SOUND PROJECTIONS
AN ONLINE QUARTERLY MUSIC MAGAZINE
EDITOR: KOFI NATAMBU
WINTER, 2015
VOLUME ONE NUMBER TWO
AN ONLINE QUARTERLY MUSIC MAGAZINE
EDITOR: KOFI NATAMBU
WINTER, 2015
VOLUME ONE NUMBER TWO
THELONIOUS MONK
Featuring the Musics and Aesthetic Visions of:
ESPERANZA SPALDING
January 31-February 6
MARY LOU WILLIAMS
February 7-13
STEVE COLEMAN
February 14-20
JAMES BROWN
February 21-27
CURTIS MAYFIELD
February 28-March 6
ARETHA FRANKLIN
March 7-13
GEORGE CLINTON
March 14-20
JAMES CARTER
March 21-27
TERENCE BLANCHARD
March 28-April 3
BILLIE HOLIDAY
April 4-10
VIJAY IYER
April 11-17
CHARLES MINGUS
April 18-24
Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum will honor Aretha Franklin for the 16th Annual American Music Masters® series
Lady Soul: The Life and Music of Aretha Franklin will take place this fall in Cleveland
CLEVELAND (August 23, 2011) – The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum and Case Western Reserve University will honor Aretha Franklin, one of the greatest singers in popular music, during the 16th annual American Music Masters® series this November.
Lady Soul: The Life and Music of Aretha Franklin, a weeklong celebration, will tell the story of the first woman inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. In conjunction with the Museum’s latest special exhibit, Women Who Rock: Vision, Passion, Power, the Museum will honor Franklin’s work and her enduring influence.
“I’m thrilled and delighted to be honored by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for American Music Masters,” said Aretha Franklin. “I’m really looking forward to being there. I’m so happy about what Ahmet Ertegun and the Hall of Fame created. The exhibits are a must see.”
“All of us at the Museum are thrilled that Ms. Franklin will be receiving our American Music Masters award in the year where we are honoring Women Who Rock,” said Terry Stewart, President and CEO of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. “Not only has she long set the paradigm for vocalists and performers around the world, she has also been a great friend and supporter of the Rock Hall on so many of our exhibits and fundraising events. As such, the opportunity to now honor her for her impact on both music and popular culture is unprecedented.”
“Aretha Franklin’s work as a singer, songwriter, pianist, and arranger is unparalleled,” said Dr. Lauren Onkey, Vice President of Education and Public Programs and Executive Producer of the program. “Her vast catalog shows her mastery of gospel, soul, and pop music, and her singular piano playing defines soul music. We are honored to tell her story to a wide audience, including students.”The annual program begins on Monday, October 31, and will feature interviews, panels, films and educational programs throughout the week, including a keynote lecture and other events at Case Western Reserve University. On Saturday, November 5, a conference will be held at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, exploring Franklin’s impact on popular music. The tribute concert will be held Saturday, November 5, at 7:30 p.m. at Playhouse Square’s State Theater in Cleveland. Ticket information will be announced in the coming weeks. Franklin will attend the tribute concert to accept the award but is not scheduled to perform. Sign up for the Rock Hall’s e-newsletter to be alerted when tickets will go on sale at www.rockhall.com/e-newsletter. A limited number of VIP packages beginning at $250 are available by contacting clovinger@rockhall.org or 216.515.1207.
Each year, the American Music Masters® series explores the legacy of a pioneering rock and roll figure in a range of events that includes Museum exhibits, lectures, films, a major conference and a tribute concert benefiting the Rock Hall’s education programs. Drawing together experts, artists, fans and friends, these events provide new perspectives on the most beloved and influential musicians of the past century.
The tribute concert brings together a diverse mix of artists and musical styles, and as a result, many magical moments have taken place over the years. In 2004, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss performed onstage together for the first time to honor Lead Belly. The pair was awarded the highest honors of Album of the Year for Raising Sand and Record of the Year for "Please Read the Letter" at the 51st annual Grammy awards. Honoree Jerry Lee Lewis, who was not scheduled to perform at the 2007 concert, was moved to take the stage at the end of the show. Lewis tenderly played the piano and sang “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”. At the first American Music Masters tribute concert, Bruce Springsteen set the bar high and performed in honor of Woody Guthrie. The most star-studded and unique performance by a trio was Aretha Franklin, Solomon Burke and Elvis Costello paying tribute to Sam Cooke in 2005. In 2008, a 93-year-old Les Paul took the stage with his trio and then led an epic jam with some of rock and roll’s greatest guitarists, from Jennifer Batten to Slash. Janis Joplin was honored in 2009 by Grammy winner Lucinda Williams with a song she composed especially for the occasion, and in 2010, Dave Bartholomew brought down the house with a performance in tribute of honorees Fats Domino and Bartholomew himself.
The Ohio Arts Council helped fund this program with state tax dollars
to encourage economic growth, educational excellence and cultural
enrichment of all Ohioans.
About Aretha Franklin
About Aretha Franklin
Aretha Franklin is the “Queen of Soul” and the first woman inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. She is a singer of great passion and control whose finest recordings define the term soul music in all its deep, expressive glory.
“I don’t think there’s anybody I have known who possesses an instrument like hers and who has such a thorough background in gospel, the blues and the essential black-music idiom,” noted Ahmet Ertegun, cofounder of Atlantic Records, where much of Franklin’s best work was done. “She is blessed with an extraordinary combination of remarkable urban sophistication and deep blues feeling....The result is maybe the greatest singer of our time.”
Born Aretha Louise Franklin in Memphis, Tennessee on March 25, 1942, her family moved to Detroit when she was two. She remains a Detroiter to this day, a proud product of that city’s wide-ranging and rich musical heritage.
Her professional career has had three dramatic turning points, one more exciting than the next.
