by David Ritz
Wexler’s reasoning won out. In the first quarter of 1969, Aretha’s reading of “The Weight” went top-twenty pop and as high as number three on the R&B charts. Even in the aftermath of Sly and the Family Stone’s refashioned funk, Aretha held her own.
It was also in early 1969 that Aretha met Ken Cunningham, a dashing gentleman with whom she would soon cohabitate.
“Jerry Wexler had moved to Miami and was urging Ree to record down there,” Cecil said. “He put us up in a suite at the Fontainebleau Hotel. He had us out on his boat and was showing us a big time. Sister was still distracted from her breakup with Ted. She and her lawyers were in the middle of the divorce negotiations that got a little rough. It would take many more months to finally get settled. Ree was in no mood to record. She didn’t even want to go out on Wexler’s boat. Well, I did. Wexler was a great host. When I got back, Aretha was all excited about a guy she met who was looking for investors. His company was called the New Breeders, and they were making Afro-style clothes and shoes. She described him as a handsome guy in a dashiki and big freedom ’fro. It was a time when we were all converting to Afros. Would I meet him? Would I hear his sales proposal? Sure, why not?”
It’s unclear whether Aretha financially invested in the New Breeders, but there’s no doubt that she invested emotionally in Cunningham. When she left Miami for New York, he was part of the entourage.
“She never showed up for the recording sessions I had planned in Miami,” said Wexler. “That was disappointing. Criteria Studios was a hot spot. It was where James Brown had recorded ‘I Got You (I Feel Good).’ I had assembled the best players in the South to back up Aretha on some new tracks, but where the hell was she? Later I learned through Cecil that love had blocked her path from the hotel to the studio. There was no arguing with love. After what she had been through, Aretha deserved some righteous love. That same winter when I met Ken Cunningham in New York, he seemed like a good guy. At the moment when black America was going through a period of Afro-centricity, he was a proud proponent of the movement.”
When Cunningham met Aretha, he was married and had a young daughter. Aretha told her siblings that the marriage was already over and that Ken, whom she called Wolf, had previously decided on a divorce.
“Ken’s a good man,” said Brenda Corbett, who began to sing backup for her first cousin both in concerts and in studios. “He helped Aretha get it together. He helped her stop drinking. By the early seventies, Aretha had stopped drinking and it never became a problem again. That was a huge blessing. Ken was also serious-minded about art and books and he loved all kinds of music. He came along at just the right time. Aretha needed a man who could point her in a positive direction.”
“When I visited Aretha in New York,” said Earline, Cecil’s wife, “she and Ken were living in a high-rise in midtown off Seventh Avenue. First thing she said was that Ed McMahon, Johnny Carson’s sidekick, was her neighbor. It was a big spread with a beautiful view. Her sons Clarence and Eddie were back in Detroit being cared for by Big Mama. Teddy was being raised by his father’s folks. So Ken and Aretha had it all to themselves.”
“It was something she deserved,” said Carolyn. “She hadn’t known domestic happiness for a long while. Wolf was all about healthy lifestyle—healthy eating, healthy thinking. He addressed her drinking problem in a way that the rest of us could not. If she wanted him around, she’d have to cut down and stop playing the fool. His approach worked. He became a wonderful addition to her life.”
“Everyone liked Ken Cunningham,” said Ruth Bowen, “and I was no different. He helped soften some of Aretha’s rough edges. Everyone was saying that he was turning her into a new woman. While I believe that Ken helped Aretha considerably, I also know that geniuses like Aretha have personalities not easily altered or, in most cases, not altered at all. People show up and no doubt have a large influence, but—especially in the case of women like Dinah Washington and Aretha Franklin—those people tend to come and go.”
“When Ken showed up,” said Erma, “he was universally liked. And Aretha became much easier to deal with. The problem I foresaw, though, was Cecil. By then, Cecil had solidified his position as Aretha’s manager. I’m not sure Ken didn’t have his own managerial ideas concerning Aretha’s career. In that sense, a clash was inevitable.”
Political clashes were also threatening the Franklin family.
On March 29, 1969, there was a deadly battle at Reverend Franklin’s New Bethel Baptist Church between members of the Republic of New Africa, a militant black-power group, and the Detroit police force.
