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 wrote, “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.”
“She signed up for a program [for people who are afraid of flying] that one of the airlines offers,” said her cousin Brenda Corbett. “We all supported her in that effort. You’d go out to the airport, sit in the plane, and they took you through the sounds of a flight. They did it step by step, carefully explaining just what was happening, so you got used to the experience. After doing this a few times, they’d pick a clear day and take you on a short flight. So far, so good. Aretha went through the program, but on the day of the short flight, she said, ‘Oh, no. This is not happening. I am not ready.’ And she was out of there.”
In July, Billboard reported that Aretha had “canceled a series of concerts at New York’s Radio City Music Hall with no explanation… The Queen of Soul has limited all concert dates to shows within driving distance.”
“She didn’t consider the six hundred and twenty miles from Detroit to New York a driving distance,” said Cecil. “For Aretha, a driving distance meant getting to the gig in less than a day. She didn’t like the limo or bus driver to go faster than fifty, and she liked to take a break every few hours. That meant a drive to Manhattan was a matter of two days, something she considered too taxing. Rather than go to the fans, we found a way for the fans to come to us. We taped an hour-long Showtime special in Detroit and arranged for Westwood One to broadcast a stereo simulcast.”
“It was another summer from hell,” said Ruth Bowen. “I can’t remember the number of dates we booked and then canceled.”
“I didn’t keep count of cancellations,” said Dick Alen of William Morris. “My attitude was to accommodate Aretha as best I could. Going in, I realized that she was someone likely to change her mind at the last minute. I couldn’t change her and didn’t try. I accepted that an essential part of my job was to clean up after her. I didn’t try to understand her moods. I wasn’t her psychologist; I was just the guy who negotiated her fees.”
“Part of the reason she was in a bad mood that summer had to do with Anita Baker,” said Ruth. “Like Aretha, Anita is a Detroit girl. And also like Aretha, Anita is an artist who applies a highly sophisticated jazz sensibility to rhythm and blues. Remember that Rapture, Anita’s second album, came out in 1986 and was an international sensation. It far outperformed Aretha and wound up selling something like eight million copies. Then to add insult to injury, Anita beat out Aretha, who was nominated for ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash,’ for best R-and-B female vocal performance. Before Anita, Aretha had Detroit locked up. She was without a doubt the biggest star in the city. Now here comes Anita, produced by Michael Powell, another budding local Detroit talent. None of this made Miss Thing happy. She used to say, ‘If I toured as much as Anita, I’d be selling in the millions myself.’ ‘Well, why don’t you?’ I asked. ‘I will—just you watch.’ But she didn’t. She couldn’t sustain a multicity, much less a multicountry, tour that involved a dozen or two dozen dates. Aretha went out and worked only when she had to—that is to say, when she was broke. Which was often.”
In January 1987, the second annual induction ceremony of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame took place in the grand ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria in New York City. Along with nonperformers Ahmet Ertegun and Jerry Wexler and artists B.B. King, Jackie Wilson, Marvin Gaye, and Smokey Robinson, Aretha was an inductee, the first woman to be selected.
“She saw it as a huge honor,” said Cecil. “She thought that they would have chosen Ruth Brown or Etta James, women that came before her. Maybe it was because they were seen as rhythm and blues and not rock and roll. We’d always seen rock and roll as the white version of R-and-B—Georgia Gibbs singing LaVern Baker or Pat Boone singing Fats Domino. But an honor is an honor, and since Ree had been recently breaking into rock, this honor was right on time. We were also happy to hear that Keith Richards, who’d been working with us on ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash,’ was personally giving her the award. We were all set to go, but then the weather got bad and Aretha got nervous about the drive. She sent me instead. I had a ball hanging out with my main man Smokey. When he got up to get his prize, the whole audience started singing his ‘Ooo Baby Baby.’ It was beautiful.”
“Not showing up to be inducted as the first-ever female in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame could not be seen as a good public relations move,” said Ruth Bowen. “As a friend who continued to care about her, I mentioned this to Aretha. I also said that, because Jerry Wexler and Ahmet Ertegun were being inducted that same night, it would be beautiful to see her standing on the podium with two men so instrumental in her career. ‘Ruth,’ she said, ‘that part of my career is in the distant past. I’ve moved on.’”