Tears for Aretha
Tears for Aretha
5 years after Aretha Franklin's passing, I'm still feeling it.
I had no intention of writing this. I barely had any intention of sharing this in general. But thanks to possessing the brain of a procrastinator, at about 6pm yesterday the idea struck like lightning and the words poured like rain. So here we are.
Just like a child reacting to an overwhelming boom of thunder, I started crying just after the idea hit. I was CitiBiking from my apartment to the PATH train and listening to the work tape of “Until You Come Back To Me,” which was first released on 2021’s ARETHA box set. I am historically not a crier, but I’ve softened a bit in the last few years. It’s still a bit of a surprise when it does happen though, because for years it just didn’t. I’ll even admit, I think the idea of crying over someone I didn’t really know is a bit much. But that notion is completely absurd. We cry over all forms of media, over fictional characters. Why can’t we cry when someone who has made such an impact on our lives leaves us, or in the wake of that loss? So I cried as I listened to that work tape, hearing that immaculate voice lay down a casual vocal on a new song while the rest of the band worked out their parts. It made me feel joy, and it made me feel her loss.
Aretha passed away on August 16, 2018, five years ago today, but I didn’t actually cry over that loss until August 2021. And when it happened, it caught me completely off guard. I was at the AMC Lincoln Square 13, at an early showing of Respect, with my parents. It’s right down the street from Lincoln Center, where I first saw Aretha live with my dad in 2000. I was 10, and it was my first concert ever. It felt kismet that one of the “pre-release” showings was adjacent to where I first saw her, and naturally I brought my parents along to see the film.
I was treated to a screening of an unfinished edit of the film in 2020, so I knew most of what I was going to see (and then some). With all due respect to the film, that wasn’t what caused my emotional reaction. It was what happened after. I expected the credits to roll and “Here I Am (Singing My Way Home),” the new song composed for the movie by Jennifer Hudson and Carole King, to come flowing through the theater speakers. That eventually did happen. First though, a familiar stage and setup appeared: It was the 2016 Kennedy Center Honors, and out walked Aretha to perform her tribute to Carole King. I wasn’t prepared to see Aretha herself on that screen, let alone in motion and performance.
Something in me came undone as I watched Aretha deliver that tremendous performance once again. Next thing I knew, I was using every fiber of my being to keep myself from full on wailing as the tears streamed down my face and I broke down in my seat. Truthfully, I didn’t want my mom (or anyone else for that matter), to see me cry like that, over Aretha or anything else. Not in public, at least. We’ve all got things to work on, and I have done some work on that since then.
I think some of my breaking down had to do with the finality of it all. On that big screen, it was like seeing Aretha live in concert again. There she was, on a stage, larger than life, and giving her all to an enraptured crowd. I’d possessed that sentiment when Amazing Grace was finally released in late 2018. Not only did I attend the premiere, I also went to see it in theaters four additional times. It felt like the closest I’d ever get to seeing Aretha live again. And I experienced Aretha live in concert twelve times. Twelve. How fucking lucky was I? Now she’s gone, and I will never get that again. I would truly give anything for one more Aretha show. She was my first concert. Seeing Aretha live didn’t just become a comfortable space, it also became somewhat ritualistic for my dad and I.
I still can’t fully explain what it was about Aretha in that one moment just over 25 years ago that captivated my entire existence and has yet to release me. I suppose that’s a thing many of us share, sometimes from unexpected places. There are many who hear their pain, their joy, and their lives in Aretha. There are many who see themselves or someone else they know and love in her. I’ve found ways to see myself in Aretha as I’ve gotten older. But at 7 years old? I knew not of the pain, love, or struggles that Aretha sang about. But she got her hooks in me, and honestly? I love those hooks, and wear them like a badge of honor, literally. For those who don’t know, the day Aretha died in 2018, I got my first and only tattoo. “Aretha made me.” adorns my ribcage on my left side, just outside of my heart. In summer, I cut my tank tops long on the sides so it shows, proudly, everywhere I go.
There’s a video I revisit occasionally of Gene Simmons from KISS remembering Aretha on the day she passed. Within the first few seconds, after acknowledging that he may seem an odd choice for the moment, he clears his throat and apologizes because he’s getting choked up. His love and adoration for Aretha ran deep. At one point the anchor asks if wishes that he had collaborated with her and he stutters a bit, dismissing the idea with “oh, I couldn’t- I wouldn’t dare dream anything like that.” That’s how highly he regarded Aretha. And that shook me, because most of the people around me aren’t affected by Aretha (or anyone else) the same way I am. My dad is, though. That’s where I get it from.
