Respect: The Life of Aretha Franklin

by David Ritz

  “Don’t know why they held the album back except that Sam was having serious drug problems back then,” said Wexler. “Drug problems or not, the album was a monster.”

  “Aretha hadn’t performed live in nearly a year,” said Ruth. “She had given birth to Kecalf, she had gone in the studio and cut Spirit in the Dark, and I thought she was ready to finally do the big Vegas gig. I couldn’t get her back at Caesar’s, where she had canceled, but I did convince the International Hotel to book her. The engagement came in June. She was not in great shape. I don’t know whether she had started drinking again, but I suspected as much. Her voice was not in top shape. Emotionally, she was extremely fragile. When I asked Cecil if there was anything I could do to help, he said, ‘We just need to leave her alone. She’ll get through this.’ She did, but just barely. When I learned what happened a few weeks later in St. Louis, I was not surprised.”

  “Aretha Falls Ill in St. Louis; Treated in New York” read the Jet headline from July 16, 1970. In the article, WVON DJ and promoter Pervis Spann said, “I had to refund about $50,000 to fans. I’m the big money loser. And I want to say I was with Aretha, went to Detroit and got her for the show we were staging at St. Louis’s Kiel Auditorium. We had a 6,000-person audience and after she sang one song (‘Respect’) she couldn’t sing another. She broke down. She’s now in New York under special care. I want everyone to know there was no stimulants involved whatsoever. The woman just took sick. She had a nervous breakdown from extreme personal problems.”

  “The sudden disappearance of Aretha was a frequent occurrence,” said Wexler. “Ruth Bowen or brother Cecil would call and simply say, ‘She needs to get away. It may take a while.’ No one used the word nervous breakdown, but we knew.”

  “Sometimes she’d call me,” said Erma, “or sometimes she’d call Carolyn. She’d talk about getting away from it all. She’d say she was going too fast, that the demands were too great, that too many people were pulling her in too many different directions. There were times when Carolyn and I would go and simply sit with her. Cecil of course would do the same. ‘Please don’t tell Daddy what I’m going through,’ she’d tell me. ‘He doesn’t need to know.’ But of course he knew. He knew better than anyone. He knew that, for all her drive to keep making recordings and doing shows and increasing her status as a star, she was a mess inside. She had huge fears she was not willing to look at or even name. But when those fears got too big, she’d break down. Cecil would put her in a hospital somewhere in remote Connecticut so the press wouldn’t find out. Cecil called it ‘nervous exhaustion.’ She’d get her rest, she’d renew her strength, and she’d be back out there again. This is the pattern that continued for years.”

  When I asked Carolyn what Aretha’s exact fears were, she said, “I think she was basically afraid that she wasn’t enough. Crazy as it sounds, she was afraid that she wasn’t good enough as a singer, pretty enough as a woman, or devoted enough as a mother. I don’t know what to call it except deep, deep insecurity. Psychoanalysts might have determined the source of the insecurity had she gone into therapy, but that’s not her style. Her style was to either drink away the anxiety or, when that stopped working, disappear for a while, find her bearings, and go right back onstage and wear the crown of the impervious diva.”

  She was, in fact, back onstage that summer when she played the Antibes Jazz Festival on the French Riviera. Also on the bill were Archie Shepp, Grant Green, Erroll Garner, Lionel Hampton, the Clara Ward Singers, and Stan Getz.

  “I had been told that she looked at Clara Ward the way I looked at Lester Young,” Getz told me. “Clara was the original. Clara was the template. And Clara was terrific, an inspired gospel singer who knew how to entertain. But Aretha went so much deeper. She cried with pain that was almost too intense to consider. I was deeply moved and artistically inspired. But I felt afraid for her. She was channeling more emotion than one human being could bear. I remember approaching her, just to say a few words of appreciation. Her brother was a jazz fan and knew who I was. Aretha knew my work as well. She said something like ‘Oh, yes, Mr. Getz, I enjoy your recordings,’ and then looked away. She couldn’t look me in the eye. She wouldn’t allow any discussion whatsoever. She was too troubled to deal with me, a stranger eager to offer words of comfort and encouragement.”

