by David Ritz
“Just like that, she threw a fit. There was shoving and shouting until it took Reverend Jesse Jackson to come in and settle her down. I have no idea why she chose that moment to start this ridiculous family feud, but I’m afraid that’s Aretha. I’m not a psychologist, but if I had to describe my sister-in-law’s psychology, I’d say that it’s all about diva drama. That’s her default position. It’s hard for her, just like it’s hard for all of us, to deal with extreme sadness and loss. Rather than deal, she acts out. She goes to rage. Rage without reason. It’s crazy.”
“I can’t even remember what happened that day,” said Cecil. “I know that Ree and Earline had words, and I know that Ree was angry that the arrangements weren’t to her liking. But I was so lost in the memories of my dad, the greatest man I have ever known, that I wasn’t paying attention to anything else.”
“It was silly,” said Erma, “but it was also appropriate. Daddy was always there to break up family’s fights. But now that he was gone, who could stop the fights?”
“It was all about control,” said Carolyn. “Aretha had made the calls to those preachers that she wanted to eulogize Daddy. She had sent for Jesse and Jasper Williams. She had picked out the gospel songs she wanted sung. She had gone as far as to select the pews and seats where she wanted the family and honored guests to sit. She also wanted to control the procession. But when something seemed to go out of order, she lost it. I understood that. She was really losing it over the death of our dad. None of us can control death, so if we can control other stuff—a seating arrangement or a processional—that makes us feel less vulnerable and maybe less afraid. I know that with Daddy gone, Aretha felt more afraid than at any time in her life.”
“I remember talking to Aretha after the funeral,” said Ruth Bowen, “and thinking that this poor child would never be the same. I thought that his death would do one of two things—either make her more confident because she had to stand on her own, or make her more anxious because she had to live in a world without that magnificent man. She kept saying that she would be fine, that she just wanted to be certain that the press covered his death with the dignity that he deserved. I assured her that, with all my various contacts, I would do all I could to help.
“It wasn’t more than two weeks later that she called and said that she wanted me to ask one of my reporter friends to set up an interview. She wanted to explain that, now with her father gone, she was prepared to return to her career. I wasn’t quite sure what she meant. ‘For the past five years, since Daddy got sick, I’ve had to put my career on hold. I’ve had to sacrifice many things.’ I agreed that she had, in fact, sacrificed a great deal. At the same time, I pointed out that after his coma, she had hardly retired or put her career on hold. She’d done the Blues Brothers movie; she’d jumped from Atlantic to Arista, where she’d cut four albums and was about to cut a fifth. Rather than slow down, she had sped up. With the help of Clive and Luther and many others, she had revived her career. The story was just the opposite of the one she wanted to tell—rather than get down and depressed over what had happened to her daddy, she got up and got moving. Why not tell that story?
“ ‘Because it’s disrespectful and not true,’ said Aretha. ‘These things happened only after I made sure Daddy was cared for. I cared for him full-time while I worked on everything else part-time.’ There was no use arguing. As usual, Aretha was rewriting history the way it suited her. She wanted the history to show how the long-suffering devoted daughter gave up everything for her father. Well, it was one thing for Aretha to sell herself that story, but I sure as hell couldn’t sell it to a reporter. I didn’t even try. The facts just wouldn’t bear it out. Aretha finally dropped the idea. But not more than a year or two passed before I heard her tell some writer that same fable, only this time there was a twist. She said that only after her dad had passed could she really concentrate on turning out hits. She explained that the first time she really got back into her career wasn’t until after his funeral. That’s when Clive hooked her up with Narada Michael Walden and they had those hits—‘Who’s Zoomin’ Who?’ and the big one, ‘Freeway of Love.’ ”
In the mideighties, Narada Michael Walden was in the center of Clive Davis’s phenomenal pop-music mix. He had started off in the early seventies as a drummer. Replacing Billy Cobham in the Mahavishnu Orchestra, John McLaughlin’s celebrated jazz-fusion group, he made a name for himself as a percussion prodigy. By the late seventies, he had a deal with Atlantic, making soul-jazz-pop records under his own name. His first success came as a pop producer for teen soul singer Stacy Lattisaw.
