his vocals in one take.)

Landing Sly at all was a coup. By then, Sly had long retreated into self-imposed reclusion, his career derailed by addiction and industry disillusionment. He hadn’t had a hit in 13 years. But Jesse somehow coaxed him out of the shadows to contribute vocals to a track that wasn’t even meant to be on the "Shockadelica" album. The song was a late addition, pulled out after a label exec insisted the album needed just one more jam to round it out.

And what a jam it was.

Sly not only showed up for the recording session, he also appeared in the video—a rare move for an artist who had largely disappeared from public view. And the decision not to mess with the magic by pushing for cleaner takes? Inspired. Sly’s vocals are raw, magnetic, and perfectly imperfect, just like the man himself. “Crazay” bangs, and Sly’s one-take wonder reminds us of the genius we’d been missing.

Winner: Sly.

The only one with mechanical emotions here is Vanity.

At the time, I was spending all my allowance money on anything even remotely connected to Prince—including Vanity’s debut album "Wild Animal"—hoping His Royal Badness had a hand in it. He didn’t. But “Mechanical Emotion” was the Prince-iest track on the set and easily my favorite cut on the album. Unfortunately, that had very little to do with Vanity herself, who delivers her vocals with a hurried, jittery cadence that makes it sound like she was trying to finish the session quickly because she really had to pee.

I haven’t the foggiest clue what she’s mumbling about. Honestly, I understood the parts she sings in French better than her garbled English. The track itself is a synth-drenched, robotic groove cooked up in full ’80s mode by a guy named Bill Wolfer—who clearly got the memo to make it sound as much like Prince as legally possible without sparking an infringement lawsuit from Paisley Park.

But what the song really needed—what saved it—was Morris Day. He swoops in with his unmistakable drawl and somehow lands the catchiest, most intelligible lines in the whole joint. Morris may not be an elite vocalist, but next to Vanity’s butterfingered performance, he might as well be Pavarotti.

Sure, Vanity didn’t end up being Canada’s most valuable export, but she did co-star in "The Last Dragon", which is still one of the campiest and most enjoyable guilty pleasures to ever feature glow-in-the-dark kung fu. Respect for that. But in this musical match-up?

Winner: Morris.

Diana Ross’ last official Motown album was 1980’s diana, though the label kept milking her catalog to squeeze out the last drops of her contract. One of her final Motown recordings was the title track for the film Endless Love. Around the same time, she inked the biggest recording deal in history with MCA, and with “Endless Love” becoming one of the year’s two biggest hits, MCA execs were prematurely popping champagne bottles and counting madd chickens before they hatched.

On “Endless Love,” Diana sounds nasally but nice, singing with just enough passion to prove Motown wrong and MCA right. The song doesn’t stink, but it’s far from peak work for either artist. I doubt Diana ever saw it as more than a career stepping stone; every time Lionel pings her to perform it with him, you just know she clicks the message and drags it straight to the trash. That's just rude, Ms. Ross!

(But honestly, I can’t blame her.)

Winner: Diana.

I was watching this interview with Patti LaBelle, and the journalist straight-up asked her if it was true that, whenever she’s sharing a stage, she tries to blow everyone else off it. Patti, in her signature no-nonsense way, said something like, “Absolutely. I’m a professional singer. If the others can’t match my power, that’s on them.” And then—chef’s kiss—they cut to a clip of Yolanda Adams singing her heart out, face full of determination…until Patti entered stage left and turned Yolanda into a sad bowl of yesterday’s oatmeal. Yo-Yo shoulda known better.

So I honestly don’t know why anyone would willingly duet with Patti—but that’s exactly what Michael McDonald did on “On My Own.” And shockingly? It worked. Patti came in subdued (by her standards), doing her best not to send Michael running for the border. To be fair, McDonald had already held his own next to James Ingram, another vocal powerhouse, so he wasn’t exactly new to high-stakes duets. Patti had publicly declared she wanted a #1 pop hit like Whitney, so she reined it in just enough to cross over—and she got what she came for.