  She returned to the United States in mid-August and showed up at the Atlantic studios in New York, ready to record.

  “They were all covers,” said Wexler, “but what’s fascinating is which covers emerged as hits and which didn’t. She sang Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s ‘Border Song (Holy Moses)’ with great passion, and it did all right, but it languished on the R-and-B charts and never got anywhere on the pop charts. That’s significant because our sales strategy with Aretha never changed. It was the same sales strategy that had been in place with black artists for decades. They hit on the R-and-B charts and then you hope the success crosses over to the white charts, the pop charts. The R-and-B audience, though, didn’t relate to the opaque lyrics of the ‘Border Song.’ The flower children were into ambiguous stories with disconnected imagery, but not Aretha’s core fans. Those fans did relate, though, to Paul Simon’s ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water,’ which can be read as straight-up gospel. It’s a magnificent hymn, a song of hope and redemption, the kind of message Aretha and her audience love. It shot to number one on the R-and-B charts before going top-ten pop.”

  After the sessions, Aretha traveled to California to fulfill several professional obligations. There were indications of her fear of flying, a phobia that would build over the next decade.

  In September 1970, Jet reported on the cross-country train trip Aretha would be making with “warm friend Ken Cunningham.” The article spoke about her European tour, where “the demand for her appearance had been building to a deafening crescendo,” as well as her upcoming TV appearance. It also noted that she was taking the train from New York to Hollywood because of her trepidation about flying. “The slow trip will be kinda romantic,” said Aretha.

  In October she recorded the This Is Tom Jones television variety show in Los Angeles and was brilliant. She appears healthy, vibrant, and happy. In the first sequence, she wears a glittery silver turban and, with ferocious confidence and subtle aplomb, tears up “Say a Little Prayer.” From then on, she shares duties with Tom, who is obviously inspired and at his blue-eyed soul-singing best. The second sequence has Aretha in a black-and-gold African headdress giving a delicious reading of Tom’s “It’s Not Unusual,” a further demonstration of her rare ability to turn the superficial into the profound. Together she, Tom, and a gang of go-go dancers rock through “See Saw” and find the beating heart of “Spirit in the Dark.” In the third sequence, seated at the piano—no headgear this time, just a perfectly coiffed Afro—Aretha sings “The Party’s Over” with exquisite restraint and unerring taste. Tom has some trouble making the switch from soul to straight-up jazz, but Aretha shows him the way.

  “The show was wonderful,” said Ruth Bowen, “and I congratulated her on her success, but I couldn’t allow her to stay in California. She wanted to hang around and just bask in the sun. Aretha has a strong lazy streak. But I wasn’t about to cancel the New York date I had booked. Philharmonic Hall was sold out. I can’t tell you how many previous New York gigs she had canceled. I just couldn’t go through it again. But she kept putting off the return trip until there was no time to take the train. So I had Cecil, Erma, and Carolyn fly to LA and fly back with her to New York. That’s how Erma and Carolyn wound up singing with her that night.”

  “Erma opened the show,” remembered Carolyn, “and broke it up with ‘Little Piece of My Heart.’ I followed and sang ‘Chain Reaction.’ We each had fifteen or twenty minutes, and we were grateful for the chance. We had helped Ree get through a couple of very difficult months and now she was helping us get the exposure we had both been seeking. She also had dancers and percussionists from Olatunji’s school. When she came out after intermission, ther
e was a symphony orchestra, an eighteen-piece jazz band, and the Sweet Inspirations behind her. It was among her greatest performances. Not that many weeks earlier she’d been in the throes of a breakdown, yet here she was, commanding the stage and thrilling the audience. I realized that, in fact, the truest healing Aretha receives happens when she sings. That’s when she’s able to purge her demons, find her center, and connect with the creative power of a loving God.”

  In November, Aretha and Wexler were back in the Atlantic studios in New York where she recorded two songs. The first, “Oh Me Oh My (I’m a Fool for You, Baby),” would be released on the flip side of the single “Rock Steady” a year later. The second, “Young, Gifted, and Black,” would wind up on her 1972 album of the same name.

