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(This is an earlier article, overview of her career follows).
Soul icon Aretha Franklin is seriously ill By Mesfin Fekadu Associated Press
NEW YORK -- Fans and friends, including Mariah Carey and Missy Elliott, offered
prayers and well wishes to Queen of Soul Aretha Franklin, who is seriously
ill. A person close to Franklin, who spoke on the condition of anonymity
because
the person was not allowed to publicly talk about the topic, told The
Associated Press on Monday that the singer
is seriously ill. No more details were provided. Carey, who considers Franklin
one of her biggest influences, wrote on Twitter that she is "praying for
the Queen of Soul. Missy Elliott said that the public has to celebrate iconic
artists before they die. "So many (of them) have given us decades of Timeless
music," the rapper wrote on Twitter. Mark Frost, Andy Cohen and Ciara also
posted about Franklin, who is considered one of the greatest singers of all-time
and is known for hits like "Respect" and "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural
Woman.
Franklin, who had battled undisclosed health issues in recent years, canceled
planned concerts earlier this year after she was ordered by her doctor to
stay off the road and rest up.
She was originally scheduled to perform on her 76th birthday in March in
Newark,
New Jersey, and at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival in April.
Last year, the icon announced her plans to retire, saying she would perform at
"some select things. One of those select events was a gala for Elton John's
25th anniversary of his AIDS foundation
in November in New York City, where Franklin closed the event with a collection
of songs including "I Say a Little Prayer" and "Freeway.
Abdul "Duke" Fakir, the lone surviving original member of the Four Tops, told
the AP on Monday morning they have been "very close" for decades and their
most recent conversation was about a week ago by phone. Fakir said they talked
after Franklin had stopped by his Detroit house when he wasn't there. "She
was telling me she rides around the city every now and then -- she talks about
how beautiful it is again," Fakir said. "We were reminiscing about how blessed
we were -- only a couple two of us are around -- from that era. We were just
kind of reminiscing about the good times we had."
Fakir, who calls Franklin "baby sis" because he's older than she is by six
years, said despite her health troubles "she was talking about the future. "She
talked about this great, big special she was going to have in New York, with
all
her great friends performing," he said. "It made me feel good as well
she was still hoping and wishing and dreaming as we do
in this business."
*****
Jesse Jackson talks Aretha's quiet but profound civil rights legacy Rochelle
Riley , Detroit Free Press
Death knocked on Aretha Franklin's door numerous times over the past few years.
And she shut the door in his face. She had too much to do.
Some people might have thought it was the supper club she had planned to open
downtown, not far from where she lived privately and quietly in Riverfront
Towers on the Detroit River. Some might have thought it was because she had
that last album to finish, the one she talked to me about last year , the one
that would feature her friend, Stevie Wonder, who visited her yesterday.
But many folks might not know that Aretha Franklin has persevered, survived and
stayed, because she also was needed in a civil rights struggle that her father,
the Rev. C.L. Franklin, helped lead, that his fellow soldiers like Dr. Martin
Luther King Jr. and Ralph David Abernathy knew would last longer than their
lives -- and that she quietly and anonymously helped fund for decades.
"When Dr. King was alive, several times she helped us make payroll," said the
Rev. Jesse Jackson, her friend of more than 60 years, who plans to visit her
today. "On one occasion, we took'an 11-city tour with her as Aretha Franklin
and Harry Belafonte -- and they put gas in the vans. She did 11 concerts for
free and hosted us at her home and did a fundraiser for my campaign."
Aretha has always been a very socially conscious artist, an inspiration, not
just an entertainer. "She has shared her points of view from the stage for
challenged people, to register to vote, to stand up for decency," said Jackson,
who said he has visited with her nearly a dozen times in the past two or three
years during the course of her illness.
"I was with her a few weeks ago. I was at one of her last Christmas parties,
the
one she throws every year."
Jackson and I speak of Ms. Franklin in the present, not discussing obituaries,
but tribute. Not sadness, but triumph. Anyone but God saying when the Queen
will leave the throne is talking above their station.
Still, Jackson said, 'I'm very sad. I'm very sad."
Other ministers and civil rights activists concurred with Jackson's assessment
of the socially conscious singer's contributions to the movement and to helping
others, something she did nationally for decades without credit and something
she did locally through New Bethel Baptist Church, without fanfare.
"First of all, she was very philosophic, not only in terms of the movement, but
she also put her resources where the movement's needs were," said the Rev. Jim
Holley, pastor of Little Rock Baptist Church and a friend of Ms. Franklin's for
45 years. "Whenever there was a tragedy with families, any civil rights family,
she was always giving," Holley said. "I wish I had the words to express it.
She's a very special person in a sense that she sung the blues, but she never
lost her roots with the church and her relationship with God. She used her
talent and what God gave her to basically move the race forward. A lot of
people
do the talking but they don't do the walking. She used her talent and her
resources. She was that kind of person, a giving person."
"Obviously, her father was very much with the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., and
her generation was with the Rev. Jesse Jackson," he said. "I think that's how
she helped Jesse. He was more relevant to her generation in terms of what he
was
doing economically and with entertainment, making sure entertainers were
represented in what we call this justice movement."
Jackson and other ministers watched Ms. Franklin grow up in the church,
becoming
an international star while never leaving the church. He said he watched her
rise from gospel to rhythm and blues to soul -- all while continuing her
father's work.
"She was the fountain of love, particularly on giving," Holley said, treating
fellow activists like family and young singers like younger brothers and
sisters
who just needed a platform.
The family friends who came to her house as a child -- and who visited her
apartment in recent weeks to pray and reminisce -- weren't just family friends.
They were human rights soldiers and civil rights generals and dedicated
ministers across the country, some of whose names weren't on the nightly news.
As one activist described it, there were "ministers in the suites and ministers
in the streets."
Ms. Franklin helped the ministers and activists in the streets, doing
everything
from providing support for the families of jailed patriarchs to bridging the
gaps between a rally planned and a rally happening.
She easily stepped into the very large shoes her father, the late Rev. C. L.
Franklin, wore as one of the northern tentpoles of a movement that was largely
based in the South but spread nationwide thanks to Franklin and others.
Ms. Franklin talked to me about it five years ago, explaining how the June 1963
Detroit Walk to Freedom, the precursor for the March on Washington two months
later, almost didn't happen.
That spring, her father worked hard to convince the city's traditional
community
and religious leaders to embrace his idea of a massive demonstration to bring
national attention to racial discrimination. Most of the city's preachers and
the leaders of the NAACP didn't want him to plan or lead it.
"Many pastors whom he invited to our home to discuss it were not on board," she
said in that 2013 interview. "They didn't think it was a good idea."
The singer was living in New York working in the third year of her contract
with
Columbia Records, but keeping up with what her father was doing back in
Detroit.
And she watched
her father pull off what would become the largest civil-rights demonstration in
U.S. history until the March on Washington. Detroit's traditional leadership
didn't come on board until Dr. Martin Luther King'Jr. -- Franklin's friend and
the rising star of the movement -- convinced them.
"He had his vision, and yes, it was under his control," Ms. Franklin said. "It
was his vision of what he wanted it to be and of course, it set the stage for
the march (on Washington)."
But while her entertainment star was rising publicly, something else was
happening privately: Aretha Franklin was going to work.
Her father's mission lit a fire under the young singer, who began living
parallel lives as global star and private civil rights activist.
The Rev. Jim Holley, who has known Ms. Franklin for 45 years, said "to him, she
wasn't an entertainer, but a powerful activist. I met her like everyone else at
the church -- with her father," he said. "I didn't know her professionally as a
singer. I knew her in terms of her relationships with her father and the church
and the Rev. Jesse Jackson and the civil rights movement."
Holley, who visited and prayed with Ms. Franklin last week, said they had a
great conversation about life. Holley said Ms. Franklin was particularly
helpful
to black ministers in the movement across the country.
"She really helped people who didn't have that notoriety, but nevertheless were
very involved in the struggle. You wouldn't know. All you (would) know is you
could always depend on her, and she gave so much to black preachers. I wish I
could tell you by name, but I don't want to embarrass anyone."
Rev. Jesse Jackson speaks to reporters
at the Operation PUSH Soul Picnic at the 142nd Street Armory in New York, March
26, 1972. Left to right are Betty Shabazz, widow of Malcolm X; Jackson;
Tom Todd, vice president of PUSH; Aretha Franklin; Miriam Makeba and Louis
Stokes, rear right. PUSH stands for People United to Save Humanity. (Photo:
Jim Wells, Associated Press)
"A lot of times in this civil rights movement, you'll have tragedy or death.
She
was always there. She was always giving."
Shahida Mausi is a concert promoter who met Ms. Franklin when Mausi was an
appointee of Mayor Coleman Young and executive producer the celebration at
Tiger
Stadium during Nelson Mandela's visit to Detroit in 1990 after he was released
from prison. Ms. Franklin performed in a concert at the stadium that raised $1
million for the African National Congress.
"From the time I was a little girl in my grandmother's basement, Aretha's call
for respect has rung and been writ large," said Mausi. "She called for respect,
as a woman, as a businessperson, as an artist of excellence, as a reliable
stalwart in human and civil rights," Mausi said. "Sometimes you need a Queen."
If the cause is just, the Queen answers the call and always has. And she never
told a soul. She never said 'I did this' or 'I did that. She just did.
*****
Aretha Franklin, Queen of Soul, Dies at 76 by Brian McCollum, Detroit Free
Press; August 16, 2018
Aretha Franklin, whose impassioned, riveting voice made her a titan of American
music, has died, her niece, Sabrina Owens, confirmed to the Free Press. She was
76.
She died at 9:50 a.m. surrounded by family at her home in Detroit.
A family statement released by her publicist Gwendolyn Quinn said "Franklin's
official cause of death was due to advance pancreatic cancer of the
neuroendocrine type, which was confirmed by Franklin's oncologist, Dr. Philip
Phillip of Karmanos Cancer Institute" in Detroit.
The family added: "In one of the darkest moments of our lives, we are not able
to find the appropriate words to express the pain in our heart. We have lost
the
matriarch and rock of our family."
Franklin was the loftiest name in the rich history of Detroit music and one of
the transcendent cultural figures of the 20th Century. Raised on an eclectic
musical diet of gospel, R&B, classical and jazz, she blossomed out of her
father's Detroit church to become the most distinguished black female artist of
all time, breaking boundaries while placing nearly 100 hits on Billboard’s R&B
chart — 20 of them reaching No. 1.
Aretha Franklin, the Queen of Soul
The Queen of Soul, as she was coronated in the 1960s, leaves a sprawling legacy
of classic songs that includes "Respect," "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural
Woman," "Chain of Fools," "Baby I Love You," "Angel," "Think," "Rock Steady,"
"Bridge Over Troubled Water" and "Freeway of Love," along with a bestselling
gospel catalog.
Her death follows several years of painstakingly concealed medical issues,
which
led to regular show cancellations and extended absences from the public eye.
Visibly feeble but still summoning magic from her voice, Franklin played her
final Detroit show in June 2017, an emotion-packed concert for thousands at an
outdoor festival downtown.
She ended the performance with a then-cryptic appeal to the hometown crowd:
"Please keep me in your prayers
The Queen of Soul sang for presidents and royalty, and befriended high-profile
leaders such as the Revs. Martin Luther King Jr. and Jesse Jackson. Amid the
global glitter and acclaim, she remained loyal to her home region, living in
the
Detroit area for decades, including the Bloomfield Hills house where she moved
in the late 1980s. She moved back to Detroit in summer 2017, buying an
apartment
at Riverfront Towers outside downtown.
“My roots are there. The church is there. My family is there,” she told the
Free
Press in 2011. “I like the camaraderie in Detroit, how we’ll rally behind
something that’s really worthy and come to each other’s assistanc
Franklin’s voice was a singular force, earning her a multitude of laurels
through the decades, including 18 Grammy Awards, the Presidential Medal of
Freedom and honorary doctorates from a host of institutions. In 1987, she
became
the first female artist inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and seven
years later, at age 52, the youngest recipient of a Kennedy Center Honor.
Franklin topped Rolling Stone magazine’s 100 Greatest Singers of All Time list,
and her signature hit, “Respect,” ranked No. 4 on “Songs of the Century,” a
1999
project by the National Endowment for the Arts. She performed at the
inaugurations of U.S. presidents Bill Clinton and Barack Obama, garnering
global
attention at the latter for her big felt hat with its crystal-studded bow -- a
piece of wardrobe now in the Smithsonian Institution.
Franklin's influence is vast and indelible. It's most obviously heard in the
myriad voices that followed her, from Mary J. Blige to Adele, and even male
singers like Luther Vandross.
But just as important is Franklin's broader social impact: She embodied
American
black culture, emphatically and without apology, and through sheer force of
talent, thrust it onto the global stage.
Franklin revolutionized black music and the way it was absorbed and perceived,
helping create a world where we take for granted that a Beyoncé can reign atop
mainstream popular culture.
Franklin was emotionally complex, a woman who relished her diva status but
whose
vulnerabilities and insecurities always seemed to lurk just beneath. Her public
success masked a private life of turbulence and loss, making for an intriguing
character driven by conflicting forces: Franklin was sassy but naturally shy,
urbane but down-home, confident but reckless.
That deep, complicated humanity imbued her music with authenticity. Franklin’s
singing, soaked in feeling and executed with virtuoso skill, moved seamlessly
among styles: gospel, soul, pop, blues, R&B, jazz, even opera. She belted,
purred, seduced, testified. Even as the propulsive power left her voice in
later
years, she remained as expressive as ever, and her live performances continued
to earn critical acclaim.
“I must do what is real in me in all ways,” she told Ebony magazine in 1967,
the
year when a string of hit singles — “Respect,” "Baby I Love You," "Chain of
Fools" — gave Franklin her first major crossover success.
Franklin's early life
Born in Memphis on March 25, 1942, Franklin moved at age 4 to Detroit when her
father, the Rev. C.L. Franklin, took over duties at New Bethel Baptist Church.
Turmoil set in early: Her mother left Detroit for Buffalo, N.Y., when Aretha
was
6, and died four years later.