Still, when you listen closely, Patti lets you know who’s boss. She holds back just long enough for folks to feel safe—and then bam, she takes it home. That final vocal cry—“this wasn’t how it was sa-posed to baaaaaaae”—was the sonic equivalent of a TKO. That’s the moment I wait for every time I hear the song. If not for that glorious wail, we might’ve called it a draw. But Patti being Patti said "nah, boo".

Winner: Patti.

Counting “This Time,” I know exactly two songs by Shanice and one by R&B duo Kiara. I absolutely loathe her tooth-fairy anthem “I Love Your Smile,” and I have no clue where Kiara came from or where they went once “This Time” slid off the R&B charts. No one’s even bothered to open a Wiki page for them—which seems unfair, since the song hit #2 on the R&B charts. (They also charted with a pretty lame cover of "Strawberry Letter 23".) C’mon, Kiara fans (whoever you are), get on the ball!

That said, the Kiara singer delivers plenty of emotion on this pleasant, bright slice of late-’80s kissy-poo R&B, the kind of track best enjoyed after sundown with a hot toddy. Shanice, though, has the chops to elevate it. I’ve seen the YouTube receipts—she was a serious vocalist. So crowning her the winner here is a no-brainer, especially since I have no idea what the name of her singing partner is.

Winner: Shanice.

I pick Bobby as the winner here. I know—that might come as a surprise given how much I love a good screaming diva. But Alltrinna’s got too many Ls and Ns in her name and too much unchecked energy in a performance that sounds pulled straight from the talent show at the Patti LaBelle High School for the Arts.

On Bobby’s "The Poet II" album, he shared the mic with Patti on several tracks, and they actually sounded great together. Of course, Patti came in like she always does—ready to scream everyone out of the room—but there was a real spark between these two seasoned performers and longtime friends.

I don’t know if Bobby and Alltrinna knew each other before teaming up on Wilton Felder’s album, which featured this hit, but the chemistry just wasn’t there. Bobby spun his usual scratchy-voiced magic, but Ms. Grayson sang like she was auditioning for a solo at Mount Olive Baptist Church. This isn’t to say she didn’t have talent—she definitely did—but she went overboard when subtlety would’ve served her better.

"No Matter How High I Get (I’ll Still Be Looking Up to You)" was the first—and last—I heard from Alltrinna, so I must not be the only one who feels this way.

Winner: Bobby.

I love Kashif more than I love my own damn self, but he picked a fight he had no chance of winning when he stepped into the booth with Morgan and her scratchy Powercat-scratch vocals. That said, Kashif absolutely had a place on this track—the pairing gave listeners a real treat.

“Love Changes” was originally done by funk-rock outfit Mother’s Finest, the same crew that gave us 1977’s barn burner “Baby Love.” You can hear some of the same confident, raw energy in Joyce Kennedy’s delivery that Meli’sa brings here. But Kashif took the song, sped it up, synthesized it, and added a layer of giddiness as he and Meli’sa exchanged declarations of love and stuff.

It’s a great duet, no question. Still, with her Chaka Khan-infused inflections and all those beautiful rough edges in her voice, Meli’sa is the clear winner. Kashif is still my man, though—and while I admittedly don’t know much of her catalog, I consider Morgan to be a fantastic singer.

Winner: Meli'sa.

This is why we can’t let white journalists tell us about our own singers. In their kooky Best Singer list, they put Gladys just one slot ahead of Elton John. On what planet does that make sense? All you have to do is take a wissen to “That’s What Friends Are For” and hear how Gladys’ powerful, scratchy delivery gave the song the injection of soul it desperately needed. She ate her three “Friends” for lunch—without even trying.

Stevie held his own and ran a spirited race. And I give Elton all the kudos in the world for standing his ground and securing a respectable third-place finish.