  “Wexler had me come in and play organ that day,” Billy Preston told me. “Naturally, I was honored. I’d known Aretha forever. We’d come up in church together. We were both students of James Cleveland and made in the same musical mold. I love this lady. I remember feeling the way I felt when I first got to play behind Ray Charles. The electrical charge was almost too strong to be contained. I also remember that she and Jerry Wexler were discussing whether she should sing ‘Young, Gifted, and Black.’ Wexler was trying to be diplomatic. He said that Nina Simone had not only written it but nailed it so strong that maybe Aretha should leave it alone. Wexler told Aretha the story of how Ray Charles had told him that he’d never sing ‘The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)’ ’cause Nat Cole had nailed it so strong. While this discussion was going on, I kept quiet. I was just there as a sideman. But when Aretha turned to me and said, ‘What do you think, Billy?’ I had to say, ‘I think you’ll crush it, Ree. I think you’ll make them forget about Nina.’ And that’s just what she did.”

  After the session, Aretha flew to Las Vegas, where, Jet reported, Sammy Davis Jr. had promised the International Hotel that if she did not show, he would perform in her place.

  “Sammy was a client and a dear friend,” Ruth Bowen said. “He made this guarantee for Aretha as a favor to me. Sammy has had his share of emotional breakdowns so he’s especially sensitive to fragile artists. Besides, given the dozens of cancellations that had marred her history, this was the only way I got the International to book her for two weeks.”

  In addressing rumors of a nervous breakdown, Aretha told Jet, “I was all fouled up.” The article goes on to say, “Today, apparently at ease with the world, she credits her triumph over her ‘hangups’ to a Detroit doctor and ‘mindreader’ who, she says, ‘straightened me out.’ When the subject gets around to her these days, she confides: ‘I’m together now. Everything’s groovy.’ And she adds, ‘I want to get into acting. And I’m not talking about acting in musicals. I’m talking about dramatic acting.’ ”

  A month later, in its December 3 issue, Jet caught her in an unusually political mood.

  “There was a period when, like many of us, she expressed a degree of militancy,” said Cecil. “We’d come from this highly charged political background and were raised by a father unafraid to speak his mind. And though it might not have been anything the mainstream wanted to hear, Aretha wasn’t about to hold back. Why should she?”

  The Jet headline read: “Aretha Says She’ll Go Angela’s Bond If Permitted.” The article stated that Angela Davis, the twenty-six-year-old former UCLA philosophy instructor, was being held in New York without bond pending extradition to San Rafael, California, where she faced kidnapping and conspiracy indictments in connection with a courtroom escape attempt that took four lives. “My daddy says I don’t know what I’m doing,” Aretha told Jet. “Well, I respect him, of course, but I’m going to stick to my beliefs. Angela Davis must go free. Black people will be free… I know you got to disturb the peace when you can’t get no peace. Jail is hell to be in. I’m going to see her free if there is any justice in our courts, not because I believe in communism, but because she’s a Black woman and she wants freedom for Black people. I have the money; I got it from Black people—they’ve made me financially able to have it—and I want to use it in ways that will help our people.”

  Two weeks later, Jet reported that Franklin and her family were forming a charitable foundation into which funds from “at least five concerts a year” would be funneled. Aretha said she wanted the money to be used primarily to help welfare mothers.

  “I encouraged my sister’s political stances,” said Cecil. “I think they helped her. When she was politically engaged, she regained a stronger sense of herself. Political involvement took the concentration off herself and her personal problems. It got her out of herself. When her emotional fragility was at its greatest, I’d often give her an article about what was happening in politics—just to bring her back to earth. Some say that her ‘Spirit in the Dark’ was about sex. Some say it was about God. But there was also a powerful political spirit that was sweeping through the country in the early seventies. Aretha was part of that spirit. She contributed to it and, in many ways, gave it a voice.”