The first was her move from gospel to secular. At 18, her progressive preacher father brought her to Columbia Records’ John Hammond, the man who had discovered and recorded Bessie Smith and Billie Holiday (and later Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen). At the largest label in the world—the home of Mahalia Jackson, Miles Davis, and Barbra Streisand—the plan was to turn Aretha into a teenage superstar singing standards and jazz. Those records—especially her 1963 tribute to Dinah Washington and the remarkable “Skylark” in the same year—remain classics. She performed in New York’s hippest jazz clubs with artists like Art Blakey and John Coltrane. Additionally, in conjunction with writer producer Clyde Otis, Aretha enjoyed a string of R&B hits: “Running Out of Fools,” “Soulville,” and “You’ll Lose A Good Thing.”
The second shift was seismic. In 1967, Aretha jumped from Columbia to Atlantic Records where Jerry Wexler became her producer. Everything changed; she suddenly rocked our musical world like no one else before or since. As Aretha wrote in From These Roots, her 1999 autobiography, “I felt a natural affinity for the Atlantic sound. Atlantic meant soul.” Aretha took soul to another level. Anchored at the piano, she also took a co-producer role in arranging both music and vocals. The result altered history. Starting with “I Never Loved A Man (the Way I Loved You),” she claimed ownership of the bestselling charts. Her “Respect” became a multi-dimensional anthem, a sound piece for the civil rights movement and rallying cry for all groups suffering neglect and discrimination. “Dr. Feelgood,” “Chain of Fools,” “Do Right Woman—Do Right Man”—Aretha defined the sixties. At the funeral for Dr. Martin Luther King, it was Aretha who led the nation in musical mourning. Her cultural iconography was permanently established, the recognition of her genius an established fact. She would wind up winning no less than 18 Grammys.
Of her work at Atlantic Records during that charmed period, Franklin offered these recollections in her autobiography: “Jerry [Wexler] handled all the technical aspects and made sure I put my personal stamp on these songs. Atlantic provided TLC – tender loving care – in a way that made me feel secure and comfortable....Putting me back on piano helped Aretha-ize the new music....The enthusiasm and camaraderie in the studio were terrific, like nothing I had experienced at Columbia. This new Aretha music was raw and real and so much more myself. I loved it!”
Not one to accept categorization, Aretha went to church in 1971 to record Amazing Grace that, in the words of colleague and mentor James Cleveland “is the most successful gospel album ever made.”
When critics remarked on Aretha’s return to church, she commented, “I never left church and never will. Church is my heart. Church is where I was born and where I live.”
The late seventies were challenging times for singers of the soul. Disco swept the country and knocked more than a few established stars off the charts. But Aretha, long the established Queen of Soul, maintained her crown with tenacious grace. While others fell away, she survived. By the start of the new decade, she found a new champion in music mogul Clive Davis. Her third turning point came in 1980 when she signed with Davis’ Arista.
What followed was a series of brilliant albums and singles. Aretha teamed with star producers Luther Vandross (“Jump to It”) and Narada Michael Walden (“Freeway of Love” and “Who’s Zooming Who.”) She sang hits duet with George Michael (“I Knew You Were Waiting [For Me])” and Elton John (“Through the Storm”). In 1987, she self-produced her second landmark gospel record, One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism.
Aretha was the musical highlight of Whoopi Goldberg’s film Jumpin’ Jack Flash, backed up by the Rolling Stones. And her appearances in both Blues Brothers films received universal acclaim.
The legend expanded in the nineties when Aretha’s “Rose Is Still A Rose,” penned and produced by Lauryn Hill, was named “soul hit of the decade” by the L.A. Times. Her appearance on MTV’s Divas Live, together with Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, Gloria Estefan and Shania Twain, became another high point.
In 1987 Aretha became the very first woman to have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Seven years later, she became the youngest artist to receive the Kennedy Centers Honor.
Perhaps the most thrilling moment of all came in 1998 at the 40th Grammy Awards at Radio City Music Hall. Before a worldwide audience of 1.5 billion, Aretha stepped in for an ailing Luciano Pavarotti at the last minute and interpreted Puccini’s “Nessun Dorma” to operatic perfection.
On December 17, 2008, then President-elect Barack Obama turned to the Queen to render her inimitable version of "My Country 'Tis Of Thee."
“If you look over the arc of her career,” said Jerry Wexler, “there is no American musical artist who has achieved her level of accomplishment. It has been one triumph after another.”
As a measure of her impact, Aretha Franklin has charted more Top Forty singles - forty-five in all, since 1961 - than any other female performer. To date she has made the R&B singles chart ninety-eight times, including twenty Number Ones. Franklin has also earned eighteen Grammy Awards, the most recent coming in 2007. In addition, she has sung at the inauguration of President Bill Clinton and received the Presidential Medal of Honor from President George W. Bush.
Franklin suffered some health issues in 2010, including broken ribs and a major surgery. However, she released a new album in 2011 (A Woman Falling Out of Love) and returned to live performing in better health and high spirits.
All along, the basis of Aretha Franklin’s success – and the essence of soul music - has been her ability to communicate. “Music is my way of communicating that part of me I can get out front and share,” she told Essence magazine in 1973. “It’s what I have to give; my way of saying, ‘Let’s find one another.’”
About the American Music Masters® Series
The American Music Masters® series, a co-production of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum and the Baker-Nord Center for the Humanities at Case Western Reserve University, celebrates the lives and careers of artists who changed the shape and sound of American culture.
The American Music Masters® series began in 1996 when the museum paid tribute to Woody Guthrie with a 10-day celebration of his life and legacy. American Music Masters® series honorees have included: Jimmie Rodgers in 1997, Robert Johnson in 1998, Louis Jordan in 1999, Muddy Waters in 2000, Bessie Smith in 2001, Hank Williams in 2002, Buddy Holly in 2003, Lead Belly in 2004, Sam Cooke in 2005, Roy Orbison in 2006, Jerry Lee Lewis in 2007, Les Paul in 2008, Janis Joplin in 2009 and Fats Domino and Dave Bartholomew in 2010. Artists who have performed at American Music Masters® include Solomon Burke, Elvis Costello, Aretha Franklin, Chrissie Hynde, Dr. John, Alison Krauss and Robert Plant, Richie Sambora, Slash, Bruce Springsteen, Lucinda Williams and The Ventures.