Sadly, Dionne placed last on her own record. But she got top billing, and if she hadn’t generously donated all the profits to AIDS charities, filing for Chapter 7 would not have been a chapter in her biography. We are at the cusp of finding a cure for AIDS, and Warwick's efforts contributed to this breakthrough.

Even though Dionne was vocally outmatched, she gets MADD props for shining a light on a subject most Black artists at the time wouldn’t go near—even as our communities were being disproportionately devastated by the AIDS crisis.

Vocal Winner: Gladys.
Overall Winner: Dionne.

I’m not sure who shook Dionne out of her sleepy "Alfie" phase, but when she hit the studio with The Spinners for “Then Came You,” she landed body blows to Bobby Smith’s gizzard and a flurry to Philippé Wynn’s kidneys—no small feat against two seasoned vocalists.

Tired of the whispers that she wasn’t “Black enough,” Dionne marched into that session and turned in one of her most soulful vocals ever. We were used to seeing Warwick in a regal cocktail dress, holding a dry martini (shaken, not stirred) in one hand and a Virginia Slim in the other, ruling the Copacabana crowd like royalty. But by ’69, plenty of Black listeners still saw her records in the store and walked on by. She needed a new start and hooking up with Thom Bell and the Philly sound gave it to her.

Was this the same coy, unassuming gal who lost en route to San José? No way. This Dionne had fire in her belly, going off so hard that The Spinners had to tag in ad-lib king Philippé Wynn just to keep up.

With this number one hit, Dionne bought herself a brief reprieve from the “Oreo” digs. But once she signed with Arista under Clive Davis—who had little patience for Black women singing too Black—she cashed in her ghetto pass and slid back into lounge lizard mode. But before Clive could extinguish her soulful flames, she claimed the two-for-one duets crown right here.

Winner: Dionne.

On any given day, Dennis could sing rings around Siedah, but here she came in with punch and spunk, nearly stealing the spotlight from a more restrained Edwards. Siedah, a songwriter and session singer who’s literally worked with everyone, had already tried her hand at solo and group projects before landing her big break with Quincy Jones and Michael Jackson during the "Bad" era. “Don’t Look Any Further” became the biggest hit for both her and Dennis (as a soloist) and has since been remade and sampled zillions of times. (Too bad none of those royalties were used to reshoot that sad excuse for a video—wasn’t green screen already invented by 1984?)

Dennis takes a gruff, by-the-books approach, while Garrett comes off giddy and electric, and it doesn’t hurt that she gets the juiciest lines (“we’re gonna taste a little paradise” and “and we’ll go on and on and on…”). All told, on this classic jam, she edges him out—just barely.

Winner: Siedah.

It was never really a competition. These two Howard University grads were made for each other: blend Flack’s honey-dripped smoothness with Hathaway’s robust, soaring tenor and you get the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup of R&B duets. My ear goes straight to Donny here, with Flack sliding into harmony duty—and that’s fine, because he was never trying to overshadow her. Together they struck a perfect balance, landing a #1 R&B and #5 pop hit in 1972. Flack brought the pop sheen, Hathaway fortified the soul. A flawless combination. Honestly, I can’t think of a better duo—sorry, Peaches & Herb.

And I can’t help but wonder: what would a Donny/Aretha duet have sounded like in the early ’70s, set to a blistering Arif Mardin production? Now that’s a mouth-watering proposition.

Winner: Donny.

I was a BIG Loofah fan growing up, so imagine my horror when I was driving down the freeway with my dad, “There’s Nothing Better Than Love” came on, and he confessed he couldn’t tell the singers apart. I nearly opened the door and hurled myself out of that moving car.

