Respect: The Life of Aretha Franklin

by David Ritz

  “Aretha likes being on the cutting edge,” said Cecil, “and that’s exactly where she was with Narada. It was Clive’s idea to pair Ree with Annie Lennox. Clive is the king of duets. He likes to say that the heat from one artist can benefit another. The Eurythmics were coming off their big hit ‘Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This),’ and Annie supposedly idolized Aretha. Dave Stewart, the other half of the Eurythmics, was called in to produce it. He and Annie wrote ‘Sisters Are Doing It for Themselves.’ A few people said it was too feminist for Aretha, that Aretha has always been a man’s woman. But, man, Ree is the original feminist. If she ain’t the one in charge, who is?”

  Interviewed about the duet some years later in Billboard, Annie Lennox said, “Well, I’ll tell you the honest truth about that. In my mind, that song was written for Tina Turner. Aretha didn’t know who we were; she didn’t have a clue. I was quite intimidated, because how can you sing with Aretha? It’s just, ‘Try to stay on the bicycle.’ I just wanted her to feel comfortable.”

  “Next, Clive put Aretha with Peter Wolf,” said Cecil, “the voice of the J. Geils Band. The idea was to capture some of that white rock-and-roll market. Aretha didn’t mind. She agreed, as long as Clive let her sing and produce two tracks of her own choice. She wrote ‘Integrity’ and then decided to sing ‘Sweet Bitter Love,’ the same Van McCoy she sang in the early sixties on Columbia.”

  It’s fascinating to compare the two versions. The earlier “Sweet Bitter Love” has a purity that’s heartbreaking; the eighties interpretation is bolder. Aretha’s riffs are far more daring; she’s determined to drain the song dry—and she does.

  “I followed Aretha’s career,” said Carmen McRae. “All serious singers did. We knew she had the deepest chops and the deepest soul. You had to wonder about what she was going to sing next. When I heard ‘Freeway of Love,’ I wasn’t happy. Because it was a hit, I knew she’d probably go on making similar-type records. They weren’t bad but they didn’t match her genius. They sure as hell didn’t bring out her genius. A good comparison is Sarah Vaughan. She had only one big hit, ‘Broken Hearted Melody,’ back in the fifties. It was cowritten by Hal David, the guy who wrote all those hits with Burt Bacharach. It was probably the weakest song Sarah ever sung—and she knew it. She told me that Hal David gave her other songs, but none of them sold. If they had, they might have ruined her career artistically. Without any more hits, Sarah went back to singing jazz. She spent the rest of her life singing old standards and new ones like ‘Send in the Clowns.’ She recorded the greatest music of her career—all because she wasn’t a hit maker and had to rely on quality and quality alone. That’s what I was hoping Aretha would do. I was hoping that she’d pick a piano player like Ella had picked Tommy Flanagan and just go out there with a trio. I was hoping she’d take her place as one of the greatest jazz singers of the century. That wouldn’t mean she couldn’t sing her hits. With a super-tasteful trio, she could do her R-and-B material. The emphasis, though, would be on the beauty of her voice. We’d get to hear her interpret and improvise and make every song her own. Look, I understand the temptations of the marketplace. But some artists are made to transcend the marketplace. Some artists are made to record the absolute best material without consideration to commerce or any other goddamn thing. When I heard ‘Freeway,’ I knew that Aretha was moving in a whole ’nother direction. She was moving to the money.”

  On August 3, Billboard reported, “Aretha Franklin’s ‘Freeway of Love’ this week leaps to No. 1 on the black and dance club charts, and to number 12 on the pop chart. It’s Lady Soul’s 20th No. 1 black hit, which is more than any other artist has had in the chart’s 36-year history.”

  By winter Who’s Zoomin’ Who? had sold a million copies. In December, Nelson George in Billboard wrote, “The platinum success of Aretha Franklin’s Who’s Zoomin’ Who is a textbook example of the fact that, in the age of mass communications, touring is becoming increasingly anachronistic… Franklin has delivered the most commercial album of her post-soul career.”

  Nelson went on to explain that three of her videos—“Freeway of Love,” “Who’s Zoomin’ Who?,” and “Sisters Are Doing It for Themselves”—gained heavy airplay, while interviews with Entertainment Tonight, the CBS Morning News, and People magazine kept her profile high. He also mentioned a McDonald’s commercial that Aretha taped with the great Chicago soul singer Jerry Butler.