“Clive was the one who hipped us to Narada,” said Cecil. “Clive has those ears for who’s hot and who’s not. He also had a feeling—and he was right—that Narada’s upbeat personality would be the right medicine for what had been ailing Aretha. Because of her legal dispute with Arista, she hadn’t recorded for a long while. And because of her fights with Luther, she was down on big-name producers. She thought they had too much ego. Clive said that she’d love Narada—and she did. Everyone does. He’s a new-age cat who believes in nothing but love, love, love. He does everything he can to make you happy. He understood that Ree needed to be treated like a queen. And more than anything, he came with the goods. He and his boys Preston Glass and Jeffrey Cohen had the smoking-est tracks.”
Narada, so named by his guru Sri Chinmoy, realized that the Aretha Franklin paradigm had shifted. There was a time when she had been willing to venture outside Detroit to record. But that time had passed. Now the world would have to come to her. She had set up permanent camp in Detroit. After her dad died, she lived with Cecil and Earline for a year before moving to a sprawling home in Bloomfield Hills, a woodsy, affluent suburb twenty miles north of the city. Over time, she would buy and sell several houses in Greater Detroit, but Bloomfield Hills would remain her command post. She could sing over tracks made elsewhere. Narada could work up the music in his Northern California studio and then fly out to Detroit for the vocal sessions at her preferred recording studios, like United Sound.
“Aretha dug in,” said Erma. “She moved way out there, bought a big house, and angered the neighbors by putting big ugly bars over all the windows. I said that, given the upscale neighborhood, she didn’t have to worry about crime. But after Daddy’s death, Aretha worried about everything a lot more. She said those bars made her feel secure—so the bars stayed.”
“Narada’s vibe helped her tremendously,” said Carolyn. “He had a carefree spirit that was the perfect counterbalance to what we’d just gone through with our father. He had good cheer and positive energy. His songs were all about bouncing along through life with a song in your heart—nothing dire or deep. Of course, Luther’s songs—like ‘Jump to It’ and ‘Get It Right’—also had a happy spirit, but Luther had emotional baggage, whereas Narada was a free spirit. I know that Narada was seen as a gift from Clive, but I saw him as a gift from God. He lightened the mood and led Ree, then in her early forties, into green pastures.”
“My relationship with Aretha,” Narada told me, “actually began when Dionne Warwick, who was recording for Clive, rejected a bunch of my songs. I adore Dionne but for whatever reason, we weren’t on the same page. Clive suggested that I work with Aretha. I jumped at the chance. I considered her hookup with Luther—‘Jump to It’—the height of new funk. I was inspired to take that funk even further. Our first call went well. I tried to be as delicate as I could because I knew her dad had just died. I said, ‘Aretha, I know you’ve gone through a lot recently, but when you want to relax, what do you do?’ She talked about going out to a club and seeing a cute guy at a nearby table. ‘I might look his way, he might look mine, and just when he thinks the fish is about to take the bait, the fish jumps off the line and he’s wondering, “Baby, who’s zooming who.” ’ She cracked me up and I took careful notes of her storytelling nuances. It was really her story, so she and my close partner Preston Glass and I became co-composers of ‘Who’s Zoomin’ Who?’ Beca
use she wasn’t leaving home, I flew to Detroit to produce that and another I wrote, ‘Until You Say You Love Me.’
“The minute she walked into Studio B of United Sound, where she did all her recording, I could feel the strain she’d been under. Nothing is tougher than losing a parent. I’d never met anyone so vulnerable. I could do little more than gently touch her hand. I knew it was my responsibility to treat her with ultimate sensitivity and respect. She appreciated that and slowly warmed to me and my approach. I wanted her to give ‘Zoomin’ ’ the full ’Retha treatment—and she did just that. Before starting, she warmed up with these incredible octave runs and then sang the hell outta the song. Did all the parts. Nailed the sucker in no time. Same with the ballad ‘Until You Say You Love Me.’ I was thrilled when she said she wanted more.