Aretha’s soulfulness is overwhelming (present tense, because it’s still right there on every record); a tsunami of emotion and experience that washes over you at the most unexpected moments. Give her the simplest of lyrics and she could put more meaning behind it than you could ever fathom. And she’d rarely tell you what caused her to sing a song a certain way. “Our Lady of Mysterious Sorrows,” as Jerry Wexler referred to her.
I’ve made it a personal mission of mine to amplify her legacy and her music as much as I can, for as long as I possibly can. Since her death, I’ve published essays on over 100 of her songs (and best believe, there are more than a few nearly done that are just awaiting the right anniversary to be unleashed). I intend to do every song (and then some), to the best of my ability. The other day I was listening to her 1999 Pepsi jingle and thinking to myself “hmmm, I’ve got a few things to say about this; guess I need to start doing jingles too.”
There are moments when I listen to Aretha, and the music is just on. I know it so well I can (badly) sing along and go run for run, or let it play as I work or go about my life.
There are others moments though, where I’m right there with her, in the thick of it, feeling my joy, pain, or other emotion in every last word. Aretha encapsulated it well on an unreleased demo which also first surfaced on 2021’s ARETHA: “I don’t know what it is that makes me feel the way I do, baby… there’s something magic about you.”
I love exposing (or in the cases of friends and acquaintances who become my musical hostages, imposing) Aretha onto people. I find so much joy and fulfillment in taking over the TV, putting on a live performance and going into deep analysis mode. I’ll pull a specific live fan video of “Bridge Over Troubled Water” that’s shot at an angle where you can see her fingers as she bangs out that beautiful introductory piano solo. I urge them to focus on her genius finger-work on the piano, which isn’t disrupted in the slightest when she turns to the background singers and says something that makes them laugh.
Or a 2000 performance of “It Hurts Like Hell,” where she ascends to the upper limits of her register as she feeds off the audience’s energy. A series of acapella runs mid-song are so soulful they whip the audience into a frenzy. She uses it as fuel, and fills her next few lines with so much feeling that you can see it shoot through her body like electricity, causing her to kick both feet back to shake it out. The nuances of these performances fill and overflow out of me, effortlessly. I can’t fully explain how I can’t remember someone’s name 2 minutes after meeting them, but rattle off these moments with ease. That’s just the power of Aretha.
There’s also so much music. There are so many performances that haven’t made it to the digital era. There’s music that hasn’t entered the digital era too (5 albums that have yet to be remastered and digitized), and music that we’ve never heard. Who knows what the next few years will bring us from the vaults, especially now that the estate has been settled. I must also acknowledge and give praise to my friend Milik, who continues to work tirelessly unearthing and sharing these forgotten performances with the world, not just of Aretha, but countless other Black artists. His work is so, so important. These two performances, which I’d never seen nor or even knew of, surfaced in the last year thanks to his tireless efforts.
Go listen to some Aretha Franklin today. Start wherever you feel most comfortable, and let her take you away. Don’t linger on “Respect.” You’ve heard it a million times. It’s brilliant, but there’s so much more to Aretha. There’s a video I’ve shared before of Aretha on The View in 1998. During their group conversation with Aretha, Star Jones points to Meredith Viera and asks “what’s your favorite Aretha Franklin song?” Meredith simply and quickly answers “Respect,” without even stopping to think. Then she turns to Debbie Matenopoulos and simply goes “Debbie.” Debbie, sounding half-present and unsure of her answer, says “Respect.” You’d be lucky if there’s one Aretha greatest hits CD between the two of them.
https://twitter.com/SoulAtlantic/status/1371524808467435520
Dig a little deeper. Listen to “Spanish Harlem,” “Ain’t No Way,” and “Call Me.” Dig even deeper. Listen to “Skylark,” “You Send Me,” and “It’s My Turn.” Listen to the covers you didn’t know were there, but you’ll never forget: “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” “What A Fool Believes,” and “Somewhere.” And then, go listen to her sing “You Light Up My Life” and “My Way,” which are two of her most brilliant re-interpretations, yet sat in the vault for decades. And for the literal love of God, listen to Aretha sing some gospel on 1972’s Amazing Grace.
As a member of the congregation urges while 14 year old Aretha tears into “Precious Lord” on her first recordings, don’t just listen to her, “listen at her!” And if your eyes start to well up in the process, let them. Feel it out and let the tears flow. I surely intend to today. That’s what they’re supposed to do. She was the Queen of Soul for a reason, after all.
Beautiful work, my friend! Thank you for all that you do to amplify her importance!!!
Had no idea it was your dad that got you into Aretha. That's awesome, man.