Years later, I revisited Dad’s comments. Since he was only a casual Vandross listener, I can kind of see it now. It’d be like Trey Songz and Chris Brown cutting a duet from their respective prison cells—I wouldn’t know who was who either. And to be fair, Gregory Hines held his own, blending so well with Luther that the distinction blurred at times. But when the bridge and coda hit, Vandross lifted his voice and reminded us why he was one of the greatest singers popular music will ever see.

So no, Hines couldn’t blow like Luther. But let's see who'd take the crown in a tap dancing contest...


Winner: Luther.

I could call “Love All the Hurt Away” a tie if I really wanted, but ties are for suits and soccer. Can’t do it.

Aretha was unusually noncompetitive here with Benson, and the result was gorgeous. But let’s not forget the three forces chipping away at her powers: the immense stress she was under, the 99 ka-jillion Marlboro butts, and Clive Davis—Arista’s hellish honcho—who no doubt ordered her to tone it down if she wanted back in the hit-making game.

I saw Aretha sing live in the early ’80s via YouTube. The power and range weren’t what they once were, but she could still bring the thunder when needed. On “Love All the Hurt Away,” though, she went full Barbra Streisand, letting Benson run note-for-note with her—something almost no one could do, even on her off days. Still, Aretha was Aretha: her interpretive genius made her the center of any duet, even when she wasn’t actively trying to make her partner regret showing up. (Ref: Mary J. Blige.)

And remember that VH-1 Divas night when a tobacco-free, rejuvenated Aretha got salty about sharing the stage with a bunch of hoes and proceeded to take out all four by herself? Celine Dion tried to fight back for a hot minute before realizing it was a losing battle and backing off. Now that’s the Aretha I know and love.

Winner: Aretha.

“Yah Mo Be There” is another gem in the juicy Rod Temperton song catalog—a silky blend of pop, soul, and gospel uplift that only a dream team like this could deliver. James Ingram and Michael McDonald were both riding high at the time: Ingram had already proven himself as Quincy Jones’ go-to vocalist, and McDonald had just come off the success of his #4 pop hit “I Keep Forgettin’ (Every Time You’re Near).” So when the opportunity to team up with Rod, James, and Quincy came knocking, McDonald wisely jumped at it—and the results were pure magic. The duet earned them a Grammy for Best R&B Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocals. Well deserved.

Now, I love me some Michael McDonald and support that man in all his soulful, bearded endeavors. But let’s be real: his husky, papa-bear baritone simply can’t match the raw, thunderous power of James Ingram’s voice. Especially those signature “whooo-hoooos” that James unleashes toward the end—they lift the song on up to the heavens. McDonald holds his own beautifully, giving a warm, controlled performance, but it’s Ingram who delivers the emotional knockout, growling and soaring his way through the final moments. Together, they made something special, but it’s James who brings it all the way home, as he always did on these duets.

Winner: James.

Both Stephanie and Teddy were magnificent singers, and they’d proven their chemistry before. Just check their cover of Peabo Bryson’s “Feel the Fire” on Pendergrass’ TP album. (When Teddy drops his voice down on “and if I should lose your love,” granny panties from coast to coast got damp.) His ad-libs there are pure inspiration, making Stephanie yelp with near-organismic delight.

But one year later on “Two Hearts,” ConEd cut the gas on that fire. Even in the video they look more like BFFs than lovers. Vocally, Teddy doesn’t sound invested in making Stephanie—or anyone—buss a nut. He lets the track fade without any of his trademark improvisations. Maybe he didn’t like the song, or maybe he was just being his usual bitchy self, but Teddy mailed this one in. (He doesn’t even bother to stand up in the video—understandable given their sizable height difference, but still…)

Winner: Stephanie.

I always liked how Darkchild layered his songs with those sleek synth lines. Honestly, the noodling keyboards are my favorite part of this single, which dominated radio at the tail end of the ’90s. As for Brandy’s slight, squeaky vocals—people love them, though I’ve never understood why. I lean toward Monica’s fuller, more mature sound. Her cool, collected delivery is a Hummer to Brandy’s Hot Wheels.