About the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum is the nonprofit organization that exists to educate visitors, fans and scholars from around the world about the history and continuing significance of rock and roll music. It carries out this mission both through its operation of a world-class museum that collects, preserves, exhibits and interprets this art form and through its library and archives as well as its educational programs.
The Museum is open seven days a week from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. On Wednesdays (and Saturdays through Labor Day), the Museum is open until 9 p.m. Museum admission is $22 for adults, $18 for adult residents of Greater Cleveland, $17 for seniors (65+), $13 for youth (9-12), children under 8 and Museum Members are always free, for information or to join the membership program call 216. 515.8425. For general inquiries, please call 216.781.ROCK or visit www.rockhall.com. The Museum is generously funded by Cuyahoga County residents through Cuyahoga Arts and Culture.
About Case Western Reserve University
Case Western Reserve University is among the nation’s leading research institutions. Founded in 1826 and shaped by the unique merger of the Case Institute of Technology and Western Reserve University, Case Western Reserve is distinguished by its strengths in education, research, service, and experiential learning. Located in Cleveland, Case Western Reserve offers nationally recognized programs in the Arts and Sciences, Dental Medicine, Engineering, Law, Management, Medicine, Nursing, and Social Work. http://www.case.edu. Baker-Nord Center for the Humanities Established in 1996 with a generous gift of endowment from Eric and Jane Nord to celebrate the achievements of the arts and humanities, the Center facilitates cross-disciplinary and inter-disciplinary collaborations that address questions and problems of broad human interest.
http://www.arethafranklin.net/us/news
Aretha Franklin Before Atlantic: The Columbia Years: NPR
Aretha Franklin
made her first record when she was 14, singing some gospel standards in
the church of her father, Rev. C.L. Franklin, an easygoing Detroit
pastor who was friends with Martin Luther King and just about every
gospel singer you could name. One of the stars who visited a lot was Sam Cooke,
who convinced Aretha that she could be a hit singing popular music. So
in 1960, at 18, she dropped out of school and, eventually, was signed to
Columbia Records by its top talent scout, John Hammond. Hammond, who
had discovered Count Basie and Billie Holiday, among others, saw her as a potential jazz star, and recorded her with a jazz trio led by Ray Bryant. Franklin recorded jazz standards like "Rock a Bye Your Baby With a Dixie Melody," which was a minor pop hit in late 1961.
It's
likely that she knew she'd be doing other kinds of material, and
apparently Columbia agreed, because the label followed it up with "Rough
Lover."
It's hard to know where to start with this song. A lot of the
elements that were popular in the day's black pop are there, from the
up-tempo rhythm to Franklin's soul-tinged delivery, but even in 1962, a
song about wanting a "rough lover" was taboo. This came out at
approximately the same time as Phil Spector hurriedly withdrew The
Crystals' "He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)," after all. "Rough
Lover" actually got to No. 94 on the pop charts for one week before
vanishing.
Columbia went back to recording albums of jazzier
stuff, while occasionally trying to cross her over. Part of the problem,
though, was the label's insistence on using its own producers and
engineers and studios, and apparently nobody at Columbia understood what
they had in Franklin. In 1963, for instance, someone named Robert
Mersey tried for a hit with "You've Got Her."
A little
restraint in the arrangement might have saved the song, but clearly
someone thought "You've Got Her" sounded a bit like gospel music.
Franklin does her best, but too much goes wrong too soon. By 1964,
Columbia was desperate with her record "The Shoop-Shoop Song."
For
once, it's an inspired choice, a pared-down arrangement and a spirited
vocal from Franklin. But Betty Everett had just had a hit with the song,
her version was every bit as good, and this wasn't a single, but a
track on an album that also had Aretha Franklin doing songs made famous
by Dionne Warwick, Inez Foxx and Barbara Lynn. Something was still trying to break out, though, as the 1965 single "Hands Off" shows.
By
1966, Columbia had lost $90,000 on Franklin and was offering her a deal
she didn't like to re-sign. Across town, the folks at Atlantic Records
were paying attention. What if they offered her the opportunity to write
her own material, to play her piano with a little more gospel in it,
use her sisters for backup vocalists and to record at funkier studios?
In January 1967, they went into the studio and began to find out.
Copyright ©2013 NPR. For personal, noncommercial use only. See Terms of Use. For other uses, prior permission required.
The music that came to be known as soul took a while to develop with performers like Ray Charles, Jerry Butler, Curtis Mayfield, and Etta James all making contributions. One of the great mysteries of soul, though, is why it took Aretha Franklin so long to claim the spotlight. Rock historian Ed Ward has this look back at her hitless years.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, 'I TOLD YOU SO')
ARETHA FRANKLIN: (Singing) I hate to say I told you so, though you deserve it because you know you left me crying for someone new and all the heartache came back to you. Now you're begging me to take you back. I told you so. I told you. You were king...
ED WARD, BYLINE: Aretha Franklin made her first record when she was 14, singing some gospel standards in the church of her father, Reverend C.L. Franklin, an easygoing Detroit pastor who was friends with Martin Luther King and just about every gospel singer you could name. One of the stars who visited a lot was Sam Cooke, who convinced Aretha that she could be a hit singing popular music.
So in 1960, at the age of 18, she dropped out of school and, eventually, was signed to Columbia Records by its top talent scout, John Hammond. Hammond, who had discovered Count Basie and Billie Holiday, among others, saw her as a potential jazz star, and recorded her with a jazz trio led by Ray Bryant. She recorded jazz standards like "Rock a Bye Your Baby With a Dixie Melody," which was a minor pop hit in late 1961.
It's likely that she knew she should be doing other kinds of material, and apparently Columbia agreed, because they followed it up with this.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "ROUGH LOVER")
FRANKLIN: (Singing) Now, listen here, girls. I'm going to tell you what I want right now. I want a rough lover. I want a man. I want a rough, tough lover and I'll find him if I can. He's got to bite nails, fight bears, and if I get sassy be a man who dares to shut me up and kiss me so I know he cares. I want a man.