“My father rented out the church to many organizations,” said Cecil, “as long as their ideology reflected his pro-black-power stance. They did not have to agree with my dad’s nonviolent position to use our facilities for their meeting. The Republic of New Africa was one such group. When the RNA met on that particular evening, they showed up heavily armed with loaded rifles. Daddy, who was not present, had no idea that would be the case. A cop car patrolling the area spotted some of the RNA members outside the church with guns. One of the policemen was shot to death and the other called for backup. Within fifteen or twenty minutes, fifty cops stormed the church—they actually vandalized the church—and arrested nearly a hundred and fifty people and apprehended a considerable cache of rifles and guns. The sensational news took Detroit by storm. Daddy was criticized for harboring radicals, but Daddy would not apologize for his support of black power. Next day he even convened a press conference. He spoke of the fallen policeman and offered his deepest sympathies to the man’s family. But he also did not back down in his sympathy with the RNA goals while restating his disapproval of their methodology. Ralph Abernathy came out to our church the next day and backed up Daddy. In fact, Daddy said he would continue to rent to the RNA as long as they pledged not to bring arms into our church.”
“The New Bethel Shootout,” as the incident was tagged, did serious damage to Reverend Franklin’s reputation as a civic leader. His church had been turned into a battleground. A month later, he traveled to Dallas, where he was planning an African musical and cultural event, the Soul Bowl, starring Aretha. On his return flight, American Airlines misplaced his bags. When they were located, police officials searched them and found a small amount of marijuana. Charges were pressed. Franklin claimed the drugs had been planted in order to further embarrass him. The charges were dropped a month later, but by then, because of the negative publicity, the Soul Bowl had been canceled. Franklin sued the airlines, only to learn that the State of Michigan was pursuing him for back taxes.
“My father was sought out and victimized by government officials, both national and local, who resented his political positions and were determined to humiliate him,” said Cecil. “He fought back, he answered every charge, he eventually paid his tax bill, and, as far as his congregation was concerned, he cleared his name. But I have to say that after what happened to him in that particular season of 1969, he was never quite the same.”
On another front, Aretha had a tough time tolerating the career ambitions of her sister Carolyn. When a Jet article from April 3, 1969, reported that Carolyn had received $10,000 to sign with RCA, Aretha was not happy.
“She was miffed because she assumed I’d just continue to travel with her and sing backup,” Carolyn told me. “She said she was counting on me. I said I had to count on myself. I figured it was about time to go back out there and give it a try. I was about to turn twenty-five and felt like I’d lived at least five or six lives. There was the life with our mother. There was the life with our father. There was the life when Daddy said I couldn’t live with him anymore and turned me over to neighbors who became foster parents. There was my life as a responsible adult when I’d worked at the post office. And then there was my musical life that had actually started when I was nineteen and, through Erma, met Lloyd Price, who signed me to his Double L label. Back then—to make sure I had my own identity—I called myself Candy Carroll. I cut a few singles but noth
ing happened. That didn’t discourage me because I knew I could sing and I knew I could write. When ‘Ain’t No Way’ broke out of Lady Soul and became big for Aretha, she encouraged me to concentrate on my writing over my singing. My attitude, though, was Why not do both? Who says one has to preclude the other?
“Aretha’s success no doubt helped Erma get her deal at Shout. Her ‘Piece of My Heart’ was an R-and-B hit, but when Janis Joplin covered it and made it into a million-seller pop hit, Erma kept on keeping on. She got another deal at Brunswick Records. Aretha isn’t the only driven and determined Franklin sister. If Aretha’s heat could help Erma, it could also help me. And no doubt it did. I’m not sure I would have gotten the RCA deal if I had continued to be Candy Carroll. But once I was in the door, I was going to give it all I had.”
And she did. Baby Dynamite, Carolyn’s debut album, is rock-solid soul. Her vocals measure up to the strongest singers of the day. The charts are tight and the songs—especially her own haunting “I Don’t Want to Lose You” and ingenious “Boxer”—are infectious. The sound is the end-of-the-sixties Sly Stone–Stax/Volt–Muscle Shoals horn-punched groove-and-grind R&B.