All that breathy melisma wears on me, but even here Brandy’s vocals sit on top, like the mix was tilted in her favor. Probably because she co-wrote the track and Darkchild had just produced her "Never Say Never" album. Monica pulled a little stunt of her own, naming her album "The Boy Is Mine"—a month after Brandy’s dropped—clearly to ride the single’s coattails. (I smell Clive Davis all over that move.)

In the end, none of that really matters. Monica’s vocals come off more solid and mature than Brandy’s—even on a song as draggy and ho-hum as this one.

Winner: Monica.

On "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill", “I Used to Love Him” was one of the tracks I actually looked forward to—mostly for the background vocals. Lauryn and Mary both bring a sense of reflection and regret, shaped by their own messy relationships with fellow entertainers. It starts off strong.

But toward the end, the song goes off the rails. Once they start improvising, it devolves into undecipherable babble, with both voices stacked on top of each other until you can’t tell who’s saying what. The result is cluttered and chaotic—not in a good, soulful way, but in a “someone should’ve stopped the tape” way. Which is a shame, because up until that point, the back-and-forth was working beautifully.

Winner: The background singers.

Teddy Graham powers… activate!

This light-skin-did power duet lit up the charts in 1982 after General Hospital gave it a massive boost, prompting a re-release that sent it to #1 Pop and #9 R&B. But Ingram and Austin didn’t do it alone.

Rod Temperton and Quincy Jones struck gold again. After leaving Heatwave to focus on songwriting, Temperton forged a tight bond with Jones, supplying him with a vault of hits—including “Baby, Come to Me.” Both James Ingram and Patti Austin had already shined on Jones’ "The Dude" album, so pairing them up for this ballad was a no-brainer.

And just when you think the lineup couldn’t get better, they slid Michael McDonald in on background vocals. Patti’s lovely, no doubt, but James? He brought the fire—as always. Smooth as Egyptian silk but with just enough toughness, like that cheap steak you bought on sale at Trader Joe’s. And there’s this one tiny moment that kills me every time: “Let me put my arms around you… hey!” That “hey!” is everything in three letters.

No contest here. Like Aretha, Ingram rarely—if ever—loses these duets.

Winner: James.

I don’t know who Will Downing is, but I can clearly state that he understood the assignment on “Nothing Has Ever Felt Like This.” He keeps his contributions perfectly in the pocket—smooth, supportive, never overreaching. Rachelle Ferrell, meanwhile, runs her game at about 30% capacity, and that’s exactly what a Quiet Storm ballad like this needs. She purrs more than she belts, but when the outro hits, she flashes the goods: one of her signature 99-minute-long notes followed by a few tweety-bird chirps—just to remind us that she can still blow the roof off the mutha when she gets good and ready.

It’s that restraint that makes this work. Rachelle can sometimes go overboard, but here she exercises real control. The result? One of my favorite duets of the era—low-key, intimate, and airtight.

Winner: Rachelle.

As the frontwoman of Rufus, Khan really only duetted with bandmate Tony Maiden—and they made a fine pair. On her 1978 solo debut "Chaka", though, she was paired with labelmate George Benson, whose blend of soulful jazz fusion had already made him one of the best-selling Black artists of the era.

Benson also penned “We Got the Love,” and stacked against the rest of the album, the track feels like it should have been the follow-up single to “I’m Every Woman” instead of the maudlin “Life Is a Dance.” On “We Got the Love,” their voices mesh beautifully, and Chaka—usually prone to going full-throttle—keeps things measured for most of the ride. Benson gives a smooth, steady performance, locking in perfectly with her on the harmonies.

But as the song barrels toward the finish line, Chaka gets that familiar jolt of adrenaline—and suddenly she’s pulling away from George the way Sha’Carri Richardson leaves her competition in the dust.

Winner: Chaka, but not by as much as you'd think.