WARD: It's hard to know where to start with this. A lot of the elements that were popular in the day's black pop are here, from the up-tempo rhythm to Franklin's soul-tinged delivery, but even in 1962, a song about wanting a rough lover was taboo.
This came out at approximately the same time as Phil Spector hurriedly withdrew The Crystals' "He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)," after all. "Rough Lover" actually got to No. 94 on the pop charts for one week before vanishing. Columbia went back to recording albums of jazzier stuff, while occasionally trying to cross her over.
Part of the problem, though, was the label's insistence on using its own producers and engineers and studios, and apparently nobody at Columbia understood what they had in her. In 1963, for instance, someone named Robert Mersey tried for a hit with this.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "YOU'VE GOT HER")
FRANKLIN: (Singing) You've got her. So why not let me be? Let me be. You said she means nothing to you. Yet she's always by your side. Now, just what do you expect me to do? Just ignore it and be satisfied? Well, you've got her. So why not let me be? Let me be. I know, I know...
WARD: A little restraint in the arrangement might have saved this, but clearly somebody thought "You've Got Her" sounded a bit like gospel music. Aretha does her best, but too much goes wrong too soon. By 1964, Columbia was desperate.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "THE SHOOP-SHOOP SONG")
FRANKLIN: (Singing) Does he love me? I wanna know. How can I tell if he loves me so?
UNIDENTIFIED WOMEN: (Singing) Is it in his eyes?
FRANKLIN: (Singing) Oh, no. You'll be deceived.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMEN: (Singing) Is it in his sighs?
FRANKLIN: (Singing) No, no. He'll make believe. If you want to know if he loves you so, it's in his kiss.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMEN: (Singing) That's where it is. Oh, yeah. Oh, is it in his face?
FRANKLIN: (Singing) No, girls, that's just his charms.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMEN: (Singing) In his warm embrace?
FRANKLIN: (Singing) No, girls. That's just his arms. If you want to know if he loves you so, it's in his kiss.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMEN: (Singing) That's where it is.
FRANKLIN: (Singing) Yeah. It's in his kiss.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMEN: (Singing) That's where it is.
FRANKLIN: (Singing) Yeah. It's in his kiss.
UNIDENTIFIED WOMEN: (Singing) That's where it is. Oh...
WARD: For once, an inspired choice, a pared-down arrangement and a spirited vocal from Aretha, but Betty Everett had just had a hit with this song. Her version was every bit as good, and this wasn't a single but a track on an album that also had Aretha doing songs made famous by Dionne Warwick, Inez Foxx and Barbara Lynn. Something was still trying to break out, though, as this 1965 single shows.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "HANDS OFF")
FRANKLIN: (Singing) Yeah. You better keep your hands off. You don't belong here. No. Keep your hands off of him. He don't belong to you. Say it, no. He's mine, all mine, no matter what you say you're gonna do. It don't mean a thing. Kind of tall and lanky, about six-foot-two. What he does for me, sweetie, he ain't gonna do for you. Keep your hands off...
WARD: By 1966, Columbia had lost $90,000 on Aretha and was offering her a deal she didn't like to re-sign. Across town, the folks at Atlantic Records were paying attention. What if they offered her the opportunity to write her own material, to play her piano with a little more gospel in it, use her sisters for backup vocalists and record at funkier studios? In January 1967, they went into the studio and began to find out.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "I NEVER LOVED A MAN")
FRANKLIN: (Singing) You're no good, heartbreaker. You're a liar and you're a cheat. And I don't know why I let you do these things to me. My friends keep telling me that you ain't no good. Oh, but they don't know that I'd leave you if I could. I guess I'm uptight and I'm stuck like glue. 'Cause I ain't, I ain't never, I ain't never loved a man the way that I, I love you.
DAVIES: Ed Ward is FRESH AIR's rock historian. You can download podcasts of our show at freshair.npr.org. Follow us on Twitter at nprfreshair and on Tumblr at nprfreshair.tumblr.com.
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A-R-E-T-H-A
by ROB HOERBURGER
July 8, 2011
New York Times Sunday Magazine
Aretha Franklin
sat alone with a Coke. It was the night of her 69th birthday, and all
around, guests were filing into the Park Room at the Helmsley Park Lane
Hotel on Central Park South, bobbing to live music from the vibraphonist
Roy Ayers or the mambo prince Tito Puente Jr. Franklin has given
herself big birthday parties before, but this one had a certain urgency.
A few months earlier, in December, she announced she had undergone an
unnamed surgical “procedure,” and word spread that she had pancreatic
cancer (which she denied); other reports speculated that she’d had
gastric-bypass surgery to get control of a weight problem that appeared
to have pushed her over 250 pounds (which she denied). The organizers
of the Grammy Awards
quickly put together a tribute for her, and the sudden and shocking
weight loss displayed in a taped thank-you played during the ceremony in
February only kept advance-obituary writers scrambling for whatever
superlatives were left to describe a career that has included 18
Grammys, upward of 75 million records sold, being the first woman
inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and a Presidential Medal of
Freedom.
But now there she sat at a front table, in a flowing cream-colored silk
Naeem Khan gown, with the kind of resurrection glow you see on
stained-glass windows in churches. Open and accessible to all, Franklin
seemed to be saying, Come, poke your fingers into the airspace where a
third of me used to be. “I almost walked by her in the hall,” said a
friend who has known her for more than 15 years, “that’s how much I
didn’t recognize her.”
Slowly, well-wishers made their way to her. Tony Bennett, trailed by the record producer Phil Ramone, presented her with a drawing he’d done of her. Bette Midler, who is very short, and her husband, Martin von Haselberg, who seems very tall, did a walk-through in street clothes, stopping by Franklin’s table. Clive Davis, music-biz éminence grise, appeared long enough to be pelted with business cards and photo-op requests. Smokey Robinson, a friend of Franklin’s since their youth in Detroit, actually sat down for a spell. Also in attendance were the odd current A-listers (Gayle King, Wendy Williams) or just the odd guest period (the actor Michael Imperioli, who sat at a side table with his date).