“I sang on those sessions,” said cousin Brenda Corbett. “It had the same kind of feeling as Aretha’s sessions. Very free, very loose, very spontaneous. We all knew that Carolyn, like Erma, was a sensational singer, and she proved us right. We were thrilled with the results.”
“My idea was to play it for Ree and have her give me an endorsement by writing the liner notes,” said Carolyn. “I gave her an early version and waited weeks for her reaction. When she never responded I finally called and put her on the spot. ‘I’ve heard it,’ she said, ‘and I love it, but I don’t know what to write.’ ‘Write that you love it,’ I said. ‘Write whatever you want, Ree, but just write something. My label is counting on your endorsement.’
“Finally, I turned to my dad. He said he’d get Aretha to write something. But even he couldn’t move her. Instead, he wrote the notes himself and did a beautiful job.”
“Musically,” wrote Reverend Franklin, “in terms of formal training in music, Carolyn possibly excels both her sisters (Erma and Aretha). She has a rich background in music training as she majored in music theory and harmony at the University of Southern California. She also possesses a genius for composing which is well known to entertainers and most people in the industry.”
Attempting to make peace among his daughters, Reverend concluded his remarks on a diplomatic note: “As Carolyn embarks on her own career as an artist, I think I will use the words of her sister Aretha, whom she asked to write the liner notes for this album. Aretha wrote, ‘This is my sister Carolyn, and she is ready!’ When Aretha was told that this was not sufficient for the liner notes, she said, ‘That’s all there is to say.’ ”
The record earned some critical praise but yielded no hits. Within weeks, Erma’s “Gotta Find Me a Lover (Twenty-Four Hours a Day)” was also released but did not catch on. Meanwhile, Aretha’s “I Can’t See Myself Leaving You” rose to number three on the R&B charts, where it remained for nine weeks.
On April 14, Frank Sinatra introduced Aretha Franklin at the forty-first Academy Awards. She sang “Funny Girl” as her former Columbia label mate Barbra Streisand watched from her front-row seat. Nominated for best actress for her work in the film Funny Girl, Streisand shared the prize with Katharine Hepburn for The Lion in Winter.
“If I must say so myself, I pulled off that coup,” Ruth Bowen told me. “The producer wasn’t sure Aretha could handle a song like ‘Funny Girl.’ ‘Pah-leeeze,’ I told the man, ‘Aretha could sing the French national anthem better than Edith Piaf. When she’s through with “Funny Girl,” Ms. Streisand will never want to touch the goddamn song again.’ He listened to me and the day after the ceremony apologized for ever doubting my word. The appearance put Aretha in the center of mainstream American entertainment—a place she’d never lose.”
Aretha’s memories of the event were the Frank Sinatra introduction, the Arnold Scaasi gown Diahann Carroll wore to the Governor’s Ball, and her own outfit with an extravagant gold antler headdress. (She chose a color photograph of that Academy Awards appearance to grace the back of her autobiography.)
The higher her public profile, the greater her entrepreneurial ambitions. In May, for example, Jet reported that Aretha was planning her own magazine, Respect, and her own label, Respect Records.
“Both these ventures went nowhere,” said Ruth Bowen. “The plain truth is that Aretha lacks fundamental business sense. She’s not organized. She’s not disciplined. Every one of her nonmusic schemes has failed. I kept telling her—leave the business to us and just stick with your music.”
On May 26, Aretha returned to the music. She was back in the Atlantic studios in New York with the Muscle Shoals rhythm section—Barry Beckett on keys, Jimmy Johnson on guitar, David Hood on bass, and Roger Hawkins on drums. Eddie Hinton, whom Wexler called “the white Otis Redding,” and Duane Allman doubled on guitar on Aretha’s searing version of Jessie Hill and Dr. John’s “When the Battle Is Over.” She also sang Jimmy Reed’s “Honest I Do” and Carole King and Gerry Goffin’s “Oh No Not My Baby.”
By then Arif Mardin and Tommy Dowd had become full-fledged coproducers with Wexler.