Still, Franklin grew up in an environment ideal for nurturing her skills. Her
charismatic father was a preacher and singer with a national reputation, with
sermons that became top-selling records and a gospel revue that toured the
country. That brought important musical figures into the young singer’s orbit,
including household guests such as James Cleveland, Mahalia Jackson, B.B. King
and Sam Cooke. Growing up on Detroit’s northwest side, she was a childhood
friend of Smokey Robinson.
She became a singing prodigy at New Bethel, and her sisters, Carolyn and Erma,
also honed their gospel skills. But it was Aretha who steadily emerged as the
standout, and by age 14 she was accompanying her father on his gospel travels
Gospel was the main focus, but the Franklin household was teeming with all
manner of music.
“I heard classical music from the beginning. It was always in our home,” she
told the Free Press in 2011. “As a teenager I took more to the R&B, but I
always
loved classical.”
R&B music, frowned upon by many in the traditional gospel world, was also
welcome in the house. The Rev. Franklin, progressive in politics and
disposition, put up little resistance to the secular sounds exemplified by
artists such as Cooke.
The young Aretha absorbed the emotional power of music in its many forms,
whether in the throes of an ecstatic congregation or the intimacy of close
listening.
“(My older sister) Erma was a big fan of ‘Be My Love’ by Mario Lanza,” she
recalled. “How many times did we hear that in our house?! Sylvia Robinson,
Smokey’s sister, used to visit Erma and play ‘Be My Love,’ pressing their ears
against the speakers, just crying.
"I was quite young at the time, and I thought it was very funny that these
girls
were crying with their ears against the speaker. I didn’t do that with the
artists I heard (then) — Frankie Lymon, the Clovers, LaVern Baker, Ray Charles.
As an adult I began to perfectly understand it. When I heard someone knocking
me
out, I thought, ‘OK, so this is what that was about.’”
In 1960, at age 18, Franklin spurned a hometown offer from Berry Gordy’s
fledgling Motown label and opted to sign with New York’s Columbia Records,
where
her demo tape had caught the ear of iconic talent scout John Hammond. A year
later — shortly after Franklin married her manager, Ted White — her Columbia
debut was released.
That record set the tone for her five-year, nine-album tenure at Columbia,
where
she was groomed as an interpreter of jazz and pop standards, presented as a
chanteuse at the piano.
Franklin was quietly masterful at the keyboard. Throughout her career, it was a
skill overshadowed by her voice — although she played piano on most of the work
for which she's now remembered.
The Columbia period proved fruitful but frustrating for the young singer,
helping expand her talent while sticking a bridle on the gospel-honed voice
behind it. Even as her critical reputation and live draw grew, she managed only
a handful of minor hits.
“It’s a fast track to the top if you’ve really got it going on. But I like the
way I came up in the industry,” she told the Free Press in 2014. “It wasn’t too
fast. It wasn’t overnight, but (rather) little by little. And gradually I grew
in the industry. I like that more than the overnight sensation, as one might
put
it. I was able to learn along the way and grow at a very, very nice pace. My
pace, really. I wasn’t thrust into anything I wasn’t ready for.
Real success blossomed in 1967, when the 24-year-old Franklin declined to renew
her Columbia contract and signed with Atlantic Records, where executives Ahmet
Ertegun and Jerry Wexler saw a chance to unleash the raw power of Franklin’s
vocals. Her first Atlantic single — “I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)”
—
was cut at the burgeoning soul-music hotbed FAME Studios in Muscle Shoals, Ala.
Within weeks it was Franklin’s first No. 1 on Billboard’s R&B chart, cracking
the pop Top 10 as well. She was on her way to mainstream success.
As with so much of her coming work, the performance on "I Never Loved a Man"
was
fueled by a deep intensity but with an intimate, welcoming feel that helped
Franklin connect with listeners across the board.
“She has never learned how to be pretentious enough to build a false image, and
deeply identifies with people on all levels,” Ebony wrote that year, going on
to
quote Franklin:
“Everybody who’s living has problems and desires just as I do,” she told the
magazine. “When the fellow on the corner has somethin’ botherin’ him, he feels
the same way I do. When we cry, we all gonna cry tears, and when we laugh, we
all have to smile."
'Respect' and the ascension to fame
Franklin’s career quickly skyrocketed: With Wexler overseeing sessions and many
of the Muscle Shoals players recruited to Atlantic's New York studio, Franklin
recorded a flurry of hits in the ensuing months, all of them enduring for
decades as staples of her repertoire: “Respect,” “Baby I Love You,” “(You Make
Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman,” “Chain of Fools, “Ain’t No Way.” She was backed
on many by sisters Carolyn and Erma, who enjoyed modest solo success of their
own
Franklin was no one's puppet in the studio: Even in her earliest years, she was
assertive during record sessions, crafting arrangements and dictating commands
to seasoned musicians many decades her senior.
By '68, Franklin was an iconic figure in the African-American community — “the
Queen of Soul,” as she was christened by the black press. She was now
inescapably important: Franklin's status was seconded by mainstream America
that
summer when she graced the cover of Time magazine.
While Franklin was not often explicitly political in public, she embraced her
anointed role just as the black pride movement was flowering. “Respect,” in
particular, took on anthem-like stature, hailed as a bold feminist and
civil-rights statement — though Franklin long insisted she had no grand designs
when she recorded the Otis Redding tune about household relationships.
On Feb. 16, 1968 — declared “Aretha Franklin Day” by Detroit Mayor Jerome P.
Cavanagh — she performed a celebratory hometown show for 12,000 at Cobo Arena.
In attendance was the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., two months before his
assassination, and he took the stage to present Franklin with an award on
behalf
of his Southern Christian Leadership Council.
As would become typical of Franklin’s story, the outward success masked drama
behind the scenes. The marriage to White, in particular, had become fraught,
marked by domestic violence. By 1969, they were divorced. She would go on to
wed
actor Glynn Turman in 1978, a marriage that lasted six years.
The hits continued to pile up. By the end of the 1960s she had placed 28 songs
in the R&B Top 40, a mix of original material and eclectic cover songs,
including work by the Beatles (“Eleanor Rigby”) and the Band (“The Weight”).
The
momentum carried into the following decade, with a string of hit records and a
1972 gospel album, “Amazing Grace,” that became one of the genre’s all-time
best
sellers.
Success on the R&B side continued in the '70s even as the pop hits tapered off,
though 1976’s “Sparkle” soundtrack produced one of Franklin’s abiding crossover
classics, the Curtis Mayfield-penned “Something He Can Feel.” A scene-stealing
appearance in the 1980 comedy “The Blues Brothers,” where Franklin performed as
a waitress belting out “Think,” was a colorful introduction for a younger
generation
That same year, searching for a new musical direction, Franklin signed with
Arista Records, where mogul Clive Davis helped groom a fresh career path for
the
singer, now approaching 40.
After several tries, the 1985 album “Who’s Zoomin’ Who” became the mainstream
smash they sought, producing the hit “Freeway of Love” and placing Franklin in
front of the MTV audience. A duet with George Michael, “I Knew You Were Waiting
(For Me),” topped the global charts two years later.
Franklin, who had spent much of the 1970s in Los Angeles, was now permanently
resettled in metro Detroit, with several area properties including the
Bloomfield Hills residence that would remain her primary home for the next
three
decades. Her reverend father had died in 1984 after a five-year coma; he’d been
shot during an attempted robbery at his Detroit home.
The 1990s saw Franklin growing into the role of elder soul stateswoman,
satisfied with her status as one of pop history’s greats and playing up the
diva
role that had become an integral facet of her persona. While the studio pace
slowed — she released just five albums from 1998 through her death — her
latter-day music was generally well received, with Grammy nominations for “A
Rose Is Still a Rose” (1998) and “So Damn Happy” (2003).
“I’m comfortable in my own skin, and my six-inch heels,” she told the Free
Press
in 2011.
Though Franklin still performed regularly in the '90s and '00s, her touring
work
was hampered by her fear of flying, which had set in after a frightening small
plane trip in the early ‘80s. She insisted on bus travel, trekking across the
U.S. to play for adoring crowds at theaters and summer amphitheaters.
"I've definitely evolved to a greater maturity onstage, a savoir faire, I
think," she told the Free Press. "It's just about relaxing more, really, and
having fun with it. That comes with time, to evolve to that level and find that
it's really very simple ... that it's really about having fun and communicating
with your audience."
Franklin was long dogged by weight issues and struggled with alcohol abuse in
the late 1960s. But the first glaring sign of health problems came in 2010,
when
she canceled six months of concert commitments while hospitalized for
undisclosed reasons.
She reemerged the next summer visibly slimmer and seemingly healthy, returning
with a glowing show at the Chicago Theatre: "Six months after the world was
braced for the worst, Aretha Franklin gave it her best," as the Free Press
reported at the time.
"Her voice was velvety and potent as she rolled into her set, still finding new
curves and corners in the notes of songs such as 'Think,' 'Sparkle' and 'Baby I
Love You,' " read the review.
Nevertheless, Franklin's concert activity became hit-and-miss during her final
years, and show cancellations became par for the course, often chalked up to
unnamed health problems. She increasingly spoke of winding things down,
performing fewer shows by the year, and in February 2017 finally raised the
prospect of retirement, saying she was recording a final album.
Two missions loomed large during the final decade of Franklin's life, and both
were still in the works when she died: She was in ongoing talks to produce a
biographical film about her life, frequently talking up potential lead
actresses
such as Jennifer Hudson, Halle Berry and Audra McDonald. And she was enchanted
by the idea of opening a soul food restaurant in downtown Detroit.
Reclusive by nature, Franklin liked being at home and enjoying “the small
things,” as she said in 2011 — polishing the silver, buying a tea set, washing
and ironing. She was a reader drawn to biographies and an avid media consumer
who looked forward to her daily newspapers.
“I enjoy the comfort of home very much,” she said. “I’m very domestic when I’m
at home. I can stay in the house for the longest kind of time and not get out.”
From Obama to Pavarotti, always grand
It was always BIG with Aretha Franklin. The public situations skewed to the
larger-than-life, the supersized, the majestic. She was an immense presence,
physically and psychologically, and could take over rooms simply by sweeping
into them.
She had a knack for finding herself at the center of grand moments, whether
stealing the show at the Obama inaugural or filling in for the ailing Luciano
Pavarotti with an impromptu “Nessun Dorma” at the 1998 Grammys.
“She could get a U.S. president on the phone with two calls,” said Brian
Pastoria, who co-engineered some of Franklin's studio work.
Indeed, it was the little stuff that seemed to vex Franklin most. She struggled
with personal finances, and was frequently forced into small-claims court by
mom-and-pop operations around metro Detroit — limo services, caterers,
contractors. Her home was often cluttered and unkempt, and while experts on
creative genius might say that comes with the territory, it was enough to
frustrate neighbors and leave visitors puzzled why she had so little help
around
her.
For years Franklin talked about plans to tackle her flying phobia, but never
followed through. It kept her grounded for the final 35 years of her life,
plausibly costing her millions in touring revenue.
Franklin was scrupulously private. Even in Detroit music circles, the ’Ree ’Ree
rumor mill churned slowly; her personal life was shielded by a tight cadre of
family members and friends. When writer Mark Bego set out to pen the first
authorized Aretha Franklin biography, 1989’s “The Queen of Soul,” he was struck
by the array of unknowns that still surrounded her — basic details about her
two
marriages and divorces, her upbringing, even her musical inspirations.
“I felt as if I had just encountered one of the great unsolved mysteries of the
show-business world,” he wrote.
Franklin cautiously traipsed into some of those topics with her 1999
autobiography, “Aretha: From These Roots.” But she remained elusive enough that
her handpicked co-author, David Ritz, was compelled to write his own
uninhibited
Franklin biography 15 years later.
That book provoked the singer’s wrath — the sort of eruption familiar to those
in Aretha's world. Franklin continually churned through support staff, hiring
and firing lawyers, publicists and producers. She feuded with other female
singers and knew how to hold a grudge, including a beef with Dionne Warwick
that
became public only when Franklin alerted the press out of the blue — five years
after it happened.
But when it came to the music, few were more disciplined than Franklin. She was
serious about her voice and exacting about her concert conditions: big on honey
and hot tea before a show and insistent on rooms without air conditioning,
aware
it could dry out her throat.
Many who worked closely with her also glimpsed the humanity at the heart of the
superstar singer who came up in the church.
"She (was) very compassionate," the late Darryl Houston said in 2010. Houston
was Franklin's accompanying pianist for more than two decades. "When I was
dealing with the sickness and eventual death of my father in Mississippi, she
was very encouraging in thought and deed. I remember a few times I would get a
call from a travel agent saying: 'When do you want to go see your dad? Ms.
Franklin has taken care of the ticket.' "
Brian Pastoria was part of a studio team that worked with Franklin in the 1990s
and 2000s, including recording sessions at her home.
"Before the vocal sessions, she'd be in the kitchen making chili. After
recording a couple of hours, she'd say, 'OK, time to eat!' " Pastoria recalled.
"Even though she was the greatest of all time, the Muhammad Ali of vocals, it
was still always her calling on the phone for business, not her lawyer. You'd
hear, 'Hi, honey, how are you!' It was nice. It was real. You never felt like
you were dealing with a major superstar."
For all the public gowns, glitz and diva references — she was famously
portrayed
in a Snickers commercial as a crabby prima donna — Franklin was a homegirl at
heart. She was a connoisseur of old school Southern soul food, proud of her
knack with homemade dishes like fried chicken and ham with black-eyed peas.
"I think I rank with the best when it comes to the stove," she told the Free
Press in 1996.
That sort of organic realness coursed through her work.
"She paints a picture with a song," said Houston. "Outside of being vocally
astute, you can feel what she's singing. You can tell when someone is just
singing a song, and when the song is a part of their inner being. With Aretha,
what leaves the heart reaches the heart.
"It seems she never, ever forgot those roots of the church, and she really
believed that we need to look above the things of this world, to a more
spiritual level," said social activist Rocky Twyman. "You felt like she wanted
to bless humanity with her music."
Franklin was a frequent visitor at New Bethel well into her final years,
hosting
gospel concerts and holiday celebrations at the church whose original site
hosted the recording of her first album.