  “No doubt, Aretha’s comeback was in full swing,” said Erma. “Once again, it was my sister’s time. It was also a time when two other important black women came on the scene, who gave Aretha credit in very different ways. I’m talking about Whitney Houston and Oprah Winfrey.”

  Winfrey, whose morning talk show had overtaken Phil Donahue’s and was on the brink of national syndication, told Ebony that when she ran away from home at thirteen, she found herself walking the streets of Milwaukee, where she happened to see Aretha sitting in a limo. Oprah invented a sob story that the singer bought, to the tune of two hundred dollars. That act of kindness endeared Aretha to Oprah forever.

  Through his A&R staff, Clive Davis had heard about Whitney Houston, the daughter of Cissy Houston. He saw her potential, signed her to Arista, closely supervised her debut album, Whitney Houston, and promoted it unceasingly. The record’s three number-one singles—“Saving All My Love for You,” “The Greatest Love of All,” and the Narada Michael Walden–produced “How Will I Know”—would eventually help the album sell some twenty-five million copies.

  Whitney told Jet that she cherished the memory of going to the studio to watch her mom work with Aretha, whom she called Aunt Ree.

  “Whitney’s star was rising at the exact same time Aretha had clawed her way back,” said Ruth Bowen. “There was real affection between the two women, but there was also resentment on Aretha’s part. This was a replay of Aretha’s reaction to Natalie Cole. It was Whitney’s ‘Saving All My Love for You’ that knocked Ree’s ‘Freeway’ from first position. And, in the months to come, it was Whitney who was getting the lion’s share of publicity. Whitney was being called the great new diva. Some were even calling her the new Aretha. Whitney was a gorgeous reed-thin model, while, with each passing year, Aretha was putting on the pounds to the point where she was no longer pleasantly plump. Girlfriend was fat.”

  “Doesn’t take much to bring out my sister’s competitive side,” said Cecil, “and Whitney did just that. In the same way [Aretha] never liked how Atlantic had Roberta Flack on the label at the same time as her, she wasn’t thrilled that Clive seemed to be spending more ad sales on Whitney than her. Ree was naturally thrilled that she won a Grammy for ‘Freeway’—best R-and-B female vocal—but was dismayed that Whitney won the best pop performance for ‘Saving All My Love for You.’ Aretha thought—and I agree—that ‘Freeway’ was basically pop and ‘Saving’ basically R-and-B. Of course, all R-and-B singers want pop awards and pop sales because pop is bigger. Aretha saw Who’s Zoomin’ Who? as her big pop album and she was convinced that it would have been far bigger if Clive hadn’t been preoccupied with turning Whitney into a crossover act.”

  29. DIVA-FICATION

  The repackaging of Aretha Franklin was no easy task,” said Jerry Wexler. “I never could have done it. I lacked the vision of a Clive Davis. Only someone like Clive, with his uncanny understanding of the marketing behind music, could have realized how to sell her on a grander scale. Clive knew that he had to more than pick her producers, writers, and duet partners. He had to turn her into a diva.”

  “I call it the diva-fication of Aretha,” said Erma. “And it all came about because of Clive. He saw that the public loved divas. Fans loved to see women who appear larger than life—women who wear fabulous gowns and date dashing men. These are women with tempers even bigger than their talents. Through sheer will, they can overcome anything. We like them because, even though they may make unreasonable demands and throw all kinds of fits, they entertain us. They make us feel good because nothing can defeat them. That’s Aretha.


  “She had called her last album on Atlantic La Diva, but at the time, the label didn’t stick. It was too early. And, sales-wise, she was too cold. But by the middle of the eighties, she had more than earned that title. It also helped that Clive commissioned artists like Andy Warhol and Peter Max to do the covers of her albums. That was the final touch on the diva-fication.”

  “I thought she should have called the album with the Andy Warhol portrait Look to the Rainbow because she sang that old standard—the one we knew from Dinah Washington’s version—so beautifully,” said Carolyn. “She agreed. But when Ree saw the Warhol portrait, she said the album had to be called Aretha. ‘But that was the name of your first Arista record,’ I said. ‘This is your sixth.’ ‘Makes no difference,’ she said. ‘It’s my name and I’ll use it for as many titles as I want.’ ”

  The album, produced by Narada Michael Walden and released in 1986, contained one huge hit—“I Knew You Were Waiting (for Me),” a duet with George Michael, that went to number one on the pop charts in 1987. Clive Davis viewed Michael, who had recently left Wham! and had scored solo hits on his own, as another crossover key for Aretha.

