Aretha

Aretha Franklin was a force of nature. Aretha Franklin was a gift from Heaven. The statements conflict, but both are true. She was angel and hurricane, earthquake and blessing, saint and tornado. If she wasn't the greatest singer in the history of pop music, I have a hard time imagining who could take that crown. The Queen Of Soul? Even that's too limiting. Aretha was the queen of it all.

I can't articulate the conviction much beyond that. I didn't listen to Aretha all that often, but I didn't need to hear her again and again to reinforce what I already knew. The Queen. By divine right. I listened to Otis Redding's "Respect" more frequently than I listened to Aretha's irresistible monolith of a cover version; the late great Otis used to introduce "Respect" as a song a girl took from him, and man, did she ever take it. Divine right, again. I listened to Otis, but Aretha's powerhouse declaration of R-E-S-P-E-C-T could never stray far from my mind. Divine right.

I hate singers who over-sing, just as I hate guitarists who overplay. (For the record, I'm fine with drummers who overdrum if they're, like, Keith Moon, and I'm less patient if they're Neil Peart.) I have no affinity whatsoever for Whitney Houston or Christina Aguilera or anyone who thinks runs and multiple notes are a substitute for delivering the damned song. Aretha delivered. Always. Always. She could do runs, she could sing you into a corner and make you cower in abject terror if it suited her royal whim. She didn't. She didn't have to. She had soul. She could sing. She had nothing to prove to commoners. Divine right.

All this week, as the world learned that Aretha Franklin would soon be leaving us behind, her rendition of "I Say A Little Prayer For You" has played on a loop in my head. Such a gorgeous song, best known in the hit version sung so sweetly and so well by Dionne Warwick. But Aretha owns it, casually brushing aside the weary ache of the lyrics and doing what she does best: testifying. It was a talent born in the church, a voice anointed to sing the Gospel, but too big to be contained by our silly human notions of God's will. "Chain Of Fools." "Think." "A Natural Woman (You Make Me Feel Like)." "The House That Jack Built." "Until You Come Back To Me (That's What I'm Gonna Do)." "Rock Steady." My favorite, "Sweet Sweet Baby (Since You Been Gone)." Man, even '80s hits like "Freeway Of Love" and her George Michael collaboration "I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me)," which should have sunk under their own weight--because that's what '80s stuff did--still somehow manage to soar above this mundane plane nonetheless. "I Say A Little Prayer For You." So many seemingly incongruous covers, from "The Weight" to "Spanish Harlem," each another little miracle. A major, unforgettable miracle spelled R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Divine right? Amen to that. Take care, and TCB.

We will never live in a world without Aretha Franklin. Her family will mourn, and we will mourn with them. But that voice could never be silenced, could never be anywhere else but with us, always, everywhere. It's our glimpse of the divine, and that's our right. Hail the Queen. Long live the Queen.



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