On "My Everything" (2004), Anita Baker and Babyface deliver one of the sweetest, most respectful duets you’ll ever hear—a gem that most people don’t even know exists, mainly because no one was really checking for Baker’s 2004 album.

Anita was never one to chase contemporary sounds, and "My Everything" stayed true to her classic style, for better or for worse. The real standout is this Babyface-produced track, which almost plays like a country ballad you’d write while sipping lemonade on a front porch in Savannah. Both singers approach the song with patience and tenderness, careful not to overshadow each other. The results are gorgeous through and through.

There was a time when Anita was my ride-or-die, but in her feud with Face—a conflict that honestly seemed to live mostly in her own head—I side with Babyface 100%. He had wanted to produce her back in the ’90s (those songs ended up on Toni Braxton’s debut), and he always expressed admiration for Anita. So much so that when she fired off a string of aggressive, mean-spirited tweets at him, he refused to clap back. As much as I still love her music, her online antics left a big ol’ dookie stain on how I feel about her as a person.

“Like You Used To” was the last time the notoriously testy (and petty) Baker gave Babyface the respect he earned and deserved. Anita needs to “Apologize.”

Winner: Babyface.

I saw YouTube clips of both Narada Michael Walden and George Michael reflecting on the recording session for this song. Narada said Aretha was taking it easy on Michael at first—a perspective I believe, since duetting with men never really seemed to spark her competitive fire—until he told her to let loose. George, meanwhile, admitted he was scared shitless sharing a mic with Franklin. To make matters worse, she kept her distance: respectful but short comments, no small talk, and very little eye contact—not even during the video shoot.

You can hear Aretha holding back through most of the track, until the ad-libs at the end. Even then, she didn’t have to dig very deep into her bag of tricks to overwhelm George’s vocals. By that time her vocal powers had already gone poof! in a puff of unfiltered Newport smoke, but honestly, she didn’t need them to make quick work of him. George, for his part, showed his respect by kindly stepping out of the Queen’s way.

“I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me)” became Aretha’s second and final #1 on the U.S. Hot 100. For Michael—counting his Wham! singles—it was his fourth of ten. But I have a feeling Wham!’s “Last Christmas” will eventually grab that #1 slot in the U.S., as it seems destined to overtake “All I Want for Christmas Is You” as the yuletide anthem. Hallelujah!

Winner: Aretha.

Whitney sounds fresh and cool on this Teddy Riley–produced jam, clearly inspired by her husband’s standing in R&B at the time. She was in the process of winning back credibility with Black audiences, and “Something in Common” was a fine stepping stone. Still, Whitney was mindful of her hubby’s limitations as a vocalist, cruising at maybe 40% of her full capacity.

She never really shifts out of second gear on the track, but honestly, the song didn’t call for it. Even so, a singer of her caliber was still too much for Bobby to keep up with. And that’s alright—he knew his role. By the end of the full album version, Bobby simply steps aside and cheers Whitney on, fully aware that there was nothing left for him to do there.

Winner: Whitney.

This is a great track produced by Jam and Lewis, who handled the entire "Mo’ Money" soundtrack. Janet’s giddy vocals are a perfect fit—cute, giggly, and exactly what a song this sunny needed. Luther, meanwhile, sounds like he’s having a ball, probably not even bothering to change out of his pajamas while casually taking command of the track. It had been a while since he sounded this playful, almost as if he were toying with Janet—but always in a congenial, big-brotherly way. Both came in looking for a pop hit, and they walked out with one.

The marketing, though, gave Luther the full Martha Wash treatment. His image was scrubbed from the single artwork, neither star appeared in the video, and on some pressings his name is printed three times smaller than Janet’s—with her face the only one on the cover. (I do love how her mouth is wide open on that artwork as if some major sounds are about to be unleashed.)

Anyway, a great song all the way around.

Winner: Luther.

Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil have written some undeniable cream (“Just Once,” “Black Butterfly”) and some serious crap (“Somewhere Out There,” “We’re Going All the Way”). The quality of their songs often depends on who’s doing the singing. Take “Here You Come Again”—Dolly Parton’s version soars; B.J. Thomas’ don’t. The same principle applies to “Don’t Know Much,” which had been recorded by Barry himself, Bill Medley, Bette Midler, and others before Linda Ronstadt and Aaron Neville sunk their teeth into it.

“Don’t Know Much” may be a solid composition, but what Linda and Aaron do with it is nothing short of miraculous. With its dramatic piano and sweeping strings, the track could’ve easily landed in the depths of Adult Contemporary hell. But the way their voices intertwine lifts it far above the usual AC fare. I hadn’t heard of Aaron Neville before this duet, and truthfully, I’m not sure I care for his music outside of his work with Linda. The Neville Brothers are legendary, sure—yada yada yada—but this pairing produced something utterly heart-stopping.

Even though Linda possessed one of the most powerful, technically robust voices in pop music, she was no match for Aaron’s beautifully idiosyncratic singing style. In fact, I think Linda respected Aaron so deeply that she pulled back on purpose, allowing their vocals to blend like butter melting over fresh-out-the-oven biscuits. And what a strategy it was.

“I Don’t Know Much” is pure magic on wax—one of the most stunning duets to ever hit 1980s airwaves that deserved the massive record sales, chart placements, and Grammy awards. But there can only be one winner.

Winner: Aaron.

On “Heaven Knows,” I’ve always appreciated how Brooklyn Dreams’ Joe “Bean” Esposito delivers his staggered vocals in response to Donna Summer, almost like a disco sing-in-a-round. Esposito puts up a valiant effort early on, but as the track progresses, Donna just keeps soaring, while “Bean” gradually fades into the glittery background — to only heaven knows where.

“Heaven Knows” was part of the jaw-dropping string of hits Donna dropped in the late ’70s, firmly cementing her as one of the defining artists of the disco era. As for Brooklyn Dreams? Their biggest claim to fame may be that Donna eventually married Esposito’s bandmate, Bruce Sudano — and the two remained together until her passing in 2012.

Winner: Donna.

“If This World Were Mine” was penned by Marvin Gaye and recorded as a duet with Tammi Terrell back in 1967. It’s a beautiful, tender song — but about fifteen years later, Luther Vandross decided to slow it way down, wrap it in silk, and ask Cheryl Lynn to join him behind the mic. The result? Pure magic.

Both Luther and Cheryl are dynamite vocalists, so the sparks were inevitable. But what made this version so special was the restraint. They didn’t oversing or pile on unnecessary riffs. Instead, they caressed every syllable, gliding through the verses with warmth and precision. Their voices were perfectly matched — in tone, in vibe, in chemistry.

Honestly, I would’ve called this one a tie. That is, until Luther took the highs with those glorious, soaring long notes at the end — notes so elegant and rich they practically hover in midair. That final stretch gave him the slight edge.

This is a duet masterclass. It surpasses the original, not because Marvin and Tammi didn’t do it justice, but because Luther and Cheryl tapped into a deeper, more luxurious emotional register. It’s the kind of vocal artistry that's unfortunately a thing of an era gone by.

Winner: Luther.

Mary, Mary, why you buggin’?

This is all I gotta say to Blige concerning the Babyface-produced “Don’t Waste Your Time”:

Sista girl, sista girl! How you gonna let somebody waltz into your album and mop the floor with you like that?! When you’re stepping into the ring with the highly competitive Aretha Franklin, you better bring your A-game—or else this kind of massacre happens.

By the mid-’90s, Aretha had quit smoking and, just as the Surgeon General promised, her lung capacity came roaring back. In 1994, she cut loose on “A Deeper Love” and “Willing to Forgive.” She sounded even stronger on 1996’s “Hurts Like Hell,” then staged a full-on comeback in 1998 with "A Rose Is Still a Rose", capped off by her jaw-dropping Grammys performance of “Nessun Dorma” before snacking on four white chicks on that "VH-1 Divas" special.