"I've known many of the most dynamic singers on the planet," said Detroit poet
and musician Jessica Care Moore. "There's still no voice like Aretha Franklin.
She embodied the idea of what soul music was and would become. She opens her
mouth and everything stands still.
As a young woman growing up in the city, Moore said, it was easy to be inspired
by Franklin — an "honor and blessing" to be in the presence of a Detroit great.
"She absolutely is the sound of Detroit," said Moore. "She lifted up the city
and represented it in a global way."
In November, Franklin sang in public for the last time, performing a nine-song
set at an Elton John AIDS Foundation benefit in New York.
Franklin had made her final hometown appearance on June 10, 2017, headlining
the
Detroit Music Weekend festival for thousands gathered in the streets. Down the
block two days earlier, tears had streamed down her face as she was honored by
the city with the unveiling of Aretha Franklin Way, a ceremonial renaming of
Madison Street.
On the festival stage that weekend, Franklin was backed by a setting sun and
the
nearby marquee of the Fox Theatre, her favorite local venue since she was a
young girl. For nearly two hours, she performed a spirited, feisty set while
clearly struggling through pain, at one point singing from a plush chair.
Franklin did it her way that night, foregoing many of her biggest hits for a
deeper dive into her catalog and a stirring, 11-minute gospel workout of
"Precious Memories."
The old soaring power may have been missing, but the passion was intact. For
one
last time on a Detroit stage, there was Aretha Franklin, and there was that
voice.
That voice — still captivating, but now comforting in its decades-long
familiarity. A sound still melding urban vitality with the warmth of Southern
soul. Still joy, pain, ecstasy, liberation. Still strength and femininity. And
still offering, as it always will, the promise of transcendence.
Contact Detroit Free Press music writer Brian McCollum: 313-223-4450 or
bmccollum@xxxxxxxxxxxxx.
*****
Aretha Franklin: 10 of her greatest songs Brian McCollum , Detroit Free Press
There aren't many duds in the entire six-decade catalog, but here are 10 songs
that helped define the Queen of Soul's career.
'(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman': So sensual, so feminine, so strong.
Franklin had a cold when she recorded this Carole King number in 1967, a track
whose stately verses
blossom into a majestic chorus. King later called Franklin's rendition "the
highest level of excellence."
'Climbing Higher Mountains':
The wider public is most familiar with the radio hits, but Franklin's
best-selling work actually came via the 1972 gospel album "Amazing Grace,"
recorded with Rev. James Cleveland live at a Los Angeles church. The spiritual
power of Franklin's Detroit church roots soar through in this anointed,
ecstatic
gospel epic.
'The Weight'
A powerhouse vocal from Aretha and greasy slide guitar by Duane Allman
transform the Band's classic into a swinging slice of soul transcendence.
'Baby I Love You'
This is SOUL. Franklin's voice and piano ride the thick, sultry grooves
provided
by the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section on the single that followed "Respect" to
the
chart tops and locked in Aretha's Queen of Soul coronation.
' Chain of Fools':
Joe South's shimmering guitar lick opens another soul masterpiece from Aretha,
whose biting delivery conveys the irresistible temptations of dangerous
romance.
The Sweet Inspirations' sassy backing vocals are icing on the cake.
'Think':
Franklin's emphatic declarations of 'freedom! top this 1968 hit, with lyrics
ostensibly directed to a lover but quietly underlined with the social and
political consciousness that the young star symbolized.
'Day Dreaming':
Another Franklin original -- written for the Temptations' Dennis Edwards --
this
sophisticated, supple track is a dreamy, romantic ride through the clouds. It's
sonic aphrodisiac, with jazzy organ provided by Donny Hathaway.
'I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)':
As Franklin's first single for Atlantic Records, this 1967 song was the red
carpet rolled out to introduce the world to the Queen of Soul. It's a
smoldering
merger of gospel and R&B with a performance from 24-year-old Franklin that
defines passion.
'Call Me':
Perhaps the sweetest of Aretha's great love songs. Gorgeous and underlined with
tasteful strings, the Queen of Soul penned this 1970 ballad after witnessing a
young couple's conversation in New York's Central Park.
'Respect':
It's the anthem that will forever be attached to Aretha Franklin's name. This
1967 release, Franklin's first to top the pop charts, was far more than hit
single:
Franklin transformed Otis Redding's plea for domestic peace into a potent call
for dignity on a far grander scale.
*****
Aretha Franklin told her pastor: 'I am going to be all right' Cassandra
Spratling, Special to the Free Press
A steady flow of people gathered at New Bethel Baptist Church Thursday morning
after hearing of the death of Aretha Franklin. The church
was made famous by her father, the Rev. C.L. Franklin.
Among those who stopped by the church was the Rev. Jesse Jackson, who arrived
in
town Wednesday to pay his respects to Aretha and her family.
"She sang before popes and presidents, but nothing was more important to her
than singing for her local church," Jackson said.
Franklin was a famous gospel singer as a child before she became a global
superstar. She held annual musical events at the church throughout her life.
"She was not only a great singer, but she was a caring person," Jackson said.
"As big as her music was, her heart was even bigger."
Jackson noted Franklin's final performance was Nov. 2, 2017, at'the Elton John
AIDS Foundation in New York.
"It is almost poetic that her last concert with'Elton John was for AIDS
victims.
She was sick herself and she was singing for AIDS victims," he said.
"I am glad she had the opportunity for heavenly transition," New Bethel Baptist
Church pastor'Rev. Robert Smith Jr. said. "... with the promise of Christ you
not only have life but eternal life."
Smith said he visited with Franklin recently, and she was at peace. "She said
'I
am going to be all right," She loves God and she loves the church," he said.
Also among the visitors was the wife of Wayne State University President M.
Roy
Wilson, Jaqueline Wilson. Wilson brought a bouquet of white lilies to the
church to lay it among among the other flowers being placed at the pulpit.
"I was saddened the fact that she is a Detroiter and I live here now. I was
moved. I wanted to bring flowers," said Wilson, who said she grew up listening
to Franklin,
and her favorite song is "Amazing Grace."
Sylvester Porter, 78, of Detroit also was in the church and has a personal
connection to the Franklin family. He said he and Cecil Franklin, Aretha's
brother, played snare drums together at the former Northern High School
marching
band. He said that he wanted to pay his respects because of what her music
meant
to black people.
"Her music came at a time when we needed it. Porter said. "It touched the
hearts
of the common people."
Many of the church's visitors spent time in a historical gallery at the church
called the "History Room" which is full of photos of Franklin,
her father and other dignitaries such as Martin Luther King Jr., Coretta Scott
King and former Detroit Mayor Coleman Young. There is even a framed photo of
Franklin's "Amazing Grace" album.
The scene at the church ranged from somber to celebratory. A number of people
were sitting quietly in the pews and paying their respects. And a growing
memorial
of flowers and balloons graced the pulpit.
Outside there was a man dancing as a steady stream of cars driving by was
playing her music. Jackson said he just visited her on Wednesday.
"We had prayer twice. I was able to touch the warm of her hands and kiss her
forehead one more time," he said.
Jackson and Franklin have known each other since they were both teenagers. He
remembers the Rev. Franklin telling the congregation "My daughter is going to
sing. She is going to be a star."
Jackson said she sang the gospel hymn "Never Grow Old" then "Ave' Maria" that
day."
He described her as a singer servant, "a sharing, caring person.
"She'll be here as long as we have her music," Danny Meadows, 62, of Detroit.
Meadows said something told him to come to the church, even
though he hadn't heard of Franklin's death. "Even when things were gloomy her
music got us dancing and kept our spirits up."
*****
Smokey Robinson on Aretha Franklin: "My longest friend in the world" Brian
McCollum , Detroit Free Press
Well before they became two of the biggest music stars of their generation,
Aretha Franklin and Smokey Robinson were childhood pals in northwest Detroit.
The Franklin and Robinson families were tight-knit in the neighborhood near New
Bethel Baptist Church, led by young Aretha's father, the Rev. C.L. Franklin.
Robinson went on to become an iconic Motown recording artist and one of the
20th
Century's most successful songwriters. Franklin blossomed
to become the Queen of Soul.
They remained close throughout life, up through Franklin's Thursday death at
home in Detroit.
Robinson issued a brief but poignant statement Thursday afternoon:
"This morning, my longest friend in this world went home to be with our father.
I will miss her so much, but I know she's at peace."
*****
Berry Gordy: Aretha Franklin was "part of my family" Brian McCollum , Detroit
Free Press
Aretha Franklin was never part of the Motown Records roster, but she was part
of
the Motown family, company founder Berry Gordy said this morning.
Gordy reflected on Franklin in a statement provided to the Free Press:
A national treasure to everyone. But to me personally, Aretha Franklin was my
dear, dear friend, my homegirl, and I loved her a lot. From seeing her as a
baby -- singing and playing -- at the piano at her father's home, -- to her
giving a rousing performance at the White House, -- she has always been amazing.
No matter how the music has changed over the years, she remained so relevant.
Though never signed to Motown, Aretha was considered part of my family. We
always shared fond memories of'the Motor City, life, and just things."
"Her passing is not only a tremendous personal loss for me, but for people all
over the world who were touched by her incredible gift and remarkable spirit.
Aretha Franklin will always be the undisputed Queen of Soul, and her legacy
will
live forever. My condolences go out to her sons, other family members, friends
and fans. I will miss her."
Berry Gordy Founder of Motown August'16, 2018
*****
Aretha Franklin died of pancreatic cancer: What we know about it
Pancreatic cancer, blamed in the death of music icon Aretha Franklin , is a
disease that can kill rapidly. Henry Ford Health System says about 54,000
people
each year are diagnosed with it.
Most pancreatic cancers start in exocrine cells, which produce digestive
juices,
according to the WebMD website. Symptoms include jaundice, pain in the stomach
and back, and unexpected weight loss.
A family statement released by her publicist Gwendolyn Quinn said "Franklin's
official cause of death was due to advance pancreatic cancer of the
neuroendocrine type, which was confirmed by Franklin's oncologist, Dr. Philip
Phillips of Karmanos Cancer Institute" in Detroit.
The American Cancer Society estimates that only about one-quarter of those
diagnosed with exorcrine pancreas cancer survive for
a year a more after their diagnosis. Just more than 8 percent are living five
years after such a diagnosis. Early diagnosis is key to successfully treating
the disease.
The pancreas, which also produces hormones that regulate blood sugar, is
located
between the stomach and the spine.
*****
Aretha Franklin's empowering anthems spoke to women everywhere Julie Hinds ,
Detroit Free Press
Aretha Franklin never claimed to be a feminist icon. But decades before the
emergence of the #metoo movement, the Queen of Soul was a voice for female fans
who had experienced harassment and abuse. Who were controlled or taken for
granted by the men in their lives. Who fought for equal pay and economic
independence. And who kept striving despite the systemic sexism that dogged
their hopes and dreams.
That legacy remains, even with the passing of Franklin. Whenever a woman
stands
up and demands the dignity and equality she deserves, Aretha will be there in
spirit.
Franklin, who died Thursday in Detroit at the age of 76, will be remembered as
an unparalleled musical talent. But she also played a special role as a
cultural
mover and shaker whose signature song, "Respect," became a defining anthem for
the marginalized.
Her brilliant interpretation spoke directly to the civil rights movement, which
she tirelessly championed throughout her life. And yet it had the same impact
as a soundtrack for her sisters of all races, ethnicities, income levels and
ages.
Franklin was reluctant to define herself in such political terms.
"I think that's Gloria Steinem's role," she told Rolling Stone in 2014. "I
don't
think I was a catalyst for the women's movement. Sorry. But if I were? So
much
the better."
But women felt the same insistence on fairness in Franklin's songs that they
did
from a Steinem speech. And they related in a deeply personal way to the fact
that Franklin's career soared even as she faced more than her fair share of
emotional pain and personal loss.
Ranking her first in a 1999 list of Michigan's top 100 artists and
entertainers,
the Free Press wrote that, "In person, Aretha is something of a mystery an
impetuous, impulsive diva who often seems haunted by fathomless sorrow."
What could be fathomed was difficult enough. There were divorces, reports of
domestic abuse, and in her later years, health challenges that largely remained
undisclosed.
The mid-1980s brought the death of her father, years after he'd been shot by
burglars and lapsed into a coma, followed over the years by the deaths of three
siblings.
Despite her genius, Franklin experienced fears and insecurities that could make
it hard for her to revel in her fame. Fear of flying kept her from venues not
reachable by train or tour bus. Negative coverage in the press could wound her
deeply.
A 2014 unauthorized biography by the same writer who also penned her more
discreet autobiography left her leery of the media's appetite for gossip.
As recently as 2016, she went to court over attempts to screen at film
festivals, an unreleased documentary, "Amazing Grace," that captured the 1972
recording sessions at Los Angeles's New Temple Missionary Baptist Church of her
hit gospel record. The performance footage was of Franklin at her finest, but
her objections pointed to the frustration she felt at not being able to control
the use of her artistry.
As TV host Tavis Smiley told the New Yorker for a 2016 profile, "There is the
sense in her very often that people are out to harm you. And she won't have it.
You are not going to disrespect her."
Women everywhere understood that reaction. Their fight for respect, like
Aretha's, was and continues to be a day-to-day battle.
That's why Franklin struck such a resonant chord when she recorded her version
of "Respect" in 1967. She didn't merely interpret the lyrics. She lived them
with her truth.
Written by Otis Redding, the song began its life as a traditional gender-role
saga of a man who brings home the bacon to his wife and wants her admiration in
return.
But Franklin's version reinvented it practically down to the atom. As NPR wrote
in 2017, "Franklin's version blew (its) structure to bits."
For one, Redding's song doesn't spell out "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" like Franklin's does.
It also doesn't have the backup singers and their clever interplay.
So much of what made "Respect" a hit and an anthem came from Franklin's
rearrangement. Franklin took Redding's patriarchal salute and transformed it
into a fight song for the matriarchy. Changing its texture in ways large and
small, "Respect" would never be anyone's tune but Aretha's again.
For instance, the "re-re-re-respect" sung in the background by Franklin's
sisters is a clever shout-out to Aretha's nickname of Ree.