Finally, after an hour or so, Franklin rose and walked over to the food stations, where she half-filled her own plate with lobster on blue-corn tortilla, smoked-salmon mousseline and baked ham made from her own recipe. She had plenty of company while she ate, including the Rev. Al Sharpton, but there were a few more moments when she sat strangely by herself, as if the guests, even some of her best friends, felt the need to dance gingerly around her. When her birthday cake, which almost filled a small table, was rolled out, the crowd parted again, and she made her way to it across the room, just as the D.J., who was spinning in between the live performers, played “Respect.” Franklin shimmied her shoulders and sang along for a few bars with her 24-year-old self as she got ready to blow out the candles. Not long after that, she and a retinue of six or eight processed out. It had been a long night and a long few months, and she looked tired, but also content, and ready for another spring.
“May I recommend something?” Aretha Franklin asked after we slid into a banquette in the side room of Jean Georges on Central Park West. “The shrimp-and-avocado salad. I’ve had it four times this week.” It was a warm day in early May, and we were meeting to talk about her first album of new material in almost eight years, “A Woman Falling Out of Love” — released on her own label and available, at least initially, only at Wal-Mart. (It came on the heels of “Take a Look,” a box set of her presuperstardom years, 11 CDs of gestating genius.) That she agreed to an interview was a bit of a surprise. Franklin has long had two great phobias: she has not been on a plane since 1983, when a rocky twin-engine experience made her realize, she said, “why the pope kisses the ground.” And she has been notoriously evasive of the press since a Time magazine cover article in 1968 suggested, at the very moment she was becoming a national icon, that she was also a battered woman, claiming that her husband at the time “roughed her up.” We were, in fact, supposed to meet earlier in the week; I got as far as the lobby of her hotel before she canceled (she later blamed a miscommunication with her publicist).
But now she arrived on time, in a navy-and-white-flecked light wool blazer, white top and leather skirt, still plus-size but in the lower rungs, and moving confidently in Jimmy Choos (like the ones she tripped and broke her toe on a few weeks ago). She introduced me to her security team — Mr. So-and-So, this is Mr. So-and-So — and she would throw up that filter of formality throughout our lunch if a question cut a little too close. I’d also been told beforehand that she would not discuss the nature of the medical procedure or anything reported in “The Queen of Soul,” an unauthorized biography by Mark Bego that, like most unauthorized biographies, sometimes presents its subject in less-than-flattering lights.
She ordered tea “with Splenda, lots of Splenda,” and we started talking about New York, the city where she spends most of her time outside her home city, Detroit — she will perform at Jones Beach on July 27 — and where she had her greatest recording glory. We were only steps away from the site of the old Atlantic Studios, where she recorded most of the torrent of hit singles in 1967-68 that included not just “Respect” but also “Chain of Fools,” “Think” and “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman.”
“I first came here when I was a teenager in the ’50s with my dad,” she said, the word “dad” coming out with the same frisson of hard consonant and harmonic vowel that permeates her records. (Her father was the Rev. C. L. Franklin, one of the first celebrity charismatic preachers.) “You remember certain things about the city that aren’t here anymore. There was a great little steak place next to the Apollo where I’d go between shows to have my lunch and dinner.” Food joints, record stores, “knockout” men she ran into, these were the most immediate memories she conjured. One of those knockouts was Sam Cooke, the R&B and pop legend and lothario, whom she went to visit once at the Warwick Hotel. “There was another young lady, a name vocalist who had been visiting him prior to myself, and I saw her coming out of his room. To this day she insists it wasn’t her, but of course it was. I had a very clear view, but she insisted it wasn’t, because she was married. I was only visiting him as a friend. And we were sitting talking and laughing, and I went into the bathroom and happened to see a ring around the tub. I just could not believe it . . . to me he was above things like that. That was so common.” She giggled, but when the waitress appeared again to take our order, she shifted back into Queen of Soul mode, ignoring her.
Cooke was just one of many prominent, powerful men in whose presence Franklin has thrived, along with her father; the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. (who, like Cooke, was sometimes a guest in the Franklin home); the record executives John Hammond, Jerry Wexler and Clive Davis; and most recently the president of the United States. Franklin performed “My Country ’Tis of Thee” at Obama’s inauguration, and for perhaps one of the few times in her life she was upstaged, not by another performer but by the impressionistic Luke Song hat she wore. (“The hat now has its own Facebook page,” Franklin said, as if giving a backhanded compliment to another diva.) She didn’t speak to Obama that day, but they met during his campaign at “an undisclosed location” with 10 other “notable people.” “You know what he said to me? ‘You look good.’ I was already beginning to lose weight, and it was an affirmation of all my efforts. And then he sang ‘Chain of Fools,’ and I thought, He’s really hip. Real down, and real up. And he’s got a walk like nobody else.”
Franklin has been married twice, the second of her marriages, to the actor Glynn Turman, ending in divorce in 1984, the same year her father died. (She has four sons, ranging in age from early 40s to mid-50s.) Her most recent busted romance was the inspiration for “A Woman Falling Out of Love.” “He was a younger man, though not so young that I’d be considered a cougar,” she said. “He was a man of very high principles and integrity.” I asked her what she meant by this — did he remember her birthday, always pick up the check, attend church with her? She wouldn’t be specific. “Just generally, a man of principles and integrity.” A “careless” comment, uttered by Franklin, ended it. “Falling out of love is like losing weight,” she said. “It’s a lot easier putting it on than taking it off.”
Sooner or later, almost everything we discussed came back to food, and it was clear that Franklin is as obsessed with it as she ever was, only now that obsession extends to how not to eat it. She said she has lost 85 pounds, through a combination of her mystery surgery and dieting. “I learned,” she said, “that I wouldn’t starve if I had one hot dog instead of two.” She took some advice from her former rival Natalie Cole about not eating after 6 p.m. “At first I thought she was crazy, but it works, it really works.” For exercise, she has a treadmill in her home and walks the aisles at Wal-Mart. “I love Wal-Mart,” she said, “and not just because my record is there. You can get some things there that you cannot find at Saks or Bergdorf’s or other upscale stores.”