So by 1999, the Queen was still hungry. And somehow Mary wandered into her crosshairs and became the latest victim. The contrast between their vocals on “Don’t Waste Your Time” is flat-out brutal: Blige sounds plaintive and solemn, while Aretha storms in like bombs over Baghdad, more animated with every line and refusing to let up. There’s little Mary can do except head to a bomb shelter and duck for cover. It’s almost disrespectful how badly she gets outgunned.

And look, this isn’t new—Aretha has been bodying female duet partners since forever. So Mary, don’t take this sh** no more. (Remember how you stripped your vocals from the Faith Evans duet “Love Don’t Live Here Anymore”? Maybe you should’ve considered the same tactic here. Just sayin’.)



Winner: Aretha by a country mile.

Donny Hathaway was in the throes of depressive episodes at the time of recording, and it shows in how beautifully—but subdued—he sang on “The Closer I Get to You.” He and Roberta Flack weren’t able to record together; Donny was in no condition to travel to New York, so he cut his vocals in Chicago. The fire that often marked his performances was missing here, but in its place came a solemnity that transformed a simple love song into something beautifully shaded with melancholy.

The two lost contact during this difficult stretch, but reunited in New York in 1979 to work on a second duets album. Only two tracks were completed: “You Are My Heaven” and “Back Together Again.” Vocally, Hathaway sounded revitalized, but his mental health had worsened—he was increasingly agitated, paranoid, and often incomprehensible. Soon after recording his parts, he took his own life by leaping from a 15th-floor window.

“The Closer I Get to You” went on to become Hathaway’s final gold single and his last No. 1 R&B hit.

Winner: There are no winners here.

When Rick James happened upon a petite white girl singing and playing piano in a studio, he knew he’d stumbled onto something special. So special, in fact, that he blew off producing Diana Ross’ next album. (And honestly, how would that have worked anyway? Diana, famously prudish, couldn’t stand marijuana smoke—the main reason she and Marvin Gaye recorded their duet vocals separately—while 65% of Rick body composition was weed.) Instead, he poured his energy into helping Teena Marie—already signed to Gordy Records—become a star.

She returned the favor not long after by dropping into the studio and absolutely obliterating “Fire and Desire”… on her way to the hospital. Running a high fever, Lady T delivered some of the fiercest vocals of her career—in one take—then kept it moving straight to the ER. Rick, to his credit, gave one of his best-ever performances on the track, but he was out of his league. Teena sang him under the table without breaking a sweat—well, aside from the fever.

That she could pull off that kind of vocal masterclass while sick defies the laws of modern medicine. Even more baffling: “Fire and Desire” was never released as a single. Looks like Rick wasn’t the only one smoking copious amounts of Mary Jane at Motown.

Winner: Teena.

Alexander O’Neal and Cherrelle were good friends, so I’m not sure why he jumped on her record and showed so little mercy. “Saturday Love” is a near-iconic track that still gets plenty of spins today. It’s arguably the biggest hit for both of them, individually and as a duo. But if you break it down, the song belongs to Alexander—he’s in the driver’s seat, and Cherrelle is just along for the ride.

Both verses share the same lyrics, yet their approaches couldn’t be more different. Cherrelle comes across as demure and sweet, while Alex barrels through his lines like a man possessed. If they were really such good friends, why did he set out to upstage her so brutally? Not cool, Alex.

Both artists went on to find more success after “Saturday Love.” O’Neal wrestled with drug addiction but has since been reconnecting with fans through candid social media posts about his struggles. Cherrelle, meanwhile, continues to tour on the R&B legacy circuit. It’s good to see that fans still have love for them—on Saturday and every other day of the week, too.

Winner: Alexander.