"It's a kind of R&B quasi-syllogism: Aretha is respect is Aretha," wrote author
Matt Dobkin in his book "I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You."
Franklin weighed in on "Respect" in her autobiography, "Aretha:
From These Roots," this way: "It was the need of a nation, the need of the
average man and woman in the street, the businessman, the mother, the fireman,
the teacher
everyone wanted respect. ... (D)ecades later I am unable to give a concert
without my fans demanding the same 'Respect' from me. "Respect" was and is an
ongoing blessing in my life."
As the Detroit diva told Free Press music critic Brian McCollum in June 2017,
she didn't consider it a brave act at a tumultuous time in history. "I don't
think it's bold at all," she said. "I think it's quite natural that we all want
respect and should get it."
Yet, oh, what a declaration of independence is embedded in that song and in
other Franklin classics, from "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman" to
"Freeway of Love," that are
packed with special meaning for women.
"You, Ms. Franklin, you've never been just a singer. You, as you probably know,
have been an architect of emotions, combining words and music to guide us
through, around or over whatever was in the way.
"As an adult, when I heard your plaintive but powerful affirmations of the pain
and joy of love, you prepared me for heartache. Some songs make you dance. Some
make you laugh. Your voice makes me feel, no matter what you're
singing," wrote Free Press columnist Rochelle Riley earlier this year,
addressing Franklin's possible retirement.
The lessons of "Respect" echoed through her body of work and her most memorable
on-screen appearances. In the testorone-fueled 1980 action comedy "The Blue
Bothers," Franklin delivered
a commanding, joyous version of her 1968 song "Think" as a waitress in a diner.
Dancing in pink house slippers and cornering a chauvinistic man with her
lyrics,
she was an everywoman as a goddess: not to be trifled with and subservient to
no
one.
At the 1998 Grammys, Franklin stepped in for an ailing Luciano Pavorotti to
perform "Nessun Dorma," an opera aria by Puccini, with exquisite feeling. The
moment was breathtaking as a demonstration of her virtuosity. And the subtext
was as crystal clear as it was uplifting: Never underestimate the power of a
woman.
Near the end of 2015, in the twilight of her career, Franklin reminded everyone
why she was the best. Singing for all of her sisters black, white, Asian and
Latina, young and old, richer and poorer but in
particular for Kennedy Center honoree Carole King, she took the stage in
Washington D.C. to sing "Natural Woman.
As the song reached its soaring conclusion, Franklin stood up from the piano
and
walked to the front, tossing her floor-length fur coat to the floor. It was the
dramatic move of a superstar, much
like James Brown's cape drop or Elvis Presley's flinging of a sweaty scarf.
But it also was her way of peeling off the layers she used to protect herself.
"This is me," Franklin seemed to be signaling. "I'm an idol, but I'm a real
woman. I don't need anything to communicate with you but my voice, my truth,
my story."
Bless you, Ms. Franklin, for delivering the empowering message that while
adversity is inevitable, making it through this life with grace and
strength is possible. It's time now to say a heartfelt goodbye to a monumental
figure, the woman who asked everyone to "find out what it means to me"
regarding
respect. For so many of us, it always will mean Aretha.
*****
'No one did it better' Reaction to Aretha Franklin's death
Thoughts and prayers were offered in reaction to the death of soul icon Aretha
Franklin, who died Thursday: "Through her compositions and unmatched
musicianship, Aretha helped define the American experience. In her voice, we
could feel our history, all of it and in every shade our power and our pain,
our darkness and our light, our quest for redemption and our hard-won respect.
She helped us feel more connected to each other, more hopeful, more human.
And sometimes she helped us just forget about everything else and dance. Barack
Obama and Michelle Obama, in a statement. "This morning my longest friend
in this world went home to be with our father. I will miss her so much but I
know she's at peace. Smokey Robinson, in a statement. "The most consistent
voice in music for 60 years has been Aretha Franklin's voice The world of music
has lost a bit of its soul. Jesse Jackson, in an AP interview. "It's difficult
to conceive of a world without her. Not only was she a uniquely brilliant
singer, but her commitment to civil rights made an indelible impact on the
world.
Barbra Streisand, via Twitter. "A national treasure to everyone. But to me
personally, Aretha Franklin was my dear, dear friend, my homegirl, and I loved
her a lot. From seeing her as a baby singing and playing at the piano at her
father's home, to her giving a rousing performance at the White House, she
has always been amazing. No matter how the music has changed over the years,
she
remained so relevant. Berry Gordy, in a statement. "It seems very strange
to wake up and hear that she passed today even though she lived such a long and
fulfilled life. It's no secret that she's an icon. She is an icon of all
icons I don't know anyone she hasn't inspired. Nicki Minaj on Apple Music.
"What
a life. What a legacy! So much love, respect and gratitude. R.I.P. Carole
King, via Twitter. "I'm absolutely devastated by Aretha's passing. She was
truly
one of a kind. She was more than the Queen of Soul. She was a national
treasure to be cherished by every generation throughout the world. Apart from
our long professional relationship, Aretha was my friend. Her loss is deeply
profound and my heart is full of sadness. Clive Davis, in a statement. "We have
lost one of the great artists of our time. Aretha Franklin was one of God's
precious gifts to the worldone of God's shining jewels. She is deeply loved by
millions of people as the Queen of Soul. Her voice is still a guiding light
to vocalists today. Rep. John Lewis. "Aretha Franklin and I have been friends
and label mates for more than sixty years. I adored her and I know the feelings
were mutual. While I'm heartbroken that she's gone I know she's in the Lord's
arms and she's not in pain or suffering anymore. Sam Moore, in a statement.
Today has always been a hard day for me, and now the 'Queen of Soul' Aretha
Franklin has left us, this loss saddens my heart not only was she a fellow
Memphian, but she was also my inspiration to sing. Lisa Marie Presley, via
Twitter. Thursday is the 41st anniversary of Elvis Presley's death. "Aretha
was such a timeless inspiration to me and so many others, the ultimate queen,
thank you for the gift of your voice, music and unshakeable soul. Christina
Aguilera, via Twitter. "Her voice; her presence; her style No one did it better
Truly the Queen of Soul I will miss you! Lionel Richie, in a statement.
"Salute to the Queen. The greatest vocalist I've ever known. John Legend, via
Twitter. "The loss of Aretha Franklin is a blow for everybody who loves real
music: Music from the heart, the soul and the Church. Her voice was unique, her
piano playing underrated she was one of my favorite pianists. Elton John,
via Instagram. "We have lost another legend from the civil rights era. From the
time she was a teenager, Ms. Franklin has been singing freedom songs in
support of my father and others in the struggle for civil rights. As a daughter
of the movement, she not only used her voice to entertain but to uplift
and inspire generations through songs that have become anthems such as
"Respect"
and "Bridge over Troubled Water. Dr. Bernice A. King, in a statement.
"I'm sitting in prayer for the wonderful golden spirit Aretha Franklin. Diana
Ross, via Twitter. "From the time that Dinah Washington first told me that
Aretha was the 'next one' when she was 12-years old until the present day,
Aretha Franklin set the bar upon which every female singer has and will be
measured.
And she did it with the professionalism, class, grace and humility that only a
true Queen could. I treasured every moment that we spent together from working
in the recording studio, to performing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, or
simply hanging in the kitchen, and I will miss her dearly. RIP Ree-Ree.
You will reign as the Queen forever. Quincy Jones, in a statement. "Today the
world has experienced a tremendous loss. Aretha was a rare treasure whose
unmatched musical genius helped craft the soundtrack to the lives of so many.
Patti LaBelle, via Twitter. "One of the highlights of my career was singing
with (hash)ArethaFranklin at The Tony Awards. It was an out of body experience
for me. One of greatest singers of all time. You will be missed by all.
Hugh Jackman, via Twitter. "For more than 50 years, she stirred our souls. She
was elegant, graceful, and utterly uncompromising in her artistry. Aretha's
first music school was the church and her performances were powered by what she
learned there. I'll always be grateful for her kindness and support, including
her performances at both my inaugural celebrations, and for the chance to be
there for what sadly turned out to be her final performance last November
at a benefit supporting the fight against HIV/AIDS. She will forever be the
Queen of Soul and so much more to all who knew her personally and through her
music. Our hearts go out to her family and her countless fans. Bill Clinton, in
a statement. "She was an amazing musician and an amazing vocalist, but
she was also like the girl next door. I think what kept her really grounded was
her spiritual upbringing, and her father. The world has lost a really wonderful
person. Kenny Gamble, who worked with Franklin in 1969, when she recorded his
song "A Brand New Me," in an interview. "The Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin,
is dead. She was a great woman, with a wonderful gift from God, her voice. She
will be missed! Donald Trump, via Twitter. "Lucky enough to have seen Aretha
live exactly once, and this was it. Thank you for the music, we will be
listening to you forever. Lin-Manuel Miranda, via Twitter. "Aretha Franklin was
simply peerless. She has reigned supreme, and will always be held in the
highest
firmament of stars as the most exceptional vocalist, performer and recording
artist the world has ever been privileged to witness. Annie Lennox, via
Twitter.
"Let's all take a moment to give thanks for the beautiful life of Aretha
Franklin, the Queen of our souls, who inspired us all for many, many years. She
will be missed but the memory of her greatness as a musician and a fine
human being will live with us forever. Paul McCartney, via Twitter. "Deeply
saddened by the passing of a beloved friend and queen/warrior Aretha Franklin.
Her contributions are legendary both personally and societally. We hope you
take
a pause today to remember the life of a beautiful soul. The Rev. Al Sharpton,
via Twitter. "Rightfully known worldwide as the 'Queen of Soul,' Ms. Franklin's
incomparable voice and remarkable career have left an indelible mark on
the lives of many and will never be forgotten. RCA Records, in a statement.
"Aretha Franklin I want to thank her for her wonderful voice singing the theme
song of 'A Different World. She made a big, strong positive impact on that
series. I am playing a cut from her CD the title of the song is 'Wholy Holy'
and she's live in a church. Bon Voyage. Bill Cosby, in a statement.
*****
'Queen of Soul' Aretha Franklin has died By Mesfin Fekadu and Hillel Italie
Associated Press
NEW YORK -- Aretha Franklin, the undisputed "Queen of Soul" who sang with
matchless style on such classics as "Think," "I Say a Little Prayer" and her
signature song, "Respect," and stood as a cultural icon around the globe, has
died at age 76 from pancreatic cancer. Publicist Gwendolyn Quinn tells The
Associated Press through a family statement that Franklin died Thursday at 9:50
a.m. at her home in Detroit.
The statement said "Franklin's official cause of death was due to advanced
pancreatic cancer of the neuroendocrine type, which was
confirmed by Franklin's oncologist, Dr. Philip Phillips of Karmanos Cancer
Institute" in Detroit. The family added: "In one of the darkest moments of our
lives, we are not able to find the appropriate words to express the pain in our
heart. We have lost the matriarch and rock of our family. The love she had for
her children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, and cousins knew no bounds. The
statement continued: "We have been deeply touched by the incredible outpouring
of love and support we have received from close friends, supporters and fans
all
around the world. Thank you for your compassion and prayers. We have felt your
love for Aretha and it brings us comfort to know that her legacy will live on.
As we grieve, we ask that you respect our privacy during this difficult time.
Funeral arrangements will be announced in the coming days."
Franklin, who had battled undisclosed health issues in recent years, had in
2017
announced her retirement from touring.
A professional singer and accomplished pianist by her late teens, a superstar
by
her mid-20s, Franklin had long ago settled any arguments over who was the
greatest popular vocalist of her time. Her gifts, natural and acquired, were a
multi-octave mezzo-soprano, gospel passion and training worthy of a preacher's
daughter, taste sophisticated and eccentric, and the courage to channel private
pain into liberating song.
She recorded hundreds of tracks and had dozens of hits over the span of a half
century, including 20 that reached No. 1 on the R&B charts. But her reputation
was defined by an extraordinary run of top 10 smashes in the late 1960s, from
the morning-after bliss of "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural
Woman," to the wised-up "Chain of Fools" to her unstoppable call for "Respect.
Her records sold millions of copies and the music industry couldn't honor her
enough.
Franklin won 18 Grammy awards. In 1987, she became the first woman inducted
into
the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
Fellow singers bowed to her eminence and political and civic leaders treated
her
as a peer.
The Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was a longtime friend, and she sang at the
dedication of King's memorial, in 2011. She performed at the inaugurations of
Presidents Bill Clinton and Jimmy Carter, and at the funeral for civil rights
pioneer Rosa Parks. Clinton gave Franklin the National Medal of Arts. President
George W. Bush awarded her the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation's
highest civilian honor, in 2005.
Franklin's best-known appearance with a president was in January 2009, when she
sang "My Country 'tis of Thee" at Barack Obama's inauguration. She wore a gray
felt hat with a huge, Swarovski rhinestone-bordered bow that became an Internet
sensation and even had its own website.
In 2015, she brought Obama and others to tears with a triumphant performance of
"Natural Woman" at a Kennedy Center tribute to the song's co-writer, Carole
King.
Franklin endured the exhausting grind of celebrity and personal troubles dating
back to childhood. She was married from 1961 to 1969 to her manager, Ted White,
and their battles are widely believed to have inspired her performances on
several songs, including "(Sweet Sweet Baby) Since You've Been Gone," "Think"
and her heartbreaking ballad of despair, "Ain't No Way."
The mother of two sons by age 16 (she later had two more), she was often in
turmoil as she struggled with her weight, family problems and financial
predicaments.
Her best known producer, Jerry Wexler, nicknamed her "Our Lady of Mysterious
Sorrows."
Franklin married actor Glynn Turman in 1978 in Los Angeles but returned to her
hometown of Detroit the following year after her father was shot by burglars
and
left semi-comatose until his death in 1984. She and Turman divorced that year.
Despite growing up in Detroit, and having Smokey Robinson as a childhood
friend,
Franklin never recorded for Motown Records; stints with Columbia and Arista
were
sandwiched around her prime years with Atlantic Records.
But it was at Detroit's New Bethel Baptist Church, where her father was pastor,
that Franklin learned the gospel fundamentals that would make her a soul
institution.