  18. RIGHT REVEREND

  In late January, Aretha was in New York, where, at the Atlantic studios, she recorded “First Snow in Kokomo,” certainly her most abstract composition. It is the only Aretha song written out of rhythm. There’s no groove whatsoever. Aretha explained to me that Kokomo, Indiana, was the home of Ken Cunningham’s mother, a woman she adored. She had gone there with Ken on a family visit, and she fell into a reflective mood as she described how Cunningham and his New Breeder artist friends were hanging out and playing music. A couple expecting a child dropped by. The atmosphere was calm. For a few blissful days, Aretha found a way to get off the grid. No touring, no recording, no career demands.

  “There were moments in her relationship with Ken when she could finally relax,” said Carolyn. “In many ways, that relationship was healing. You listen to ‘Kokomo’ and you begin to understand the kind of life that, from time to time, Aretha fantasized for herself—a life of domestic bliss. When she played the song for me in the studio, I felt sad, knowing that, given her talent and ambition, that kind of calm and easy life would probably never be realized. At the same time, it was a beautiful moment that she let you see the completely chilled-out Aretha. It’s Aretha as the observer of life rather than Aretha in the center of the action. Erma and I both sang background on the song and were extremely moved. It showed us that Aretha had the quiet heart of a poet. It was a very simple but also a very poignant statement. In the end, though, it was something of a fairy tale.”

  “The song really resonated with me because it came at a time when I was at the end of my own fairy tale,” said Erma. “Mine was about having a big career and becoming a major star. In truth, I had forged a small career and was a minor star. In 1971, I felt it was time to wake up to reality. I loved singing. I loved show business. I loved the records I had made. But I could not maintain myself as an entertainer. I was no longer able to make a living. I decided to leave New York, move back to Detroit, and raise my children. I needed a regular job with a steady paycheck and benefits. I found that job at Boysville, a wonderful child-care agency and the largest in Michigan, where I worked my way up as a program developer and fund-raiser. I bought a house in northwest Detroit and was blessed when my daughter, Sabrina, then a teenager, moved in with me. I found a great deal of domestic happiness that eluded me for years. To me, that’s the theme of ‘First Snow in Kokomo’—the dream of domestic happiness.”

  “Being a single woman without children,” said Carolyn, “I was in a much different position than Erma. My intention was to continue to pursue my career, both as a performing artist and writer. I still had my deal with RCA in place, and I was planning on not only composing the majority of the songs for my next album but producing it as well. I hated to see how Aretha never got the credit for being her own full-fledged producer at Atlantic. I was determined that would not happen to me.”

  “Aretha came out of the sixties, when producers dominated,” said Ruth Bowen. “The artists wer
e beholden to the producer. Wexler ran his operation with an iron fist. He wasn’t about to give up producing money to an artist. Look at Motown. The producers were in control. The artists were interchangeable parts. It wasn’t until Marvin Gaye rebelled against the system and produced his own What’s Going On that things began to change. But that wasn’t until 1971.”

  “I started pushing for Aretha to get producer credit around the time of Spirit in the Dark,” said Cecil. “Everyone knew that she was the key element in putting those records together. But if you look at the albums, you keep seeing the names of Jerry Wexler, Tommy Dowd, and Arif Mardin as producers. It’s true that Jerry was the man in charge. It’s true that Tommy was a great engineer and Arif a great arranger. But Aretha had the big vision for how the songs should sound. Aretha had the arrangements—both instrumental and vocal—in her head. She provided the harmonies, she provided the grooves, she had the musical vibe that made her records distinct. But Aretha didn’t want to rock the boat. She was making big money with this team. She was turning out hit after hit, and she was afraid of making too many waves. She figured that she had enough problems of her own without creating problems with her record company. She was not a happy person.”

  “The fast-paced thrills that are an essential part of show business do not promote personal happiness,” said Ruth Bowen. “Most entertainers are too overstimulated, by adulation or wealth, to keep their feet planted firmly on the ground. Aretha is no exception. Even though she was deeply in love with Ken Cunningham, she also had not cut off her relationship with Dennis Edwards. That complicated things enormously. But even more demanding than her romantic desires was her career. Her career wanted her attention and got it. And, believe me, she wanted her career as much as her career wanted her. If you ask me, that was her essential relationship.”