“They were mainly in New York,” Wexler explained, “and I was mainly in Miami. Of course I came to every vocal session, but I was less hands-on. I was feeling less controlling and more willing to turn over many of the in-studio decisions to Tommy and Arif. To get the right sound, my presence really wasn’t required.”
“Aretha should have been listed as the fourth producer,” said Cecil. “She should have been listed as the main producer. She was the one who was really in charge at those sessions. I spoke to Wexler about it, but he wasn’t willing to budge. His point was that she got credit as the artist. She got all the glory she needed. Besides, he said, no one really cares about the producer anyway. Maybe so, but fair is fair and I felt strongly that her role was being hidden from the public. Aretha felt this way as well, but, given her lucrative history with Atlantic, she was unwilling to make waves. Her position was that Wexler’s promotional skills were as great as his producer skills. He had such high enthusiasm for everything Aretha did, he became her greatest cheerleader. She thought if she insisted on getting producer credit, he might be miffed and back off on that enthusiasm. I didn’t agree. Wexler and the Erteguns were making a fortune on my sister. They weren’t about to back off no matter what. Give her the credit she was due. Give her extra points for producing. Just be fair.”
That wouldn’t happen for several more years. Aretha went along with the program but not without resentment.
“There are passive-aggressive parts to my sister’s personality,” said Erma. “She lets her anger stew for weeks, months, or even years. Then something inconsequential will set her off and suddenly all the anger comes spilling out.”
Around the time of the “Honest I Do” session, Aretha learned that she was pregnant by Ken Cunningham.
“She was happy to know she was having a child with Ken,” said Ruth, “but she was also determined not to marry. She said one marriage had been enough. She was glad to be living with the man without any legal commitments. One commitment, though, that was damaged by her pregnancy was a weeklong engagement I had booked her in Vegas. This was a breakthrough for Aretha, both in terms of venue and fee. Vegas was the obvious next step up in her career. But then, Aretha being Aretha, she canceled at the last minute. When she told me it was because of morning sickness, I reminded her that she didn’t have to sing in the morning, only at night. The result was a legal mess.”
Jet reported, in its People Are Talking About column: “Soul singer Aretha Franklin and her whereabouts since she fell ill in Las Vegas and was unable to complete her engagement at the prestigious Caesar’s Palace. It was announced at the time that Miss Franklin was being rushed to Detroit to be put under the care of her physician, but a check with her
home days later brought the information that Miss Franklin was not there and, in fact, had not been home in several weeks.”
“Aretha was always getting caught in her little fibs,” said Ruth, “and it was my job to clean up after her.”
On July 24, 1969, Jet referred to its previous story:
“The mystery was cleared up when her friend and booking manager Ruth Bowen revealed that Aretha had been in Detroit’s Ford Hospital being treated for a throat infection and Mrs. Bowen declares, Aretha is ‘sicker over the fact I had to cancel two engagements, one in Tampa, Fla., and the other in New Orleans that would have enriched her bank account by $100,000.’ The two dates have been rescheduled as has the cancelled Caesar’s Palace engagement.”
That same summer, Carolyn remembered her sister’s reaction to the Stonewall riots in Greenwich Village, the spark that ignited the gay rights movement.
“My friends and I were talking about it as a great thing,” said Carolyn. “Civil rights had been a topic. Women’s rights were being discussed. Now for the first time there might be a conversation about gay rights. When I mentioned this to Aretha, though, she said that she found the topic distasteful.”
On July 26, the New York Times reported, “Aretha Franklin, the soul singer, pleaded guilty to a charge of disorderly conduct yesterday and was fined $50 in the Highland Park Municipal Court. The charges resulted from a traffic accident Tuesday night when, the authorities said, Miss Franklin became belligerent toward the police who investigated.”
“Her pregnancy was not easy,” said Ruth Bowen. “She was moodier than usual. One day she could be funny as hell—doing her Jimmy Durante or Judy Garland imitation. Aretha had a wonderful sense of humor and was also a great mimic. But the next day, forget it. When items about her ‘disorderly conduct’ appeared in the paper, her first instinct was to fire whatever publicist she had hired. Then she’d call one of her friends at Jet to clean up the story and give it another spin. Sometimes Jet cooperated, but sometimes they didn’t.”