Aretha Louise Franklin was born March 25, 1942, in Memphis, Tennessee. The Rev.
C.L. Franklin soon moved his family to Buffalo, New York, then to Detroit,
where
the Franklins settled after the marriage of Aretha's parents collapsed and her
mother (and reputed sound-alike) Barbara returned to Buffalo.
C.L. Franklin was among the most prominent Baptist ministers of his time. He
recorded dozens of albums of sermons and music and knew such gospel stars as
Marion
Williams and Clara Ward, who mentored Aretha and her sisters Carolyn and Erma.
(Both sisters sang on Aretha's records, and Carolyn also wrote "Ain't No Way"
and other songs for Aretha).
Music was the family business and performers from Sam Cooke to Lou Rawls were
guests at the Franklin house.
In the living room, the shy young Aretha awed friends with her playing on the
grand piano. Franklin occasionally performed at New Bethel Baptist throughout
her career; her 1987 gospel album "One Lord One Faith One Baptism" was recorded
live at the church.
Her most acclaimed gospel recording came in 1972 with the Grammy-winning album
"Amazing Grace," which was recorded live at New Temple Missionary Baptist
Church
in South Central Los Angeles and featured gospel legend James Cleveland, along
with her own father (Mick Jagger was one of the celebrities in the audience).
It
became one of the best-selling gospel albums ever.
The piano she began learning at age 8 became a jazzy component of much of her
work, including arranging as well as songwriting.
"If I'm writing and I'm producing and singing, too, you get more of me that
way,
rather than having four or five different people working on one song," Franklin
told The Detroit News in
2003.
Franklin was in her early teens when she began touring with her father, and she
released a gospel album in 1956 through J-V-B Records.
Four years later, she signed with Columbia Records producer John Hammond, who
called Franklin the most exciting singer he had heard since a vocalist he
promoted decades earlier, Billie Holiday.
Franklin knew Motown founder Berry Gordy Jr. and considered joining his label,
but decided it was just a local company at the time.
Franklin recorded several albums for Columbia Records over the next six years.
She had a handful of minor hits, including "Rock-A-Bye Your Baby With a Dixie
Melody" and "Runnin' Out of Fools," but never quite caught on as the label
tried
to fit into her a variety of styles, from jazz and show songs to such pop
numbers as "Mockingbird."
Franklin jumped to Atlantic Records when her contract ran out, in 1966.
"But the years at Columbia also taught her several important things," critic
Russell Gersten later wrote. "She worked hard at controlling and modulating her
phrasing, giving her a discipline that most other soul singers lacked. She also
developed a versatility with mainstream music that gave her later albums a
breadth that was lacking on Motown LPs from the same period.
"Most important, she learned what she didn't like: to do what she was told to
do.
At Atlantic, Wexler teamed her with veteran R&B musicians from Fame Studios in
Muscle Shoals, and the result was a tougher, soulful sound, with
call-and-response vocals and Franklin's gospel-style piano, which anchored "I
Say a Little Prayer," "Natural Woman" and others.
Of Franklin's dozens of hits, none was linked more firmly to her than the
funky,
horn-led march "Respect" and its spelled out demand for "R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Writing
in Rolling Stone magazine in 2004, Wexler said: "It was an appeal for dignity
combined with a blatant lubricity. There are songs that are a call to action.
There are love songs. There are sex songs. But it's hard to think of another
song where all those elements are combined."
"Franklin had decided she wanted to "embellish" the R&B song written by Otis
Redding, whose version had been a modest hit in 1965, Wexler said. "When she
walked into the studio, it was already worked out in her head," the producer
wrote. "Otis came up to my office
right before 'Respect' was released, and I played him the tape. He said, 'She
done took my song. He said it benignly and ruefully. He knew the identity of
the
song was slipping away from him to her."
In a 2004 interview with the St. Petersburg (Florida) Times, Franklin was asked
whether she sensed in the '60s that she was helping change popular music.
"Somewhat, certainly with 'Respect,' that was a battle cry for freedom and many
people of many ethnicities took pride in that word," she answered. "It was
meaningful to all of us."
In 1968, Franklin was pictured on the cover of Time magazine and had more than
10 Top 20 hits in 1967 and 1968.
At a time of rebellion and division, Franklin's records were a musical union of
the church and the secular, man and woman, black and white, North and South,
East and West. They were produced and engineered by New Yorkers Wexler and Tom
Dowd, arranged by Turkish-born Arif Mardin
and backed by an interracial assembly of top session musicians based mostly in
Alabama.
Her popularity faded during the 1970s despite such hits as the funky "Rock
Steady" and such acclaimed albums as the intimate "Spirit in the Dark. But her
career was revived in 1980 with a cameo appearance in the smash
movie "The Blues Brothers" and her switch to Arista Records. Franklin
collaborated with such pop and soul artists as Luther Vandross, Elton John,
Whitney Houston and George Michael, with whom she recorded a No. 1 single, "I
Knew You Were Waiting (for Me)."
Her 1985 album "Who's Zoomin' Who" received some of her best reviews and
included such hits as the title track and "Freeway of Love."
Critics consistently praised Franklin's singing but sometimes questioned her
material; she covered songs by Stephen Sondheim, Bread, the Doobie Brothers.
For
Aretha, anything she performed was "soul. From her earliest recording
sessions at Columbia, when she asked to sing "Over the Rainbow," she defied
category.
The 1998 Grammys gave her a chance to demonstrate her range. Franklin performed
"Respect," then, with only a few minutes' notice, filled in for an ailing
Luciano Pavarotti and drew rave reviews for her rendition of "Nessun
Dorma," a stirring aria for tenors from Puccini's "Turandot."
"I'm sure many people were surprised, but I'm not there to prove anything,"
Franklin told the Associated Press. "Not necessary."
Fame never eclipsed Franklin's charitable works, or her loyalty to Detroit.
Franklin sang the national anthem at Super Bowl in her hometown in 2006, after
grousing that Detroit's rich musical legacy was being snubbed when the Rolling
Stones were chosen as halftime
performers. "I didn't think there was enough (Detroit representation) by any
means," she said. "And it was my feeling, "How dare you come to Detroit, a city
of legends -- musical legends, plural -- and not ask one or two of them to
participate? That's not the way it should be."
Franklin did most of her extensive touring by bus after Redding's death in a
1967 plane crash, and a rough flight to Detroit in 1982 left her with a fear of
flying that anti-anxiety tapes
and classes couldn't help. She told Time in 1998 that the custom bus was a
comfortable alternative: "You can pull over, go to Red Lobster. You can't pull
over at 35,000 feet."
She only released a few albums over the past two decades, including "A Rose is
Still a Rose," which featured songs by Sean "Diddy"
Combs, Lauryn Hill and other contemporary artists, and "So Damn Happy," for
which Franklin wrote the gratified title ballad.
Franklin's autobiography, "Aretha: From These Roots," came out in 1999, when
she
was in her 50s. But she always made it clear that her story would continue.
"Music is my thing, it's who I am. I'm in it for the long run," she told The
Associated Press in 2008. "I'll be around, singing, "What you want, baby I got
it." "Having fun all the way."
*****
Independent Aretha Franklin was 'epitome of self-determination' Rochelle Riley
,
Detroit Free Press
People make much of the mic drop, the definitive gesture that marks the end of
an excellent moment.
But I remember the mink drop -- when the daughter of a Baptist preacher known
for his million-dollar voice reminded people with a 48-year-old ode to
sensuality that she was the one with a trillion-dollar voice. And at that
moment
on Dec. 6, 2015, I fell in love with Aretha Franklin all over again.
She stood on the stage of the Kennedy Center and sang "(You Make Me Feel Like)
A
Natural Woman" for Carole King, who wrote the song for Ms. Franklin that'made
it
not only all right, but quite natural, for a woman to embrace her sensuality --
in 1967. With that song and other anthems, she also made it clear that it was
all right for women to want men, but not be ruled by them. In an era where it
was much more difficult, she was a fiercely independent force of nature who
eschewed being handled and instead handled things herself.
Ms. Franklin was the original badass who taught millions of women not only to
demand respect but to think a second time before giving it. God, she was
awesome.
Fiercely private, she also rose above stereotypes, defining and telling her
story herself as much as others did.
I never heard anyone refer to her as a teen mother until reports after her
death. Networks dare not speak of the Queen that way regularly before then.
And that is what Aretha Franklin did -- on top of being an iconic singer and
unheralded civil rights leader and mom and sisterfriend who cooked oxtail soup
for her friends and family. She showed what it means to be an independent
woman,
a sensual woman, a woman capable of demanding what she wants, and getting it.
Remember she sang "Respect" three months before the '67 riot! Detroit should
have listened. She released "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman" two
months after the riot.
She was both bold and sexual in a year when the most popular television shows
were "The Andy Griffith Show" and "The Lucy Show," where kissing was rare and
no
one sang of love the way the Queen did.
"Oh, baby, what you've done to me/ You make me feel so good inside/ And I just
want to be, close to you/ You make me feel
so alive."
But just as important as showing women that being sensual was not a crime, Ms.
Franklin, on many occasions, showed us how to take care of business. In some
cases, she just did the danged thing herself.
Like that time Ms. Franklin called her friend, the Rev. JoAnn Watson, a former
Detroit City Council member, to tell her that the Detroit park named after
Franklin's father had been renamed, and its sign replaced.
"I wasn't even on council anymore, but I went out there and met with the block
club and tried to employ all the charm I could muster and said, 'You may not
know the Rev. Dr. C.L. Franklin, but his house is walking distance from this
park and his daughter, Aretha Franklin, keeps the grass cut here. It would be
important to continue to honor him because Ms. Franklin keeps the grass cut.
And
she comes by here regularly."
They agreed.
"But after the sign went up, Aretha called back and said, "JoAnn, they left off
the Rev. Dr. It just says C.L. Franklin. You better call somebody," Watson
remembered. So she called Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick and said, "Somebody's got to
do
something. Aretha loved, loved, loved her father, the church, our city. And
from
the turkeys (she gives away) and the scholarships (she awards) and paying for
folks' funerals, and always digging deep to give, over and over and over again,
we need to do this." The city relented and fixed the sign.
Or like the time Hillary Clinton asked Ms. Franklin to sing a tribute to her
being nominated at the 2016 Democratic National Convention, and Ms. Franklin
made clear that she could not, would not, sing with the air conditioning on.
"Aretha had a standard protocol in any venue, including the Philadelphia
Convention Center," said Watson, a longtime friend who accompanied her on the
trip. "That protocol is to protect herself. She does not sing in air
conditioning, and the word went up and down the lines, and finally the answer
came back No. They said they were not going to make the other guests
uncomfortable." She said, "I'm not going to sing, but God bless you."
That's right. Ms. Franklin did not sing. But she enjoyed the convention and was
so enthralled by the words of the Rev. William J. Barber II that she invited
him
back to Detroit to New Bethel Baptist," Watson said, "to speak and tear that
roof off at New Bethel."
I don't know of many entertainers asked by someone who could have been
president, who would hold onto their protocol. She didn't quibble. She didn't
equivocate. There was no anger. She enjoyed the event.
Watson also recalled Ms. Franklin being notified that she was to receive the
Lifetime Achievement Award at the Trumpet Awards in 2012, and she insisted that
the honor go to her father instead.
She told them, "I want you to give it to my father, who is not as well-known
for
his achievements in civil rights and contributions to gospel music, traveling
the country with the Clara Ward Singers."
Watson said Rev. Franklin was responsible for many people migrating to Detroit.
"It wasn't just Ford Motor Company who had people coming for $5 a day, but Rev.
Franklin's sermons, which were broadcast nationally."
As the nation prepares to say goodbye during a days-long home-going
celebration,
the women -- all of us who learned to be badass from Ms. Franklin and others
like her -- will mourn more than the loss of a sister, role model, icon,
friend,
performer and activist. We will mourn the woman who taught us that taking
charge
of our own lives was not a pipe dream, but a necessity. She taught us that our
happiness is our responsibility. She taught us to be in charge of ourselves and
our lives -- always.
"Respect was not just in that one song," Watson said. "It was how she handled
herself, how she handled her business, how she negotiated."
She was the epitome of self-determination. She wasn't waiting on someone else
to
give her happiness and joy. Consider birthdays. She planned her own parties
and paid for (them) and had top-notch entertainment. That self-determination
wasn't relying on someone else to provide her joy.
Being Queen means being above it all. But being beloved means not looking down
at people from that height.
When she invited me to the premiere of "Selma" in New York City, I was moved.
When we got there, and Ava DuVernay introduced the film, he comes Oprah Winfrey
down the center aisle, who got down on her knees in front of Aretha Franklin.
Here comes Tyler Perry, who bowed down to Aretha Franklin, and Martin Luther
King III comes and kisses her hand. That was worth the trip to see them pay
homage to her, someone who was not standing around waiting to be honored. She
was just sitting in her seat. It was magnificent to see this Detroit woman,
this
queen named Aretha Franklin handle that adoration with grace and dignity and
aplomb and humility.
When Ms. Franklin died Thursday, an elegant team
from Swanson Funeral Home arrived at Riverfront Towers and parked in front of
Tower 200. Away from the prying eyes of television trucks at the front gate,
they worked to prepare the Queen for her next to last journey. Two sentries
stood guard: Ms. Franklin's friend Greg Dunmore, a Detroit radio reporter who
shooed residents away from the scene so they could not take photos, and Watson,
her longtime friend. Standing in the rain in regal purple and black, Watson,
who
always wears headdresses or hats, was bare-headed.
When the maintenance people said, "Oh, Ms. Watson! Don't keep standing in the
rain,' Watson told them, 'The Lord is crying, shedding tears for our Queen. I'm
perfectly fine. I'm not moving.
And she didn't until O'Neil Swanson's team had completed the transfer and were
on their way out a back gate ' away from the prying eyes that Ms. Franklin
avoided in life. O'Neil Swanson wore a tuxedo.
*****
Rev. Jesse Jackson recalls Aretha Franklin's civil rights work at service David
Jesse , Detroit Free Press
Standing on the stage where nearly 35 years ago he stood to help eulogize her
father, the Rev. Jesse Jackson on Sunday lionized Aretha Franklin not for her
music, but for her service to the civil rights cause.