“Went back to my studio by the San Francisco Bay and, at the suggestion of Preston Glass, took a song I’d written with Jeffrey Cohen for my album and decided to give it to Aretha. This was ‘Freeway of Love.’ I sent her the track and heard back immediately. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, and the next day I was flying back to Detroit. First day the weather was bad. Got a call from Aretha saying, ‘See that snow outside?’ ‘Yes, Queen, I do.’ ‘Well, I don’t drive in the snow.’ ‘No problem.’ Second day it was still snowing. Another call from the Queen. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘but if you look out the window you’ll understand why I’m still not coming down to the studio.’ ‘I understand.’ Third day was the same. On the fourth day the weather broke and she showed up in her mink splendor. I poured on the honey. With the Queen, you can’t pour on too much honey and you can’t display too much patience. She has that Aries streak. Confrontation will not work with Aretha. Sweetness will.”
That recording—“Freeway of Love”—would become Aretha’s biggest record since “Respect.”
“It was a monster hit with all the right elements,” said Cecil. “Narada had the smarts not only to plug into the mythology of motor-crazy Detroit, but he tapped into the Springsteen vibe by using Clarence Clemons on tenor sax. Clarence tore up the track. In the MTV age, the song was also video-friendly. Fact is, it was Aretha’s first real video hit. She got her hair shorn in a super-hip extra-edgy mod cut and was ready to roll. It crossed over, became a pop hit, became Ree’s first number-one dance hit, and got her another Grammy. It did everything we could ask for—and she never had to leave Detroit.”
The success came at just the right time. Aretha’s money problems had returned due to her last-minute cancellation of the Mahalia Jackson project. She not only refused to fly to any of the venues where the play was scheduled but also decided that the drives were too long.
“Naturally we got sued,” said Cecil. “The entire enterprise rested on Aretha playing Mahalia. The contracts had been signed and the excuses didn’t wash. Aretha’s attitude was Well, our legal expenses will be good tax write-offs. When our accountant told us those expenses couldn’t be written off, Aretha fired the accountant.”
Responding to the success of Who’s Zoomin’ Who?, Aretha told the Chicago Tribune, “This is by no means a comeback. I am a contemporary artist. Artists like myself and Smokey and Tina and Diana are firmly established artists and kind of roll right along. I used to tell Jerry Wexler that everything is not about a hit; some things are purely artistic.”
Wexler laughed when he read the quote. “She turned that scenario around,” he said. “I was the one who told her that not everything is about hits. I told her to go for the art. Look, ‘Freeway’ was a clever pop confection—a bit of radio-friendly airplay—but it was nothing more than a product of the Clive Davis hit machine. It was ear candy. You can’t put her vocal on ‘Freeway’ in the same category as ‘Dr. Feelgood’ or ‘Think.’ Credit Aretha and Narada for being clever and slick. Getting a hit is never easy and not to be taken for granted. I applaud them for staying current. Not everyone can stay current. But whatever you do, don’t call it art.”
“A great dance groove,” said Luther, “is undoubtedly artful. I gave Aretha several of those grooves, and so did Narada. The creation of those grooves, like the creation of a fine silk suit or a piece of jade jewelry, is considerable work. For my part, I call it art.”
“Doesn’t matter what you call it—soul, R-and-B, or rock and roll,” said Cecil, “the song sold and sold big. If you wanna be a big-time player in the music biz, sales is all that matters. And no matter what Ree says or does, whether she’s living the high life in California or kicking back in the burbs of Detroit, Aretha is a player. And nothing is ever gonna change that.”
In order to increase her presence as a major player, Aretha realized that she had to be more mobile. She called Jet to publicly announce the end of her flying phobia. The magazine reported, “After ending her period of mourning the death of her father Rev. C. L. Franklin Sr., singer Aretha Franklin returned to the concert circuit with four shows in her Detroit hometown. The Queen of Soul not only conquered the enthusiastic show crowds, but she has also harnessed her fear of flying and is ready to start jetting across the nation on a concert tour.”