The talk about her weight loss brought us to her surgery, though in the end all she would say was that it was a required procedure, that it was not “minor” and that when she knew she had to have it, she put out the call for prayer. The Rev. Jesse Jackson and Stevie Wonder, among others, flew to her side. “I was concerned,” she said, “but I wasn’t afraid. My faith in God is too great for that, and my family and close friends gave me great support, and here I am.”
And here again, one more time, was the waitress, who said that the kitchen would be closing soon. Franklin, as if trying to ward off all temptation of food, still did not look at her, but finally said, regally, “I’ll have a glass of orange juice.”
The recently released box set,“Take a Look,” compiles Franklin’s recordings between 1960 and 1966, from ages 18 to 24. It includes jazz, supper-club standards, silky soul, blues, “American Bandstand” pop and just about every other genre that existed in the early ’60s. If the sessions, recorded for Columbia, didn’t quite capture lightning in a bottle, they set the stage for “Respect” and the other sandblasting-soul tracks that followed. “Part of what makes her timeless is that her music is so personal,” says Michele Myers, a D.J. on the influential indie station KEXP in Seattle. Myers frequently mixes classic Franklin tracks in a set that might also include Adele, Spoon, LCD Soundsystem and Deerhunter. “She was into musical empowerment. She would refuse to sing any song about a man treating her badly over and over.” That’s not exactly true, but even in a song like her breakthrough Atlantic hit, “I Never Loved a Man (the Way I Loved You),” with its opening line, “You’re no good/Heartbreaker/You’re a liar/And you’re a cheat,” Franklin sings with such prowess that it’s impossible to hear her as a victim.
Franklin will not claim a favorite era of her career. Not the Columbia or Atlantic years, or the period she spent with Davis at Arista, where the results were sometimes schlocky (cheesy electro-pop duets) but still often sublime (playful comeback hits like “Jump to It” and “Freeway of Love”). “I’ve never recorded anything I didn’t like,” she said. “Well, maybe one time.” She wouldn’t say what that one song or album was. She says she has sung “Respect” thousands of times and hasn’t tired of it, and she acknowledged that the song has become “a national anthem.” It has also become a party dance-floor cliché, but its significance over the years cannot be overestimated: the song was a cultural document of the civil rights era, with loud reverberations for African-Americans, for women, for gays, for anyone, really, who felt neglect or subjugation. But when I asked her why the song had had such an impact, she just said, blithely, “I guess everybody just wanted a little respect.”
It was almost time for Franklin to leave for a fitting at Oscar de la Renta — new clothes for her new shape, and probably the kinds of things not available at Wal-Mart — but before she did, she said, suddenly animated, “We haven’t talked about the movie!” A film of her life story is in development, “with a huge budget, $50, $60 million,” she said. Denzel Washington has been mentioned as a possibility to play her father, Franklin said proudly, and she had imagined Halle Berry playing her, though Berry ultimately demurred because she can’t sing. “I never expected her to sing,” Franklin said. Jennifer Hudson and Fantasia have also been considered, and Franklin named them as modern singers she enjoyed. Where did she stand on Lady Gaga? “I liked her when she started, her choreography,” Franklin said, “but as she went along she got a little too far out . . . for my taste. I’m not knocking her. But it’s not a good idea to get up on a piano.”
About a week after our interview, on a Sunday afternoon, my cellphone rang. It was Franklin, who had thought of something else she wanted to discuss: the high-school dropout rate. There were some figures, she said she thought she’d read, that went as high as 50 percent; the hip-hop community needed to step up and tell kids to stay in school; those who did stay in school needed to be “lauded and applauded.” The issue seemed random, but it has great personal resonance for Franklin: she had told me that her only true regret was allowing one of her sons to quit school. (She herself dropped out to give birth to her first child in her midteens.)
After she exhausted the topic, she just wanted to chat. She was on her custom bus — her usual, nonairborne mode of traveling cross-country — on the way to Chicago to tape one of the final “Oprah” shows, and wanted to talk about the weather, literally. “What’s the temperature in New York?” she asked. After a few minutes of this, she got ready to sign off, and I told her to “break a leg.” “You take that back,” she snapped. “Take it back!” She explained that someone once said that to her and it actually happened.
Here is a woman who has fulfilled every professional expectation that has been had of her since she was a teenage prodigy in her father’s choir loft; a woman for whom the word “legend” can be applied without grade inflation. And yet she is also a woman who still gets lonely on a bus, who feels she has to keep secrets, who blushes when the president compliments her appearance, who’s still out there looking for love — and confident that she’ll find it.
During our lunch, I asked her who the love of her life was, wondering if it was one of her famous former beaus, like Dennis Edwards, the Temptation who was also the final performer at her birthday party. Franklin wrote one of her biggest hits, “Day Dreaming,” about him, and it contained one of her most poetic lines: “When he’s lonesome and feelin’ love-starved, I’ll be there to feed it.” At the party, Edwards sang, at Franklin’s request, “The Way We Were,” and she joined him for the line “Memories may be beautiful, and yet. . . .” It could have been a sticky moment, but their voices, though a little patchy, were still full of rumble and froth. “The love of my life?” she’d said to me, mockingly aghast. “I’m much too young to answer that question.”
Slowly, well-wishers made their way to her. Tony Bennett, trailed by the record producer Phil Ramone, presented her with a drawing he’d done of her. Bette Midler, who is very short, and her husband, Martin von Haselberg, who seems very tall, did a walk-through in street clothes, stopping by Franklin’s table. Clive Davis, music-biz éminence grise, appeared long enough to be pelted with business cards and photo-op requests. Smokey Robinson, a friend of Franklin’s since their youth in Detroit, actually sat down for a spell. Also in attendance were the odd current A-listers (Gayle King, Wendy Williams) or just the odd guest period (the actor Michael Imperioli, who sat at a side table with his date).