In a voice so soft at the beginning that people in the packed auditorium at New
Bethel Baptist Church were shouting for his microphone to be turned up, Jackson
painted a picture of the world Franklin was born into 'one where being
black meant a life of struggle.
"Aretha was born in a shack in Memphis," Jackson told the crowd Sunday morning,
adding there were 225 blacks lynched that year in Tennessee."
"She was born in the midst of oppression. No one was saying Black Lives Matter
then."
He told of how when Franklin toured as she was starting out as a singer, she
often stayed in private homes, because there weren't hotels that let blacks
stay. More: Jesse Jackson on Aretha Franklin's
quiet but profound civil rights legacy More: Aretha Franklin's message to black
women was a powerful gift But Franklin'was committed to overturning that,
Jackson said. He noted her father, C.L. Franklin, the superstar pastor of New
Bethel, was a leader'in the civil rights movement, something Aretha Franklin
did as well, even working behind the scenes. Jackson recalled once when Dr.
Martin Luther King Jr. was facing bankruptcy. "She went on a 11-city tour with
Harry Belafonte'and gave all the money to Dr. King," Jackson told the church.
"She has a crown of jewels (now in heaven). Jewels for singing. Jewels for
serving. The crowd filled New Bethel, located at Linwood and W. Philadelphia,
to
honor Franklin at her home church just days after her death from cancer.
The cornerstone on the outside of the church building notes that when the
congregation moved to that site in 1963, Rev. C.L. Franklin was the pastor.
Aretha
is listed as a patron on the large stone. A memorial covered the walls and
sidewalks on either side of the main entrance. Balloons stirred in the breeze
as parishioners walked by and flowers, some still in their plastic bouquet
wrappings were propped against the wall. All morning, people driving ' or in
one case riding their bike 'stopped to take pictures or add their own tribute
to
the walls. Inside, New Bethel pastor Robert Smith Jr. opened the service.
A woman raises her hands in prayer as Rev. Jesse Jackson speaks during a
service
in honor of Aretha Franklin at New Bethel Baptist Church in Detroit on
Sunday, August 19, 2018. (Photo: Ryan Garza, Detroit Free Press) "It's a sad
day
... Aretha is gone from our eyesight and the reach of our hand' but it's
a happy day because she is in heaven. Carissa Wells, 45, of Detroit, came to
New
Bethel Sunday morning, even though she didn't know Franklin personally,
or attend church there. "My mom played (Franklin's) music all the time when I
was growing up," she said. "Anytime I hear something of hers, I feel like
I'm 8 years old again. My mom died a few years ago, but I know she would have
wanted me to come today. It's way to honor them both. Franklin's drive for
civil rights didn't fade away with the passage of time, a point Ralph Godbee,
the former Detroit police chief and current police chief for Detroit Public
Schools Community District, made. Godbee had been scheduled to speak Sunday in
honor of New Bethel's Homecoming day and picnic and was asked to keep that
schedule. He spoke before Jackson did. "I remember one time when I was police
chief, my assistant coming in and giving me a note that said Aretha Franklin
was on the phone. I went into my office and straightened my uniform, like she
could see me. There wasn't any Facetime then. There's something about when
a Queen calls.
"I picked up the phone and she cursed me out. I've never been more honored to
be
cursed out."
Turns out a Detroit officer had done something to one of Franklin's family
members that Franklin felt was over the line. Once the officer learned the
person was connected to Franklin, the
officer stopped and apologized. Franklin told Godbee that was wrong -- what if
the person hadn't been connected to Franklin? Why weren't his officers treating
Detroiters better?
That was an example of Franklin's commitment to standing up to people and her
love for Detroit, Godbee said. "There's a revival in this city and it will be
on
the back of the spirit of the Queen," he said.
Franklin's funeral will be on Aug. 31 at Greater Grace Temple. It's by
invitation only. The funeral will follow a public viewing Aug. 28-29 at the
Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History in Midtown Detroit, where
Franklin
will lie in state. The viewing will run 9 a.m.-9 p.m. each day. Greater Grace,
which seats about 4,000, has been the site of funerals for many notable
Detroit figures, including Rosa Parks, Marcus Belgrave and the Four Tops' Levi
Stubbs.
*****
Aretha's final Detroit show: Illness, intrigue, last-minute misgivings Brian
McCollum , Detroit Free Press
Just hours before Aretha Franklin's final Detroit concert, unbeknownst to the
thousands eagerly gathered downtown, everything was hanging by a thread. "All
morning it was: She's coming. She's not coming.
She's coming. She's not coming," show producer Vince Paul recalled of that
stressful day last summer. "Meanwhile, we've got this full-blown festival going
on. "And then we get the phone call: 'Come get me.' A struggling Queen of Soul
was about to deliver triumph through the pain. After months of behind-the-scenes
wrangling, Paul had snared Franklin as headliner for the inaugural Detroit
Music
Weekend festival, a showcase of homegrown music to be held on the streets
of the city's theater district in June 2017. The plan called for more than her
Saturday night starring performance. Detroit Music Weekend would be a
full-blown,
days-long Aretha celebration, including a ceremonial street renaming on Madison
and a glittery tribute concert featuring some of the city's top singers
and musicians. Paul, the Music Hall director who booked several Franklin
concerts through the years, had approached her the previous autumn with the
festival
proposal. "If you ever spent time with Aretha, you knew she had this thing
where
she'd go, 'Hmm,' " Paul said. "You'd then spend hours of hand-wringing
trying to figure out if that was a good 'hmm' or a bad 'hmm.' Find more Aretha
Franklin coverage at freep.com/aretha For months, Paul haggled with Franklin
and her booking agents. She eventually agreed to play the festival but in
customary Queen of Soul fashion declined to sign a formal contract. They settled
on a figure three times the price she had asked for past Music Hall gigs. More
worrisome for Paul and his team, though, was the sad discovery they made
while negotiations unfolded. As the singer went public with talk of retirement,
distressing whispers were coming from folks in her circle. Aretha Franklin
was sick. Very sick. Though never officially billed as such, Detroit Music
Weekend was quietly promoted as the last chance to experience the city's
foremost
voice in concert. Franklin, speaking with the Free Press ahead of the festival,
choked up when asked about that possibility. "Most of us had heard there
was some type of cancer," said the Supremes' Mary Wilson, among the hometown
heavyweights who made a point to attend the performance. "She was ill, and
she was quite thin. But she looked so beautiful that night. Just precious. The
sweltering heat was the last thing anybody needed that Saturday. Least of
all the 75-year-old, naturally fussy singer who already had shocked onlookers
with her feeble appearance two days earlier, when Franklin accompanied Detroit
politicians and a noisy throng of fans for the unveiling of "Aretha Franklin
Way" at the corner of Madison and Brush. "When she walked in that day, there
were gasps," said Paul. "We thought: ' How is she going to get through this
weekend? " Franklin, the imposing diva with the larger-than-life persona, was
weak and wan during her first public Detroit appearance in two years, crying as
the street sign was revealed. "It was the first time I'd seen her after
all those months of negotiations," said Paul. "We knew she had been getting
increasingly thinner over the last few years, but that day was terrible. You
could just see the looks on everybody's faces. And worst of all, you knew
Aretha
could see those looks. Read more: Scenes of the Thursday street dedication
quickly went viral online. "It was heart-wrenching," said Paul. "She had a
chemotherapy pad on her chest you could clearly see it through that yellow
dress.
Aretha Franklin, center, is assisted by Music Hall president Vince Paul during
a
press event for Detroit Music Weekend on June 8, 2017. (Photo: Music Hall)
Franklin spent the rest of the afternoon sitting to greet about 50 family
members inside Music Hall, including many who seemed to be encountering her for
the first time in a while, if ever. To festival producers, it was a sign just
how reclusive the singer had become in recent years, holed up at home in
Bloomfield Hills or checking into Detroit's MGM Grand Hotel to staycation for
long stretches. Then came Friday, when Franklin was to be the grand guest
at the tribute concert honoring her music. The crowd inside Music Hall would
include scores of corporate bigwigs and other festival funders. Musicians
had spent months crafting the show, and Paul had secured video testimonials
from
the likes of Bonnie Raitt and Carole King. But Thursday left Franklin
exhausted, and she phoned Paul hours before the tribute concert: She wasn't
going to make it. She also had a new demand: "I am going to call upon my
spiritual
adviser," she told Paul. "Jesse Jackson is coming. You need to hook him up with
a room. Franklin's big performance was scheduled for the next day. Festival
officials were starting to panic. Temperatures were already sizzling at midday
Saturday as Detroit Music Weekend got under way outside Music Hall with
an assortment of local performers. Crowds were sparse, Franklin's set was
billed
for 6 p.m., and now Paul's team was really biting its nails. Even in her
best of times, the Queen of Soul had been known to cancel concerts because of
heat. And now in this physical state? The Rev. Jackson, a longtime Franklin
confidant, had arrived in Detroit the night before. He didn't leave her side.
"This is what I know: She needed him because he could channel the power of
the Lord," Paul said. "And as long as she was within a few feet of him, she was
getting that power. He was never more than a few feet away the entire time.
That was by design. That's how we were told it had to be. The merciful phone
call came early Saturday afternoon: Franklin was ready. A car was dispatched
to Bloomfield Hills to retrieve Franklin and Jackson, and by 3 p.m. three hours
before scheduled showtime she was safely tucked in a Music Hall dressing
room. By now, fans were piling onto the festival site, many armed with lawn
chairs and blankets as they packed the parking lot and streets by the main
stage. But getting Franklin on-site had been just half the battle. The reality
remained touch-and-go. "Sitting in Music Hall, there was a point where she
said, 'No, I can't do it,' " recalled venue publicist Rick Manore. "It was
really hot out there. And the green room didn't help there's no air
conditioning.
As 6 p.m. approached, things were getting busy backstage. Franklin's two dozen
musicians had arrived and were warming up. Crews scurried to get the stage
in order. As calls of "check one-two" reverberated over the PA, familiar
figures
like Sen. Debbie Stabenow and boxer Tommy Hearns were now milling about.
Detroit Mayor Mike Duggan, on hand to present Franklin with a ceremonial key to
the city, had spent time with her in the dressing room. Backstage, when
asked how the singer was doing, Duggan responded diplomatically. "I think
she'll
be OK," the mayor said. Band members, many of them hired hands for the
day, had picked up a sense Franklin was ailing, but were never given definitive
info. "It was sweltering hot. I remember sweating just from standing back
there," said Drew Schultz, a Detroit drummer hired for percussion work. "There
were rumblings she wasn't well, but was that illness or the heat? Things
had been kept really close to the vest, so out of respect I didn't want to ask
backstage. Paul was pacing but putting on his best showbiz face. Despite
the heat, his festival site was packed. Months of tussling with Franklin and
her
agents were on the cusp of paying off. "But none of us in the band even
knew if the show would go on," said saxophonist Johnny Evans. "Everybody was
just sitting in the sun waiting. Six o'clock came and went. Out front, 15,000
people were standing by, and word was now circulating backstage: Over at Music
Hall, Aretha was unhappy. It seemed she wasn't digging the golf-cart trek
that would take her through a crowded block of festival-goers to the stage
entrance. A car was sent to retrieve her and Jackson, and at about 6:30, the
dark-windowed Mercedes eased up to the corner of Madison and John R streets,
quickly mobbed by fans. And then ... there it sat. Minutes ticked by. "There
was a collective holding of breath. She wouldn't get out of the car," said
Manore. "She sat there for a good half hour or longer. By now the band was
onstage,
vamping through "Freeway of Love" and other instrumentals. At last the car door
cracked open. Out came a Franklin associate, carrying a sterling-silver
serving set with tea and honey destined for the stage. And at 6:56 p.m.,
finally, here came the Queen of Soul, in an elegant white gown, her hair golden
in the sun. Arm-in-arm with Jackson, she slowly made the 50-foot trip from the
car to the stage steps. "We got her through this gauntlet of people," said
Paul. "I used every security guard I had to create a tunnel. Jackson remained
by
her side as Franklin labored up the steps to the stage, the crowd roaring
as an emcee announced her presence. "When I saw her come onstage and Jesse
Jackson was with her, I felt that something heavy was going on," said Evans.
"Everybody around her seemed really serious. I got the sense she'd gotten a
diagnosis. Weak as she was, Franklin sounded good. The voice was still there
lighter now, with less power than in her glory days, but still clear, clean and
passionate. "She gave it her everything," said Mary Wilson. "When she was
singing, we weren't even thinking about (her being sick). She was performing to
the top of her abilities."
As the concert settled in, Jackson took a spot down front. Asked by a reporter
about Franklin's health, Jackson politely shook his head. He
wouldn't be addressing the topic.
For 105 minutes, Franklin pushed through, often steadying herself with a hand
on
her grand piano. She cracked jokes, and dropped a hint she'd not been well.
"You
don't mind if I sit down? she said as she settled into a plush chair for "Chain
of Fools. "I'm getting over a bit of a spell."
Onstage, saxophonist Evans knew he was part of something important, and at one
point pulled out his cellphone to chronicle the occasion.
"I could feel it in her voice and heart, that this was a special moment for
her," he said. "That this would be her last live performance in Detroit."
As if to revel in the stuff she wanted to play, Franklin avoided a basic
greatest-hits set, instead going deeper into her catalog. Alongside staples
like
"Do Right Man" came material
like "A Brand New Me," a bluesy "Sweet Sixteen" and even a nod to her early
Columbia Records years via "Skylark. A soaring, 11-minute gospel romp made for
the night's highlight. The Detroit audience was upbeat and satisfied. At an
hour
and 45 minutes, the show gave them a generous helping of Aretha Franklin
on a night when she'd have been forgiven for less.
Still, Franklin cut the set short, axing a planned encore of "Respect. "My
sense
was that she was tired," said Evans. "She was just out of energy."
"I remember being shocked that we didn't end up playing 'Respect,' " said
Schultz. "I walked off thinking something
really must be wrong."