That proved not to be the case.
“I booked a couple of tours,” said Ruth Bowen, “only to cancel them. Aretha never made it further than the airport. This is when my patience started running out. I got on her case. I said, ‘Girl, these last-minute cancellations are costing you a fortune. You can’t afford to keep messing up like this.’ She accused me of being insensitive. She said I lacked understanding, and the next thing I knew, I was fired. A few weeks later Dick Alen, a big-time agent at William Morris in LA, began booking her.”
“The first time I heard ‘Freeway of Love’ on the radio, I knew it was going to be huge,” Alen told me. “I contacted her lawyer and asked whether she might consider new representation. My timing was good. She was no longer with Ruth Bowen and was open to the idea of working with a prestigious international agency. We had briefly met earlier in her career. In the sixties, I had managed King Curtis, her musical director. I knew Jerry Wexler as well as Clive Davis. We had many mutual friends. In the light of what would soon become a major hit, I thought she had a huge earning potential. To land her as a client was a major coup.”
For the next twenty-seven years, Dick Alen booked the majority of Aretha’s engagements. On several occasions he was fired—as Aretha would fire practically all those who worked for her—but he exhibited more staying power than even the remarkably tenacious Ruth Bowen.
“That’s because Dick never had a really personal relationship with Aretha like I did,” explained Ruth. “With Dick it was always business. And that’s good. That makes it easy. But because I was something of a mother or older sister to Aretha, I got tangled up in her emotional life. Even in the years after Dick was booking her, she’d call me. The call might have to do with her make-believe fairy-tale love life. Or it might have to do with her financial woes. She might be crying the blues about Mr. Wonderful having two-timed her. Or she might want to know if I had a high-paying gig that would let her pay off some debt. ‘I thought Dick Alen was getting you your gigs,’ I’d say. ‘He is, but that doesn’t mean you can’t earn a fat commission if you come up with something quick.’ I got pissed at her and she got pissed at me. But we knew each other very, very well and we loved each other. I knew that deep down, she has a good heart. Aretha’s a loyal daughter and a good sister. She has her problems and I understand all of them.
“Dick Alen didn’t know her on this level. And to his credit, he didn’t need to. He just needed to keep making her money. And he also needed patience. He had patience—that’s one of his strongest traits. Look at his other major clients—Little Richard and Chuck Berry. He worked for those guys as long as he worked for Aretha. For an agent to rep Aretha, Richard, and Chuck and not suffer a nervous breakdown requires fortitude. Hand it to Dick—the man put up with as much shit as any manager or agent in showbiz history.”
The year after C.L.’s death, 1985, proved positive for Aretha. She had new management in p
lace, her dispute with Arista was resolved, and she recorded a new album with a new producer.
“Above all, Aretha is resilient,” Erma explained. “She goes through losses, she goes through moods, she has her falling-outs with family members or friends or management, but she bounces back. I admire that. She takes her reign seriously. She once told me that if Queen Elizabeth gets to be queen for the duration of her life, why not Queen Aretha? Ree loves and protects her throne. She’s not about to let anyone come and grab it. I see that as a good thing. That’s the thing that gets her through.”
The record that helped sustain her upward climb—Who’s Zoomin’ Who?—is a product of its time. Overall, it has a cold and mechanical feel, typical of the eighties obsession with hard-driving studio-created sonics. Its influences range from Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” to Michael Sembello’s “Maniac.” In comparison to disco—the prominent dance music of the previous decade—this material has a far more frantic feel. There’s little emotional softness, little vulnerability.
“I see the eighties as a time when music went for the jugular and artists went for the money,” said Luther Vandross. “You can hear the influence of the Reagan years where the idea is every man for himself. Sixties music had a high political awareness. Seventies music was about liberation in many areas. But the eighties are when blatant materialism comes to the forefront. I’m not saying great artists didn’t emerge in the eighties. Prince came on strong, and Michael Jackson did his greatest work. Thriller was the ultimate eighties album. The eighties was when I found my own voice. What we all had in common, though, was a burning desire to sell, sell, sell.”