  “I thought the song was boring,” said Carolyn, “and rather routine. The lyrics were lame. But my opinion didn’t matter. It was a marketing decision made by Clive and embraced by Aretha. And it worked.”

  “George Michael was incredibly stoked to get to sing with the Queen,” said Narada. “He flew to Detroit the day after Aretha had done her vocal. He did his on day two, and on day three they got together for the ad libs. She destroyed everyone. I noticed that when it came to women, Aretha had this sharp competitive edge, but with men she was perfectly cool.”

  Pleased that her forays into rock were working, Aretha decided to up the ante.

  “It was her idea to sing ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ and get Keith Richards to produce it,” said Cecil.

  In Richards’s autobiography Life, he confirms Cecil’s statement: “Aretha Franklin called up because she was making a movie called Jumpin’ Jack Flash, with Whoopi Goldberg, and she wanted me to produce the title track for it.”

  Actually, Penny Marshall was making the movie, and the song, sung by Aretha with Whoopi in the background, would be included as a musical highlight. Aretha was adamant, though, that it was Keith who called and recruited her to redo his song.

  Either way, she growled her way through the rock anthem with both Keith and Ron Wood on guitar, future American Idol judge Randy Jackson on bass, and Steve Jordan on drums.

  “Give Keith credit,” said Jerry Wexler, “because when he produced his song, he made sure Aretha not only sang but played piano. Keith understood what I had learned years before—when Aretha is anchored at the keyboard, it’s a stronger and more organic overall performance. She becomes her own rhythm section and all power flows from her.”

  Whoopi, Keith, and Ron then flew to Detroit to shoot the video, in which Aretha styled her hair in a purple punk ponytail.

  “Aretha was loving these collaborations,” said Cecil. “It was her idea to do the next one with Larry Graham.”

  A brilliant bassist and contributing architect to the newfangled funk developed in the sixties as a member of Sly and the Family Stone, Graham led his own band, Graham Central Station, in the seventies and had enjoyed solo hits as a singer in the eighties, notably “One in a Million.” Aretha liked the quality of his bass-baritone voice and thought he’d make a good duet partner.

  “It’s another so-so ballad,” said Carolyn. “I’m not saying it’s terrible, but Aretha knew damn well that I had at least a half dozen ballads that were four times as good. When I asked her why she wasn’t singing any of my songs, all she said was that Clive had to approve everything—and he thought my stuff sounded like the seventies. I did notice, though, that she was able to get one of her songs on the album, ‘He’ll Come Along.’ That song went nowhere. The truth is that it had been fifteen years since Aretha had written a hit. ‘Rock Steady’ was way back in 1971. But that didn’t stop her on insisting that nearly every album she cut include at least one or two of her own songs. I understand that she did that to get the publishing income. But in doing that, she also hurt herself by ignoring the work of other songwriters—namely, me.”

  A mediocre melody, “He’ll Come Along” was, according to Erma, a song about Willie Wilkerson, the fireman who would become Aretha’s only public boyfriend for the next twenty-five years. The song is about Aretha waiting for Mr. Right.

  “In many ways, Willie was Mr. Right,” said Erma. “He’s warm and affable, a wonderful guy who has the even temperament to deal with Aretha. He became one of the steadiest influences in her life. He put up with a lot but always remained loyal. I give him major credit.”

  “Willie stayed around while Aretha started talking to the press about her fantasy lovers—that Mr. Mystique business,” said Ruth Bowen. “He knew that they were fairy tales. But Willie was real. Nothing Hollywood or phony about him. I admire him for staying by her side—especially later in the eighties, when things got really rough for Aretha. Willie became her anchor.”

  One other track on Aretha—“Jimmy Lee,” a Motownish-sounding throwback—went to number two on the R&B charts.

  “Any way you look at it, this album was a success. The Aretha–George Michael duet was huge. The video with Keith and Whoopi was in heavy rotation on MTV, and they were playing ‘Jimmy Lee’ in all the dance clubs. Far as I was concerned, Narada proved that Who’s Zoomin’ Who? was no fluke,” said Cecil. “What Luther had started, Narada continued and took to a higher level.”