Before she left the stage, Franklin looked out over the crowd, saying, "Take
care of yourselves. God bless you. God keep you. She
paused for 20 seconds, closing her eyes, and finally spoke again: "Keep me in
your prayers."
"She was going downhill at that point," said Paul. "All you had to do was look
at her. We literally carried her a hand on each arm and leg down the steps to
the Mercedes."
Back in her Music Hall dressing room, Franklin lingered for two hours to
recover. She'd done it. She had summoned the willpower and pulled it off.
"This thing nearly bankrupted us," Paul said. "But I'm really, really glad we
did it. Detroit got its one last evening with Aretha Franklin. "It was a free
show. I think it meant something to
her that anybody could come. And it was predominantly African-American, the
people of Detroit."
That was probably the defining factor," said Manore. "If it was some expensive,
hoity-toity event, she might have blown it off. But the people had come to see
her, waiting all day in the sun. I truly think that's why she made that
decision
at the last minute."
"It was a remarkable day."
*****
Aretha Franklin left no will or trust, attorney says Brian McCollum and John
Wisely , Detroit Free Press
The finances of an intensely private Aretha Franklin soon will become very
public in Oakland County Probate Court because she apparently left no will or
trust. Her four sons filed a document Tuesday afternoon listing themselves as
interested parties in her estate.
Franklin's niece Sabrina Owens asked the court to appoint her as personal
representative of the estate. The case is assigned to Judge Jennifer Callaghan.
"I was after her for a number of years to do a trust," said Los Angeles
attorney
Don Wilson,
who represented Franklin in entertainment matters for the past 28 years. "It
would have expedited things and kept them out of probate, and kept things
private."
As Franklin's attorney in copyright matters, song publishing and record deals,
Wilson said he would have been consulted about her holdings for any estate
planning purposes. Wilson said that at this point it's impossible to place a
dollar figure on the value of her song catalog. He did say that she maintained
ownership of her original compositions, which include well-known hits such as
"Think" and "Rock Steady."
TMZ, citing court records, also reported Tuesday that Franklin died without a
will. Under Michigan law, the assets of an unmarried person who dies without a
will are divided equally among any
children.
Franklin's decision to not create a will before she died could prompt a court
battle over her assets by creditors or extended family members seeking a
portion
of her estate.
One case Wilson has been involved with is that of musician Ike Turner, whose
estate is still being litigated 11 years after his death.
"I just hope (Franklin's estate)'doesn't doesn't end up getting so hotly
contested," Wilson said. "Any time they don't leave a trust or will, there
always ends up being a fight." Wilson said many people, famous and not, fail
to
prepare a will. "Nobody likes to give careful thought to their own demise," he
said.
*****
Aretha Franklin: A timeline of major events in singer's life Associated Press
A time line of major events in the life and work of Aretha Franklin:
March 1942 ' Aretha Franklin is born in Memphis, Tennessee. Her father, a
prominent Baptist minister with gospel-music connections,
would move the family briefly to Buffalo before settling in Detroit when Aretha
was 4. She would call the city home for most of her life, and would always be
closely associated with its massive musical legacy.
1956 ' Franklin releases her first album, a gospel collection called "Songs of
Faith," recorded at her father's church when she was 14.
1961 ' Franklin marries her manager, Ted White. Their troubled eight-year union
is believed to have inspired her performances on many songs.
February 1961 ' Franklin releases her first album for Columbia Records. She
would have only minor hits in her six years with the label, which pushed her
toward jazz and show tunes and away from her gospel roots.
November 1966 ' Franklin signs with Atlantic Records, where producer Jerry
Wexler encourages her to embrace her classic soul and gospel sound. Several
classic songs immediately followed, including "(You Make Me Feel Like) A
Natural
Woman" and "Chain of Fools."
February 1967 ' "Respect," Franklin's career-defining anthem, is recorded. The
song would reach No. 1 on the Billboard pop chart, win Franklin two Grammys and
make her an international star. A month later it would be the opening track on
her breakthrough album, "I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)."
June 1972 ' A live gospel album, "Amazing Grace," is released amid a revival in
spiritual music. It sold more than 2 million copies and is among Franklin's
biggest hits.
January 1977 ' Franklin sings "God Bless America" at the inauguration of Jimmy
Carter.
June 1980 ' The hit comedy film "The Blues Brothers" is released, with Franklin
appearing and singing "Think" in one of the film's most popular scenes. It
signaled that the 1980s would bring a career revival.
July 1985 ' "Freeway of Love" off of Franklin's "Who's Zooming Who" album,
becomes her first top 10 hit in more than a decade.
January 1987 ' Franklin becomes the first woman inducted into the Rock & Roll
Hall of Fame.
April 1987 ' "I Knew You Were Waiting (for Me)," a duet with George Michael,
reaches No. 1 on the pop chart.
December 1994 ' Franklin, at age 52, becomes the youngest person ever chosen
for
a' Kennedy Center honor. In his tribute, President Bill Clinton said he and the
first lady considered her
among their favorite artists. "You could say that Hillary and I went to college
and law school with Aretha because there was scarcely a day when we didn't
listen to one of her songs," said the president.
September 1999 ' She receives the National Medal of Arts and Humanities Award
from President Bill Clinton, who says Franklin "brought sunshine to a rainy day
and tenderness to a hardened heart."
November 2005 ' President George Bush presents her with the 2005 Presidential
Medal of Freedom, the nation's highest civil award.
February 2008 ' Franklin wins her last Grammy Award -- her 18th -- for Best
Gospel Performance for "Never Gonna Break My Faith" with Mary J. Blige. "She
also received a Grammy Lifetime Achievement and a Living Legend award."
January 2009 ' Franklin sings "My Country, 'Tis of Thee" at the inauguration of
Barack Obama.
October 2014 ' Franklin's cover of Adele's "Rolling in the Deep" reaches No. 47
on Billboard's R&B chart. It's Franklin's 100th charting single, making her the
first woman to reach the milestone.
*****
All hail the Queen . Eugene Robinson.
Aretha Franklin, who died Thursday at 76, was more than the undisputed "Queen
of
Soul. She was one of the most important musicians of our time, a genius who
soared above genres and expectations to create music that will live forever.
She
was not an opera singer, yet she brought
down the house at the Grammys in 1998 when she filled in for an ailing Luciano
Pavarotti and delivered an unforgettable version of the Puccini aria "Nessun
Dorma."
She was not a jazz singer, but her renditions of standards such as "Love for
Sale" and "Misty" were cited by the Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz in
awarding her the organization's highest honors.
She was not primarily known as a gospel singer, but I defy anyone to hear her
sing "Precious Lord" and not feel the spirit.
In 1972, veteran rock critic Robert Christgau set out to "explode the Aretha
Franklin myth," using her newly released album, "Young, Gifted and Black," as
his vehicle. But after listening to the LP, he called it a "triumph" and
declared: "Yes, yes, Aretha Franklin is a genius."
Jerry Wexler, the legendary producer at Atlantic Records who shepherded much of
Franklin's oeuvre, wrote a piece for Rolling Stone in 2004 in which he recalled
the day she told him about her idea for reworking a song that had been a hit
for
the great Otis Redding. "It was already worked out in her head," Wexler wrote.
The song was titled "Respect."
When Redding heard Franklin's version, Wexler recalled, he said simply, "She
done took my song."
Franklin took a lot of people's songs. Dionne Warwick's version of "I Say a
Little Prayer," written for her by Burt Bacharach and Hal David, is better than
good; she navigates
the song's tricky changes in time signature expertly, dancing across the melody.
But when Franklin gets her hands on that same song, good Lord in heaven. She
turns a bouncy little tune into an anthem of love, yearning and commitment. The
quick switches from 4/4 time to 3/4 and back again are still there,
but you don't even notice them because all you hear is Franklin's glorious
voice
telling a story that builds and builds. When she breaks into the chorus for the
final time, she says the word "ever" in three very different ways, and just
melts every listening heart.
Then finally, in the coda, she gives us a moment to catch our collective
breath.
"It's a better record than the record we made," Bacharach once admitted to NPR.
Or consider a song such as "Angel" from the 1973 album "Hey Now Hey (The Other
Side of the Sky). As a song, to tell the truth, it isn't much to write home
about. Cassandra Wilson, acclaimed
as one of the best jazz singers alive, covered it in 1991 to little effect. Few
others have bothered to try -- perhaps because Franklin's original version is
transcendent. Her voice gradually rising in pitch and swelling in volume, she
gets to the word "angel" for the last time and makes it
"an-geh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-el," turning two syllables into eight and a ho-hum
composition into a masterpiece.
Franklin was blessed with great talent. Especially in her earlier recordings,
you can hear that her voice had tremendous range, including a powerful upper
register. Her father was the pastor of a Detroit church that was known for
fiery sermons and sweet music, and she learned piano as a young girl, gaining a
skill that served her well.
Producer Wexler encouraged her to play on her records. "She was a brilliant
pianist, a combination of Mildred Falls - Mahalia Jackson's accompanist - and
Thelonious Monk," Wexler wrote. "In other words,
Aretha brought a touch of jazz to her gospel piano.
Franklin also had an acute sense of history. She broke through with "Respect"
in
1967, just as the civil rights movement was breaking through. The song became a
statement not just of women's empowerment but of African American empowerment
as
well.
In the end, though, it was Franklin's brilliant musicianship that allowed her
to
shape her talent and her ideas into an epochal body of work. Her music was
always soulful, whether she was singing a call-and-response gospel number or a
spun-sugar confection aimed at the pop charts.
Her use of melisma was impeccably tasteful -- always just enough, never too
much. She told stories in a way that made you dance, cry, love, laugh, even try
to sing along. She was a towering, once-in-a- generation vocal artist. This is
a
very sad day.
*****
There can only ever be one Aretha . David Maraniss.
David Maraniss is an associate editor at The Post and the author of "Once in a
Great City: A Detroit Story".
There was only one Aretha, but, in her case, the first-name recognition evoked
so much more than pop celebrity.
Aretha was not a manufactured image like many of today's performers, but a
sound, a supernaturally wondrous sound from this natural woman who made us all
feel so alive.
If the human voice is the most glorious of instruments, Aretha Franklin, who
died Thursday at age 76, was the proof. Her sound came from Detroit, from the
African American church, from the pulpit incantations of her father, from the
blues, from jazz, from soul, from the Great Migration from Southern fields to
Northern cities -- and yet, exuberantly, from her own inimitable genius.
When Rolling Stone listed its top 100 performers of all time, Franklin was the
first woman on the list, ninth overall. But none of the men in front of her,
from the Beatles to Bob Dylan to Chuck Berry, not even Elvis Presley, possessed
voices with her depth and power and beauty.
To sing along with Franklin, as millions of listeners did whenever they heard
her, offered a chance for the soul to explode with the full range of human
emotions.
Her songs even inspired legions of men to sing rapturously about female
empowerment. No one could sing like her, but everyone could sing in the choir
at
the Church of Aretha.
The first name was enough, but the last name explained her. Franklin was not
just another name in Detroit. The Queen of Soul arose from the city's black
church royalty.
Her father, the Rev. Clarence LaVaughn Franklin, was once such a popular
preacher that hundreds of nonobservant Sunday supplicants would gather outside
his New Bethel Baptist Church on warm summer days and listen to his sermons
over loudspeakers that echoed down Hastings Street. His renown, as the man with
the "Million Dollar Voice," extended far beyond Detroit. His sermons were
broadcast on radio and recorded by the JVB record label in Detroit and Chess
Records in Chicago.
Several times a year, he would take his act on the road, a circuit-riding
preacher who filled arenas and large churches throughout the South. Audiences
were so familiar with Franklin's sermons that they called
out requests the way people do at concerts. "Play "The Eagle Stirreth his
Nest"!
someone would shout.
C.L., as he was known, was the marquee attraction in a traveling road show that
also featured the reverend's singing daughters, Erma, Carolyn and Aretha. There
was no mother along. She had left for Buffalo,
N.Y., when they were young and died at age 34.
Rev. Franklin was a "people's preacher" and was also the definition of
flamboyance. His church attracted followers from the meanest streets, along
with
the black elite. He was a civil rights activist who invited his old friend the
Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. to Detroit for a rally in June 1963, where King
delivered a variation of his "I Have a Dream" speech months before the March on
Washington.
Long before Aretha was singing about her pink Cadillac on the "Freeway of
Love,"
her father drove one. He and his children lived in a grand house on Oakland
Avenue.
William Robinson, who later became famous as Smokey Robinson, was the best
childhood friend of Aretha's brother Cecil, and remembered being floored when
he
visited his buddy's house and saw all the "oil paintings, silk curtains,
mahogany cabinets and ornate objects of silver and gold."
What impressed him more was one of Cecil's sisters -- Aretha, a "cutie pie," as
he recalled, who as a 3-year-old sat down at her father's baby grand piano and
played flawlessly.
The singing talent that emerged from Detroit from the late 1950s to the late
1960s was breathtaking, and almost all of it fell into the ambit of Berry
Gordy Jr. and Motown Records: Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Mary Wells, the
Supremes, and Martha and the Vandellas; also the Temptations, the Four Tops,
Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye.
But Aretha's sound soared above them all. She was never part of Motown. Her
father thought Gordy was too small-town, and he directed her toward the
Columbia
and then Atlantic recording labels.
It took her longer to catch on than many Motown stars, but once the larger
public found her sound, she gained not only R-E-S-P-E-C-T but also a singular
place in the musical pantheon. She sang for popes and presidents, but she was
also, like her father, a people's preacher.
With Aretha Franklin's passing, time compresses, and one can flash from the
image of the little girl at her daddy's baby grand to the scene nearly three
years ago when the Queen of Soul blew the roof off the Kennedy Center after she
took a seat at the piano
and belted out a heart-filling rendition of "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural
Woman. She was singing not just for songwriter Carole King or for the president
and first lady, Barack and Michelle Obama.
With her own million-dollar voice, the daughter of Rev. Franklin was singing
for
Detroit, for America and for
the world. People die; the voice of a great singer lives forever.
*****
What you want - baby, she had it . J. Freedom du Lac.
