Aretha Franklin: RIP, My Queen

In 1974, Aretha Franklin performed at the Hampton Jazz Festival, and I was in the audience. She was radiant, powerful, beautiful, commanding -- all the things we had known her to be for years by that point. Although she would later acquire a reputation as a diva (even recording a collection of covers of others' "great diva classics"), she was also gracious in her success; a reporter covering that Hampton performance was surprised not long after to receive a postcard from Lady Soul thanking her for the review.

Of course, that reporter (and no, I wasn't the one) was thankful for having seen Aretha in concert. So was I. She was a transcendent figure not merely in soul music but in music generally, and one of my favorite artists; I've been hearing and feeling Aretha's songs for 50 years and have about 200 in my iPod.

What made her the Queen? The voice, especially in her '60s heyday, was not only powerful but melodic, steeped in her church  background but comfortable in jazz (where she was somewhat awkwardly pigeonholed early in her recording career), pop, R&B and soul, and -- it turned out, famously -- in classical music. From "96 Tears" to "Nessun Dorma," Aretha would tackle anything.



Her songs in her Atlantic years were also splendidly produced and arranged, with a corps of musicians showcasing her singing and, let's not forget, her piano playing. (Later work was spottier; Quincy Jones, for one, did not get her quite right.) Look at the instrumental burst at the opening of "The House That Jack Built," or the way "Young, Gifted and Black" is wrapped up in gospel. She also stretched via the interplay with her backing singers (often the Sweet Inspirations). Listen to that "mm-mm-mm" offered in "I Take What I Want," above, or her inspired, seemingly spontaneous commercial shout-out of "a silly millimeter longer" in her version of "You Send Me."

More importantly, her voice was a vessel for a strong woman. When she sang about heartache -- and there was plenty in her life -- she might concede that "it hurts like hell," but she did not let that put her down. That strength was not only in the songs themselves ("You'd better think about the consequences of your actions," indeed; "All I'm asking for is a little respect") but in the way that, again, as she worked through an array of musical genres, there was no doubt in her mind that any song she took on would become an Aretha song.

Grand as Sam Cooke's "You Send Me" was, Aretha seizes it. Her "96 Tears" (on 1967's miracle-laden "Aretha Arrives," the first Aretha album I bought) shows how wan the ? and the Mysterians hit was. I love Dionne Warwick, but Aretha owns "I Say a Little Prayer."

Then there's "Son of a Preacher Man." The story goes that it was offered to Aretha, who turned it down (reportedly because that preacher's daughter thought it was disrespectful). Her label-mate Dusty Springfield took it, and had a sultry hit. Aretha then took it, and so made it an Aretha song that Springfield changed the way she sang parts of it to match Aretha's inflections.

The strategy did not always work. That collection of divas covers, admittedly late in Aretha's career, never surpasses the originals. And no one, not even Aretha, could ever make much of "Elusive Butterfly." But her success rate was enormous, overwhelming the great ("Respect," which became hers in spite of Otis Redding's previous ownership) and the sappy ("My Cup Runneth Over").

People who know little of Aretha can still nod familiarly at "Respect," or "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman," or "Think." But that's such a small part of a magnificent legacy. I've been back in her catalog the last few days, and the gems are endless. "Day Dreaming." "Look Into Your Heart." "Get It Right." Pairing with a couple of big Brit voices -- Annie Lennox on "Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves" (another Aretha anthem) and George Michael on "I Knew You Were Waiting" -- and it's Aretha who lifts them up. And there are old favorites like this:

So much to love. Go with God, dear Aretha. Go with my love.