  “In the eighties, Narada was Clive’s golden boy,” said Jerry Wexler. “He was a superb producer. I remember Whitney’s mom, Cissy, telling me how excited she was about the work he was doing with Whitney, infectious songs like ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’ and ‘So Emotional.’ It’s catchy, upbeat material and I don’t argue that he helped Aretha move into what became the most profitable chapter of her career—at least in terms of pure pop hits. But when I listen to their work together, I don’t hear her voice soaring. I hear her screaming. I hear her over-riffing and what I call over-souling. Aretha is a baroque singer by nature. That’s the nature of her gospel background. Extravagant flourishes are part of her essential vocal grammar. But then comes a time when you’re no longer twenty-five or thirty-five but forty-five. This is when you have to start singing smart. Because you can no longer reach the high notes that were once your second nature, you have to learn to avoid them. You have to learn restraint. Yesterday your voice could do anything, but today it can’t. So you kick back, modify your style, and trim your sails. Vocally, you tend to be a little less assertive, less aggressive. Rather than paint enormous landscapes, you paint miniatures. What you lack in strength, you make up in subtlety. You work your way around the edges of a song, discovering those nooks and crannies that allow you to display the depths of your musical intelligence. In short, as a vocalist, you age gracefully. Did Aretha do this? I’m afraid not.”

  “This goddamn business is about survival,” said Ray Charles, who in the eighties unsuccessfully sought the kind of pop hits Aretha was enjoying. “And I admired how ’Retha kept on surviving. Survival comes before anything. I don’t really give a shit if they play my records in a hundred years from now ’cause I won’t be around to hear ’em. But I do care if they play me on the radio today, or tomorrow, or next week, ’cause I’ve got a payroll to make and bills to pay. So when folks say, ‘Brother Ray, you’re too old to keep trying to cut hit records,’ or, ‘Brother Ray, you already done made your mark. Why are you still trying to get over?’ I say, ‘ ’Cause I ain’t interested in being an exhibit in some fuckin’ museum. I ain’t about to be put out to pasture. I’m gonna keep grinding and humping ’cause that’s all us entertainers know how to do. That’s what we’re born to do.’ ”

  Reviewing for the New York Times, Jon Pareles was less understanding than Ray. “ ‘Aretha’ may yield some hit singles,” he wrot
e, “but it comes across as an impersonal piece of pop product.”

  On April 21, 1986, Luther Vandross brought his show to the Joe Louis Arena. He was touring behind his fourth Epic album, the highly successful The Night I Fell in Love.

  “I got word that Aretha was coming, and of course I was glad,” Luther told me. “There was some drama in the aftermath of Get It Right and we were not on speaking terms, which, as the years went on, was perfectly normal for us. She asked for a dozen front-row seats and I was happy to accommodate, but she also asked that we perform onstage together. She wanted to do a duet with me on ‘If This World Were Mine,’ but I didn’t think that was wise. I had produced and sung the song on Cheryl Lynn’s album as a tribute to Marvin and Tammi. It became a hit. Some were even calling it a classic comparable to the original. It was something special between me and Cheryl. Surely there was another number that Aretha and I could do. She was insistent and so was I—and so there we were, doing battle again. But it was my show and I held my ground. She finally capitulated and asked if we could do ‘Jump to It.’ Well, that’s hardly a duet. It’s a song where Aretha sings lead and I sing background. But since it was my song and my production, she figured I might agree. She was right. I did agree and she came onstage to perform her hit. The crowd loved her performance. I loved it as well—and so there was peace between us. At least for a while.”

  Aretha publicly announced that she had truly made peace with one of her most persistent anxieties. She told the press yet again that she was over her fear of flying and promised her fans a full summer concert schedule.

  “Our money was getting funny again,” said Cecil. “Aretha bought a third or a fourth house in Detroit—I can’t remember which—and that squeezed her financially. She was insistent that the royalties from Arista for her recent hits were not flowing in fast enough. When I checked with Clive, though, I was assured that the checks were coming. But because Aretha is always changing accounting firms and bookkeepers it wasn’t clear where the checks wound up. Things were getting chaotic and we had no choice but to turn to Dick Alen and Ruthie Bowen to find her big-money concert gigs. There were gigs, but touring on the bus made it impractical. It cut down on the number of gigs—not to mention eliminating the huge markets of Europe, Latin America, and Asia. To make the kind of money she needed, she had to fly.”