Of the oh so many amazing things about Aretha Frankin, one of the most astonishing is that it took nearly six years of making records before she really hit the big-time. Six years and 10 albums before the world at large took notice of the Queen of Soul. And the incredible thing about it is that all the record companies really had to do was get the hell out of the way and let her do her thing—rather than try to shoehorn her into some updated version of Judy Garland, simply let Aretha be Aretha.
As though any proof of her greatness is needed, her she is taking that garage band proto-punk classic, "96 Tears" by ? and the Mysterians and indelibly stamping it with her own genius.
Obviously, having the likes of Spooner Oldham and Roger Hawkins behind you doesn't exactly hurt. But while the bass of the great Tommy Cogbill can only help, in the end—and the beginning and the middle—it's all about Lady Soul.
The greatest American singer of our lifetime? The greatest female singer of our lifetime? Or simply the greatest singer of our lifetime? Pace Frank Sinatra, Sam Cooke, Elvis Presley, Marvin Gaye, John Lennon and Prince, it's pretty damn hard to argue that the Queen of Soul wasn't just the first two but all three—certainly until yesterday she was the greatest living pop singer in the world.
But she was also a brilliant artist, who knew how to make the most of her spectacular instrument, turning in mind-blowing performance after mind-blowing performance. Taking "Respect," a song already done fantastically by its writer, Otis Redding, and blowing his version away by adding a bridge and her pipes and transforming it into a feminist anthem should not have been possible. And for the Queen, it was a day's work, and a life's triumph.
And if that was all she had done, her place in history would have been assured. But of course that's just the tip of the iceberg. "Chain of Fools," "(You Make Me Feel Like a) Natural Woman," "I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)," "Think," "Do Right Woman - Do Right Man," "Rock Steady" and dozens of others don't even begin to scratch the surface of her contribution to popular music. And that's without even getting into her importance to the civil rights movement.
For many of us suburban white kids, her incendiary performance in The Blues Brothers was our first conscious introduction to Aretha, although of course her music had been in the air since we'd had ears.
I was deep in my hard rock Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Blue Oyster Cult, Aerosmith phase the first time I saw the film, and this kind of soul music was not in my wheelhouse. And yet I remember being utterly transfixed from the moment she began singing, barely breathing until the song was over. I've probably watched it two dozen times since then and it's never lost one bit of its power.
If you’re like me, it’s impossible not to compare what she’s doing to what Art Garfunkel did. In the Simon & Garfunkel version, the part when Garfunkel sings “…and pain is all around” always chokes me up. He’s a friend offering solace, but you can tell he’s not exactly in the best way, either. He’s trying to be strong, but he can’t help but expose his inner pain.
Aretha does not sound weak. She is not praying to God for deliverance. She is the voice of God.
When Simon & Garfunkel perform “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” the final “sail on silver girl” verse seems superfluous after that “pain is all around” verse — the song’s emotional peak has already been reached. But when Aretha does it, that last verse feels like a legitimate climax. As a listener, you feel yourself ascending toward the divine. She’s reaching out, extending herself to give all of humanity a big bear-hug. “Your time has come to shine / all your dreams are on their way,” she sings, and you believe her, because her voice has automatic authority when it comes to such matters. She sounds immortal, and this is a relief, because what is immortal can’t ever die.
Damn skippy.
That performance, obviously, also features some sweet damn piano playing from Ms Franklin—if your band was auditioning for a new pianist, and she walked in and started playing the way she does here, you'd sign her up after about three bars...and that's without even hearing her sing.
For further proof, let's turn to her takeover of Elton John's "Border Song."
Again, that fantastic piano is courtesy the Queen herself, a reminder that had she wanted to go in that direction, she absolutely could have beaten the likes of Elton or Billy at their own games—hell, she could have been a leading studio pianist without even ever opening her mouth. And while I've never actually heard him say it, I like to think Elton John (an avowed fan) had the same reaction to hearing her cover of his song as Otis Redding did (with admiration) when he heard her version of "Respect": "that woman stole my song." I mean, from literally the first line, when she's barely singing above a murmur, she's in complete and utter command—of both her voice and the song. And, of course, being Aretha, she just builds from there.
And yet the recording I keep finding myself going back to is this, for reasons which I suppose are pretty obvious.
As with the recent losses of Prince and David Bowie and B.B. King, there's a gaping hole in the soul left by their absence. But those holes are only there because those brilliant artists made room in the soul, stretching and pulling and pushing and enlarging, through their art in the first place. And for that we should be eternally grateful.
There is so much to love about this clip. In fact, there is absolutely nothing not to love.
Carole King's out of her skull joy.
The president crying before the song's even 30 seconds in.
The Queen of Soul's piano playing, of which there is never ever ever enough. (Dear Unplugged people: why in the hell didn't you get her? Justifiably afraid no other would ever come close to measuring up?)
How she owns the lower register for the first 2/3rds the song, leading one to understandably recognize that she's 73 and no longer has the force of nature vocal chords she did as a young woman but can still more than bring all the emotion any singer could ever dream of?
Or when she stands up and shows that, yeah, no, she may have lost a few miles per hour off her fastball but she can still bring the heat with all the authority there is.
Or maybe it's at the end, when George Lucas, standing next to Carole King, is clearly thinking, "well...shit. My tribute wasn't nearly that awesome." Don't feel bad, George. Nobody's was. Nobody's could be.
Just how great is Aretha Franklin? Words cannot adequately describe. But here's one indication—this amazing cover of the great Impressions song:
The thing isn't so much how great her cover is, although of course it is. Even by Lady Soul's incredibly lofty standards, it's great. But what struck me recently is that it barely even gets mentioned when the song is discussed. Not because her version isn't fantastic, but because fantastic is what we expected from The Divine Miss F, every single time. Fantastic is her baseline standard.
I am emphatically not saying this is my favorite version of this song, especially given that the Queen of Soul already, as Otis Redding himself put it, stole one song from him. (Not that he's the original writer of this one.)
But listening to Franklin's substitutions on this, it really hits you just how fine a jazz singer she could have been, had she chosen to go that route, rather than demolishing all contenders to the soul throne.
Art Garfunkel's known for the staggering purity of his crystalline vocals, and rightfully so. Still, I have to assume the first time he heard Lady Soul zoom up an octave as she approached the chorus of his signature song, he thought, "well...shit."
Also note the beauty of awards shows: Aretha Franklin is introduced by Andy damn Williams, of all people. I mean, I just. Also, it takes nearly two minutes before Miss Franklin graces us with her vocals—and it feels like about 15 seconds, thanks to her lovely piano playing. But note to the director: the organist is awesome, but we really didn't need to see his hands as much as we needed to see Aretha.