Finally, after an hour or so, Franklin rose and walked over to the food stations, where she half-filled her own plate with lobster on blue-corn tortilla, smoked-salmon mousseline and baked ham made from her own recipe. She had plenty of company while she ate, including the Rev. Al Sharpton, but there were a few more moments when she sat strangely by herself, as if the guests, even some of her best friends, felt the need to dance gingerly around her. When her birthday cake, which almost filled a small table, was rolled out, the crowd parted again, and she made her way to it across the room, just as the D.J., who was spinning in between the live performers, played “Respect.” Franklin shimmied her shoulders and sang along for a few bars with her 24-year-old self as she got ready to blow out the candles. Not long after that, she and a retinue of six or eight processed out. It had been a long night and a long few months, and she looked tired, but also content, and ready for another spring.
“May I recommend something?” Aretha Franklin asked after we slid into a banquette in the side room of Jean Georges on Central Park West. “The shrimp-and-avocado salad. I’ve had it four times this week.” It was a warm day in early May, and we were meeting to talk about her first album of new material in almost eight years, “A Woman Falling Out of Love” — released on her own label and available, at least initially, only at Wal-Mart. (It came on the heels of “Take a Look,” a box set of her presuperstardom years, 11 CDs of gestating genius.) That she agreed to an interview was a bit of a surprise. Franklin has long had two great phobias: she has not been on a plane since 1983, when a rocky twin-engine experience made her realize, she said, “why the pope kisses the ground.” And she has been notoriously evasive of the press since a Time magazine cover article in 1968 suggested, at the very moment she was becoming a national icon, that she was also a battered woman, claiming that her husband at the time “roughed her up.” We were, in fact, supposed to meet earlier in the week; I got as far as the lobby of her hotel before she canceled (she later blamed a miscommunication with her publicist).
But now she arrived on time, in a navy-and-white-flecked light wool blazer, white top and leather skirt, still plus-size but in the lower rungs, and moving confidently in Jimmy Choos (like the ones she tripped and broke her toe on a few weeks ago). She introduced me to her security team — Mr. So-and-So, this is Mr. So-and-So — and she would throw up that filter of formality throughout our lunch if a question cut a little too close. I’d also been told beforehand that she would not discuss the nature of the medical procedure or anything reported in “The Queen of Soul,” an unauthorized biography by Mark Bego that, like most unauthorized biographies, sometimes presents its subject in less-than-flattering lights.
She ordered tea “with Splenda, lots of Splenda,” and we started talking about New York, the city where she spends most of her time outside her home city, Detroit — she will perform at Jones Beach on July 27 — and where she had her greatest recording glory. We were only steps away from the site of the old Atlantic Studios, where she recorded most of the torrent of hit singles in 1967-68 that included not just “Respect” but also “Chain of Fools,” “Think” and “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman.”
“I first came here when I was a teenager in the ’50s with my dad,” she said, the word “dad” coming out with the same frisson of hard consonant and harmonic vowel that permeates her records. (Her father was the Rev. C. L. Franklin, one of the first celebrity charismatic preachers.) “You remember certain things about the city that aren’t here anymore. There was a great little steak place next to the Apollo where I’d go between shows to have my lunch and dinner.” Food joints, record stores, “knockout” men she ran into, these were the most immediate memories she conjured. One of those knockouts was Sam Cooke, the R&B and pop legend and lothario, whom she went to visit once at the Warwick Hotel. “There was another young lady, a name vocalist who had been visiting him prior to myself, and I saw her coming out of his room. To this day she insists it wasn’t her, but of course it was. I had a very clear view, but she insisted it wasn’t, because she was married. I was only visiting him as a friend. And we were sitting talking and laughing, and I went into the bathroom and happened to see a ring around the tub. I just could not believe it . . . to me he was above things like that. That was so common.” She giggled, but when the waitress appeared again to take our order, she shifted back into Queen of Soul mode, ignoring her.
Cooke was just one of many prominent, powerful men in whose presence Franklin has thrived, along with her father; the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. (who, like Cooke, was sometimes a guest in the Franklin home); the record executives John Hammond, Jerry Wexler and Clive Davis; and most recently the president of the United States. Franklin performed “My Country ’Tis of Thee” at Obama’s inauguration, and for perhaps one of the few times in her life she was upstaged, not by another performer but by the impressionistic Luke Song hat she wore. (“The hat now has its own Facebook page,” Franklin said, as if giving a backhanded compliment to another diva.) She didn’t speak to Obama that day, but they met during his campaign at “an undisclosed location” with 10 other “notable people.” “You know what he said to me? ‘You look good.’ I was already beginning to lose weight, and it was an affirmation of all my efforts. And then he sang ‘Chain of Fools,’ and I thought, He’s really hip. Real down, and real up. And he’s got a walk like nobody else.”
Franklin has been married twice, the second of her marriages, to the actor Glynn Turman, ending in divorce in 1984, the same year her father died. (She has four sons, ranging in age from early 40s to mid-50s.) Her most recent busted romance was the inspiration for “A Woman Falling Out of Love.” “He was a younger man, though not so young that I’d be considered a cougar,” she said. “He was a man of very high principles and integrity.” I asked her what she meant by this — did he remember her birthday, always pick up the check, attend church with her? She wouldn’t be specific. “Just generally, a man of principles and integrity.” A “careless” comment, uttered by Franklin, ended it. “Falling out of love is like losing weight,” she said. “It’s a lot easier putting it on than taking it off.”
Sooner or later, almost everything we discussed came back to food, and it was clear that Franklin is as obsessed with it as she ever was, only now that obsession extends to how not to eat it. She said she has lost 85 pounds, through a combination of her mystery surgery and dieting. “I learned,” she said, “that I wouldn’t starve if I had one hot dog instead of two.” She took some advice from her former rival Natalie Cole about not eating after 6 p.m. “At first I thought she was crazy, but it works, it really works.” For exercise, she has a treadmill in her home and walks the aisles at Wal-Mart. “I love Wal-Mart,” she said, “and not just because my record is there. You can get some things there that you cannot find at Saks or Bergdorf’s or other upscale stores.”
