by Lynn MandavilleIf you are a lover of books, there can be no better vocation than librarian, though being employed at a Barnes & Noble Bookstore might run a close second.
Being a librarian allows one access to pre-publication information about all manner of books, from adult to children’s, fiction to non-fiction, pulp to fine literature, from the ridiculous to the sublime.
One such example of the sublime came to my attention in 2000 with the publication of a book called Crowns: Portraits of Black Women in Church Hats. This marvel of photography and storytelling by Michael Cunningham and Craig Marberry is a compilation of stunning black and white photographs of African American women in their spectacular hats, accompanied by narratives describing their relationships to these crowns, which they don on Sundays when they present themselves to God and their community in their finest. One day a week these women put on their crowns and become African royalty in their adopted land.
I love this book for its ability to bring to life for me the richness of a culture that is exotic and so different from my own white bread upbringing. The authors make me feel the dignity and uniqueness of each woman depicted.
It’s not such a stretch, then, that I would resurrect the memories and feelings about this book upon the death of Aretha Franklin.
Among the many images of Aretha presented by the media this week is one of her at President Obama’s inauguration in 2008. In the photo she is wearing a magnificent hat that stole the show that day. Although the hat is a soft, grey wool, it sports an enormous bow, bedazzled with crystals and sequins, so befitting the Queen of Soul.
I’m a little embarrassed to admit that, until this week, Aretha Franklin was, for me, just another Motown great among greats, a woman who turned her church singing into a phenomenal career in popular music. I liked her music well enough, and got the significance of some of her songs to current events in the 1960s and ’70s.But until she died, and a kind of melancholy drifted over me, I’d never really known much about her life and the roles she and her family played in American history.
For example, I didn’t know that despite being the daughter of a prominent Detroit preacher, Aretha had two children of her own when she was a mere girl of 13 and 15. I didn’t know that Aretha lost her own mother at the age of 10. I didn’t know that Aretha was an accomplished pianist and songwriter in her own right.
To me, she was a Motown phenom who got to be in The Blues Brothers movie singing an in-your-face rendition of “Respect.” As I said, I liked her pop music and R&B well enough, but I was a white girl more enamored with the Beach Boys and the Beatles.
Because I’m of a very white upbringing I cannot write a fitting tribute to the likes of Aretha Franklin. But I’ve been reading and listening to the words of people in the music and African American communities to glean a truer understanding of the impact this woman had on American culture.
She was a pioneer in popular music, becoming the first female inductee into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. She was an activist in the civil rights movement. Two of her songs – (You Make Me Fell Like A) Natural Woman by Carol King, and Respect by Otis Redding – became anthems for the women’s and civil rights movements. She performed for popes and presidents. She sang at the funerals of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rosa Parks, and she lit up the inauguration of President Barack Obama with her rendition of “My Country ‘Tis Of Thee.”
I’ve been trying to figure out why I have this sense of melancholy at Aretha’s passing. I think it’s because I didn’t have the good sense to delve deeper into this remarkable woman’s life until now.
On Thursday evening, NPR did a musical retrospective of Aretha’s music. I was not the least bit surprised at her popular music, or at her soulful gospel. What blew me away were the hauntingly beautiful jazz standards that I had never before heard. The deep, soft purity of her voice was sensual and tantalizing. I felt like I was hearing something otherworldly.
It’s my plan now to show the Queen of Soul a little respect of my own, by getting to know the aspects of this outstanding woman whose voice remains for us only in recordings.
The Queen is dead. And no one can replace her.
4 Comments