Aretha Franklin, whose exceptionally expressive singing about joy and pain and
faith and liberation earned the Detroit diva a permanent and undisputed title -
the "Queen of Soul" - died Aug. 16 at her home in Detroit. She was 76.
Gwendolyn
Quinn, Ms. Franklin's representative, announced the death and said the cause
was
pancreatic cancer.
One of the most celebrated and influential singers in the history of American
popular music, Ms. Franklin secured lasting fame in the late 1960s and early
1970s by exploring the secular sweet spot between sultry rhythm and blues and
the explosive gospel music she'd grown up singing in her pastor father's
Baptist
church. The result was potent and wildly popular, with defining soul anthems
that turned Ms. Franklin into a symbol of black pride and women's liberation.
Her calling card: "Respect," the Otis Redding hit that became a crossover smash
in 1967 after Ms. Franklin tweaked it just so (a "sock it to me" here, some
sisterly vocal support there), transforming the tune into a feminist anthem.
"Whenever women heard the record, it was like a tidal wave of sororal unity,"
the song's producer, Jerry Wexler, said two decades after Ms. Franklin first
declared, "R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me."
Twenty of Ms. Franklin's singles topped Billboard's R&B chart and more than 50
reached the R&B Top 10 over a six-decade recording career. She earned volumes
of
praise for her innovative and emotive vocal performances, even when the
material
didn't quite measure up to her talents.
A graceful mezzo-soprano stylist, Ms. Franklin had remarkable range, power and
command, along with the innate ability to burrow into a lyric until she'd found
the exact coordinates of its emotional core.
"She just bared her soul, she exposed herself, she did everything but get on
the
floor and scream and cry," singer Natalie Cole told VH1. "She just had that
special something that people respond to."
"I don't know anybody that can sing a song like Aretha Franklin," Ray Charles
once declared. "Nobody. Period."
She was at once a brilliant technician and a master emoter, a devastating
combination that was unleashed on hits ranging from the swaggering "Chain of
Fools" and the cooing "Baby, I Love You" to
the pleading "Do Right Woman, Do Right Man" and the fiery, finger-wagging,
"Freedom!" --chanting "Think," another of Ms. Franklin's feminist anthems that
gave unprecedented voice to black women in particular.
In Ms. Franklin's music, the politics were mostly personal, even when she sang
about being "Young, Gifted and Black."
But through the profundity and ubiquity of her songs, she became the
multi-octave voice of the civil rights movement, performing at rallies staged
by
the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., a family friend - and, later, at King's
funeral.
As one measure of her influence, comedian and civil rights activist Dick
Gregory
observed of Ms. Franklin's radio presence: "You'd hear Aretha three or four
times an hour. You'd only hear King on the news."
Putting 'everything into it'
She sang gospel truths that resonated across age groups, but it was grown-up
music, reflecting an adult sense of self-awareness and sexual maturity and full
of hard realities, to which she seemed to relate.
"If a song's about something I've experienced or that could've happened to me,
it's good," she told biographer Mark Bego. "But if it's alien to me, I couldn't
lend anything to it. . . . I look for something meaningful. When I go into
the studio, I put everything into it."
Even the kitchen sink."
In 1968, at the apogee of her career when she was recording soul classic after
soul classic on Atlantic Records, Ms. Franklin explained: "Soul to me is a
feeling, a lot of depth and being able to bring to the surface that which is
happening inside, to make the picture clear. Many people can have soul. It's
just the emotion and the way it affects people."
Long before she abruptly and mysteriously canceled a half-year's worth of
performances and appearances in November 2010 (doctor's orders were cited, but
no details about her ailments were offered), Ms.
Franklin's health had been a source of concern, mostly because of the
considerable weight she was carrying.
When she resurfaced in 2011 for a brief concert tour, just months after
announcing that she was undergoing an unspecified surgical procedure, Ms.
Franklin told AARP magazine that she had shed 85 pounds. She attributed the
change to diet and exercise and steadfastly denied that she'd had
gastric-bypass
surgery -- and also that she'd had pancreatic cancer.
If she was concerned with body image before the weight loss, it didn't show.
Sometimes, she would wear tube tops and leotards onstage, as if to flaunt her
girth. In her later years, she favored strapless gowns and was known to slap
her ample backside during her infrequent concerts.
She was more prim and proper in 2009, when she sang "My Country 'Tis of Thee"
at
President Barack Obama's inauguration, although she did turn heads by wearing a
custom-made church-lady hat that featured a giant, angled bow ringed with
Swarovski crystals. (Ms. Franklin had a favorite milliner and even a preferred
furrier. She also traveled with a valet who would carry the singer's designer
purse on and off the stage at her concerts.)
Ms. Franklin's career could be divided neatly into two parts: the Atlantic
Records years in the late 1960s and 1970s, and everything else, with some
periods more fallow than others.
Before she became a soul-singing superstar, Aretha Louise Franklin was a young
pop-jazz singer struggling to find her voice on Columbia Records.
Even before that, she was a precocious gospel singer who took solos at her
father's Detroit church, New Bethel Baptist, and occasionally toured with the
charismatic minister.
She was born March 25, 1942, in Memphis but moved to Buffalo, then Detroit, at
a
young age when her father changed pulpits.
A rock star among preachers, C.L. Franklin was known as "the man with the
million-dollar voice. His sermons, often delivered beneath a neon-blue
crucifix,
were broadcast on the radio and released on vinyl by Chess Records.
Aretha's mother, Barbara Siggers, was called one of the top gospel singers in
the country by Mahalia Jackson, a family friend and gospel great. Siggers never
pursued a career in music beyond performing in church, but Jackson encouraged
Aretha to sing. So, too, did Clara Ward, another gospel legend who visited the
Franklin home regularly.
The Franklins often had celebrity company (jazz pianist Art Tatum and singer
Sam
Cooke were frequent guests), and Aretha became a minor sensation herself.
But her childhood was rocky. Her parents separated when she was 6, and her
mother moved to Buffalo - although Ms. Franklin, in her autobiography, "Aretha:
From These Roots," disputed the widely repeated story that she and her siblings
had been abandoned. "In no way, shape, form or fashion did our mother desert
us," she said, calling the story "an absolute lie." They communicated by phone,
and there were regular visits, too. "She was extremely responsible, loving and
caring."
Still, according to biographers, family friends always swore that the upheaval
deeply affected Ms. Franklin, who had been a confident and outgoing child but
became introverted and insecure after her mother moved away.
Then, when Ms. Franklin was 10, her mother died after a heart attack. "The pain
of small children losing their mother defies description," Ms. Franklin
said in "From These Roots."
Jackson, the gospel singer and family friend, would say that "after her mama
died, the whole family wanted for love."
Ms. Franklin continued to sing in church and signed a deal with Checker
Records.
In 1956, at the age of 14, she released her first album, a collection of hymns
and spirituals recorded during services at New Bethel Baptist.
Her burgeoning career -- she was also a gifted pianist -- was placed on hold
when Ms. Franklin twice became pregnant as a teenager and dropped out of
school.
She had two sons by the time she was 17. (The father -- or fathers -- has never
been identified, leading to wild speculation.)
When Ms. Franklin returned to music, she shifted her attention to secular
songs,
with her father's blessings - and guidance. Her father advised his daughter
against signing a contract with the local start-up that would eventually come
to
produce the sound of young America. And so Motown, which was scooping up talent
all around the neighborhood, missed out on Aretha Franklin.
"The studio was only a few blocks from where my dad's home was, where we
lived,"
Ms. Franklin told The Washington Post in 2008. But "it was still a fledgling
label. And my father wanted me to go to Columbia Records because of the
national
and international distribution he knew they had."
Still just a teenager, she signed with Columbia in 1960 after the famed talent
scout John Hammond became convinced he had found the greatest voice since
Billie
Holiday. Ms. Franklin spent six years at the label and recorded a series of
jazz
and pop albums that produced some minor hits but never really caught on.
Some of Ms. Franklin's associates blamed her confrontational husband-manager,
Ted White, whom she married in 1961. Hammond lamented that "Columbia was a
white
company who misunderstood her genius."
Still, Ms. Franklin told The Post in 2008 that her Columbia years were
"wonderful" and boasted that her early '60s recordings won some critical
acclaim. "Artistically, it was great music," she said. "But it wasn't
commercial."
"I was not an overnight sensation by any means," she told Jet magazine.
Breakthrough at Atlantic
When Jerry Wexler came calling on behalf of Atlantic Records in 1966,
everything
changed.
"He provided the vehicle to allow me to perform and express myself," Ms.
Franklin told the Wall Street Journal.
In his autobiography, "Rhythm and the Blues," Wexler said:
"I had no lofty notions of correcting Columbia's mistakes. My idea was to make
good tracks, use the best players, put Aretha back on piano and let the lady
wail."
For her first Atlantic session, Ms. Franklin traveled to FAME Studios in Muscle
Shoals, Ala., to record a smoldering blues ballad with an all-white group of
studio musicians known as the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section. The song, "I Never
Loved a Man (the Way I Love You)," written for Ms. Franklin by Ronnie Shannon,
detailed a woman's devotion to a no-good man.
The session wasn't without drama, as White got into a fistfight with one of the
musicians before a B-side could be cut. But Ms. Franklin had already
knocked it cold.
Playing piano as well as the addicted victim of love ("Don't you never, never
say we're through! she wailed), she struck gold:
"I Never Loved a Man" became her first No. 1 R&B hit, cracked the Top 10 of the
crossover pop chart and put the world on notice that a major talent had at last
been unleashed.
If there was a major award to be won or honor to be received, chances are that
Ms. Franklin got it: the Presidential Medal of Freedom, Grammy's Lifetime
Achievement Award, the National Medal of Arts, the Kennedy Center Honors. In
1987, she became the first woman inducted into the Rock
and Roll Hall of Fame. She won 18 Grammy Awards for her recordings, many of
them
in a category created in 1968 seemingly to acknowledge her singular greatness:
Best female R&B vocal, an award won by Ms. Franklin the first eight times it
was
given.
Ever since, just about every powerhouse songstress worth her weight in
sequins -- from Mariah Carey and Jennifer Hudson to Annie Lennox and Whitney
Houston -- has been measured against Ms. Franklin. Her muscular, melismatic
style, in which she warped and bent single syllables by moving up and down the
scale, has been perpetuated on "American Idol" by singers desperately seeking
the emotional pitch of her most famous work.
When Rolling Stone ranked Ms. Franklin as the greatest singer of the
rock-and-roll era, another of her acolytes, Mary J. Blige, declared, "She is
the
reason why women want to sing."
A turbulent life
Ms. Franklin had plenty of success in her professional life, but her personal
life was filled with turbulence. She and White divorced in 1969, in the midst
of
her historic run at Atlantic. Her second marriage, to actor Glynn
Turman, also ended in divorce. Survivors include two sons from early
relationships, Clarence and Edward Franklin; a son from her first marriage, Ted
White Jr.; another son, KeCalf Franklin, from a relationship with her road
manager, Ken Cunningham; and four grandchildren.
Her personal life occasionally seemed to unfold like a 12-bar blues - the dark
and gloomy kind. In 1979, her father was shot in his home by a burglar; he was
comatose for five years before dying in 1984. In September 2010, the second of
her four sons, Edward Franklin, was severely beaten at a gas station.
"I call her 'the Lady of Mysterious Sorrow' because that sadness seems to be
her
underlying condition," Wexler told "60 Minutes" in 1989. "I say it's mysterious
because you can't identify what may be causing it on any given day. It's
probably an accumulation of a lifetime of bad breaks, disappointments and just
plain unpleasant experiences."
Ms. Franklin may have brought some of those unpleasant experiences on herself,
according to the co-author of her 1999 autobiography, David Ritz, who published
an unvarnished (and unauthorized) biography of the singer in 2014. Ritz
highlighted her struggles with alcohol and depression and her highhanded,
intimidating manner toward agents, musicians and even members of her family.
According to Ritz, Ms. Franklin was dismissive of other singers and
occasionally
blocked her sisters' attempts at singing careers.
When she recorded a gospel album with Mavis Staples, she reportedly had
Staples's voice turned low in the studio mix.
In another instance, Ritz wrote that Ms. Franklin considered suing the group
Steely Dan over the 1980 song "Hey Nineteen," with its reference to a teenager
so young "she don't remember the Queen of Soul."
She was known to cancel concerts or recording sessions without notice and for
years refused to travel by airplane, severely limiting her public performances.
Yet, despite -- or because of -- her diva tendencies, Ms. Franklin remained an
object of curiosity, if not outright adoration, and her devoted audience never
abandoned her. She continued to make new recordings and to appear at
high-profile events, sometimes reaching beyond the soul songs that made her a
star to embrace other genres.
Her 1972 live gospel album, "Amazing Grace," was a bestseller, and she explored
other idioms, from disco to pop and even classical.
At the 1998 Grammy Awards, Ms. Franklin performed a Puccini aria, "Nessun
Dorma," as a last-minute stand-in for an ailing Luciano Pavarotti.
Writing in the New York Times, music critic Jon Pareles said she gave a "gutsy,
triumphal performance."
Ms. Franklin's relationship with Atlantic ended at the end of the 1970s, after
a
string of disappointing releases, which the Rolling Stone Album Guide later
described as "bland, sometimes discofied albums in which she often sounded
bored
or exhausted."
She signed with Arista Records around the time of her showstopping turn in "The
Blues Brothers," the 1980 movie in which she sang her classic "Think."
Under the direction of Arista chief Clive Davis, Ms. Franklin's career
rebounded, with pop-rock hits that included "Who's Zoomin' Who? and "Freeway of
Love."
During the second half of her career, Ms. Franklin toured intermittently,
hampered by a fear of flying that she developed in 1982 after a turbulent
flight
from Atlanta to Detroit.
Even though her hits slowed, Ms. Franklin was no museum piece in the latter
stages of her career. She was a force of nature onstage, and she won three
Grammys in the new millennium -- the final one in 2008, when she and Blige were
awarded the Grammy for best gospel performance for "Never Gonna Break My Faith."
Accurately, if immodestly, Ms. Franklin accepted the regal moniker "the Queen
of
Soul."
"It's an acknowledgment of my art," she once said. "It means I am excelling at
my art and my first love. And I am most appreciative."