The talk about her weight loss brought us to her surgery, though in the end all she would say was that it was a required procedure, that it was not “minor” and that when she knew she had to have it, she put out the call for prayer. The Rev. Jesse Jackson and Stevie Wonder, among others, flew to her side. “I was concerned,” she said, “but I wasn’t afraid. My faith in God is too great for that, and my family and close friends gave me great support, and here I am.”
And here again, one more time, was the waitress, who said that the kitchen would be closing soon. Franklin, as if trying to ward off all temptation of food, still did not look at her, but finally said, regally, “I’ll have a glass of orange juice.”
The recently released box set,“Take a Look,” compiles Franklin’s recordings between 1960 and 1966, from ages 18 to 24. It includes jazz, supper-club standards, silky soul, blues, “American Bandstand” pop and just about every other genre that existed in the early ’60s. If the sessions, recorded for Columbia, didn’t quite capture lightning in a bottle, they set the stage for “Respect” and the other sandblasting-soul tracks that followed. “Part of what makes her timeless is that her music is so personal,” says Michele Myers, a D.J. on the influential indie station KEXP in Seattle. Myers frequently mixes classic Franklin tracks in a set that might also include Adele, Spoon, LCD Soundsystem and Deerhunter. “She was into musical empowerment. She would refuse to sing any song about a man treating her badly over and over.” That’s not exactly true, but even in a song like her breakthrough Atlantic hit, “I Never Loved a Man (the Way I Loved You),” with its opening line, “You’re no good/Heartbreaker/You’re a liar/And you’re a cheat,” Franklin sings with such prowess that it’s impossible to hear her as a victim.
Franklin will not claim a favorite era of her career. Not the Columbia or Atlantic years, or the period she spent with Davis at Arista, where the results were sometimes schlocky (cheesy electro-pop duets) but still often sublime (playful comeback hits like “Jump to It” and “Freeway of Love”). “I’ve never recorded anything I didn’t like,” she said. “Well, maybe one time.” She wouldn’t say what that one song or album was. She says she has sung “Respect” thousands of times and hasn’t tired of it, and she acknowledged that the song has become “a national anthem.” It has also become a party dance-floor cliché, but its significance over the years cannot be overestimated: the song was a cultural document of the civil rights era, with loud reverberations for African-Americans, for women, for gays, for anyone, really, who felt neglect or subjugation. But when I asked her why the song had had such an impact, she just said, blithely, “I guess everybody just wanted a little respect.”
It was almost time for Franklin to leave for a fitting at Oscar de la Renta — new clothes for her new shape, and probably the kinds of things not available at Wal-Mart — but before she did, she said, suddenly animated, “We haven’t talked about the movie!” A film of her life story is in development, “with a huge budget, $50, $60 million,” she said. Denzel Washington has been mentioned as a possibility to play her father, Franklin said proudly, and she had imagined Halle Berry playing her, though Berry ultimately demurred because she can’t sing. “I never expected her to sing,” Franklin said. Jennifer Hudson and Fantasia have also been considered, and Franklin named them as modern singers she enjoyed. Where did she stand on Lady Gaga? “I liked her when she started, her choreography,” Franklin said, “but as she went along she got a little too far out . . . for my taste. I’m not knocking her. But it’s not a good idea to get up on a piano.”
About a week after our interview, on a Sunday afternoon, my cellphone rang. It was Franklin, who had thought of something else she wanted to discuss: the high-school dropout rate. There were some figures, she said she thought she’d read, that went as high as 50 percent; the hip-hop community needed to step up and tell kids to stay in school; those who did stay in school needed to be “lauded and applauded.” The issue seemed random, but it has great personal resonance for Franklin: she had told me that her only true regret was allowing one of her sons to quit school. (She herself dropped out to give birth to her first child in her midteens.)
After she exhausted the topic, she just wanted to chat. She was on her custom bus — her usual, nonairborne mode of traveling cross-country — on the way to Chicago to tape one of the final “Oprah” shows, and wanted to talk about the weather, literally. “What’s the temperature in New York?” she asked. After a few minutes of this, she got ready to sign off, and I told her to “break a leg.” “You take that back,” she snapped. “Take it back!” She explained that someone once said that to her and it actually happened.
Here is a woman who has fulfilled every professional expectation that has been had of her since she was a teenage prodigy in her father’s choir loft; a woman for whom the word “legend” can be applied without grade inflation. And yet she is also a woman who still gets lonely on a bus, who feels she has to keep secrets, who blushes when the president compliments her appearance, who’s still out there looking for love — and confident that she’ll find it.
During our lunch, I asked her who the love of her life was, wondering if it was one of her famous former beaus, like Dennis Edwards, the Temptation who was also the final performer at her birthday party. Franklin wrote one of her biggest hits, “Day Dreaming,” about him, and it contained one of her most poetic lines: “When he’s lonesome and feelin’ love-starved, I’ll be there to feed it.” At the party, Edwards sang, at Franklin’s request, “The Way We Were,” and she joined him for the line “Memories may be beautiful, and yet. . . .” It could have been a sticky moment, but their voices, though a little patchy, were still full of rumble and froth. “The love of my life?” she’d said to me, mockingly aghast. “I’m much too young to answer that question.”
THE MUSIC OF ARETHA FRANKLIN: AN EXTENSIVE VIDEO OVERVIEW, A CROSS SECTION OF RECORDINGS, MUSICAL ANALYSIS AND COMMENTARY, PLUS VARIOUS INTERVIEWS WITH MS. FRANKLIN:
http://www.bet.com/video/bethonors/2014/performances/nelson-mandela-tribute-by-aretha-franklin.html
BET Honors: Aretha Franklin Sings Tribute to Madiba (NELSON MANDELA):
Clip: The Queen of Soul performs a
heartfelt rendition of Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come” to honor
Mandela. Season 2014 (02/24/2014)