Aretha Franklin: Close-Up (1968) | A Must See!

1968 TV news special chronicling the extraordinary rise of Soul singer Aretha Franklin. Features tons of candid footage at Atlantic Records recording studios with Jerry Wexler, Tom Dowd and first husband Ted White; being presented an award by Martin Luther King; backup vocal and dance rehearsals with her sisters; appearance at a teen dance show; interview with her father CL Franklin about her gospel roots. This documentary can be found elsewhere on YouTube in full color, however this B&W print has better audio and has been rendered in 720p HD.  I do not control the rights. Shared for historical purpose

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Respect it. Aretha Franklin turned Otis Redding’s plea into the most empowering popular recording ever made.

New York Times - By Wesley Morris - Aug. 16, 2018

Officially, “Respect” is a relationship song. That’s how Otis Redding wrote it. But love wasn’t what Aretha Franklin was interested in. The opening line is “What you want, baby, I got it.” But her “what” is a punch in the face. So Ms. Franklin’s rearrangement was about power. She had the right to be respected — by some dude, perhaps by her country. Just a little bit. What did love have to do with that?

Depending on the house you grew up in and how old you are, “Respect” is probably a song you learned early. The spelling lesson toward the end helps. So do the turret blasts of “sock it to me” that show up here and there. But, really, the reason you learn “Respect” is the way “Respect” is sung. Redding made it a burning plea. Ms. Franklin turned the plea into the most empowering popular recording ever made.

Ms. Franklin died on Thursday, at 76, which means “Respect” is going to be an even more prominent part of your life than usual. The next time you hear it, notice what you do with your hands. They’re going to point — at a person, a car or a carrot. They’ll rest on your hips. Your neck might roll. Your waist will do a thing. You’ll snarl. Odds are high that you’ll feel better than great. You’re guaranteed to feel indestructible.

Ms. Franklin’s respect lasts for two minutes and 28 seconds. That’s all — basically a round of boxing. Nothing that’s over so soon should give you that much strength. But that was Aretha Franklin: a quick trip to the emotional gym. Obviously, she was far more than that. We’re never going to have an artist with a career as long, absurdly bountiful, nourishing and constantly surprising as hers. We’re unlikely to see another superstar as abundantly steeped in real self-confidence — at so many different stages of life, in as many musical genres.

That self-confidence wasn’t evident only in the purses and perms and headdresses and floor-length furs; the buckets and buckets of great recordings; the famous demand that she always be paid before a show, in cash; or the Queen of Soul business — the stuff that keeps her monotonously synonymous with “diva.” It was there in whatever kept her from stopping and continuing to knock us dead. To paraphrase one of Ms. Franklin’s many (many) musical progeny: She slayed. “Respect” became an anthem for us, because it seemed like an anthem for her.

Most Americans had never heard anything quite as dependably great and shockingly big as Ms. Franklin.

The song owned the summer of 1967. It arrived amid what must have seemed like never-ending turmoil — race riots, political assassinations, the Vietnam draft. Muhammad Ali had been stripped of his championship title for refusing to serve in the war. So amid all this upheaval comes a singer from Detroit who’d been around most of the decade doing solid gospel R&B work. But there was something about this black woman’s asserting herself that seemed like a call to national arms. It wasn’t a polite song. It was hard. It was deliberate. It was sure. And that all came from Ms. Franklin — her rumbling, twanging, compartmentalized arrangement. It came, of course, from her singing.

Concert Review - Julia Deans - We Light Fire Tour San Francisco Bath House 11/08/2018

The one thing that has always been consistent with Julia Deans is her purity of voice.  It's always such a beautiful and unfiltered delight to hear.  No need for studio trickery or autocues here.  And with it, she's a humble and graceful performer, with just a touch of the dramatic diva for punch.  I remember interviewing her at WOMAD and being impressed by her phrasing and patient treatment of every word.  These are the same skills we saw tonight as Ms Deans brought us a collection of songs, mainly from her latest release, We Light Fire. 

Deans' voice is spinetingling from the opening notes to the dying embers.  Clearly the best honey-tinged falsetto in Aotearoa - ever!

She opened the set with the smouldering, slow burn of Clandestine.  That song sets the mood for the evening.  This is not a rock concert.  The efforts are in the effortless delivery of every song, with careful attention paid to the execution of each lyrical phrase.

Primarily, ... Fire is a pop-rock record,  with traces of synth-pop and jazz influences.  You saw that tonight in her treatment of the album's lead single, The Panic.  It's an instant winner coming mid-set after the more sultry, sparse numbers like Pick Up and Centre.  And it's the most radio-friendly song on the album.  So again a winner.  Its urgent beat and grungy bass lines have been heightened by the small wooden room, emphasising furious anxiety in the bass.  Her lyrics centre around a cold revelation in the chorus of this song: "Deep in our hearts, we sleep alone." 

The album's first half has the strongest songs, which we get scattered through the set.  Like Souvenir, which is strangely meditative, as its shuffled beat lends a sense of mystery to Deans' stunning harmonies.  She's not alone.  Deans is flanked by two confident wahines, Tali on guitars and Auckland Americana singer Reb Fountain, who also plays the guitar, and is in charge of the tom drum for one dramatic moment.  They do who do their best to match her vocal skills.  They almost carry it off.  But Dean's honey-toned vox is a real challenge to master, and you can never predict which octave she'll choose to settle on before transforming into a growling rage.  The album was recorded by Deans and her partner, former Shihad soundman David Wernham, at their home studio is impressive; the production quality is immaculate throughout.  Unfortunately, that level of quality is almost impossible to match on stage.  That said the approximation is pretty good.

On wax the electronic elements are largely welcome, certain synth lines and embellishments are superfluous and border on gimmicks. On stage, you don't get that.  With Richie Pickard on bass and drummer, Jono Sawyer driving the engine room and the ladies providing the strong direction vocally from the cab this truck has a clear destination and knows its way to its destination.  It's a clean and clear delivery, without embellishments.

It has to be said that Dean's 15 song repertoire, tonight, was not extensive.  But she does the occasional nod to past works.  Modern Fables and Skin (both from her last former album) get a look in, and a big tick from the crowd.  It wasn't a huge or packed gig but those that had hoofed it up from the Beervana Fest downtown like me were rewarded well. 

Another highlight is her response to the world's continuous poor treatment of women, Walking In the Sun.  It begins, perfectly with some delicious harmonies from the three women and this time they totally nail it.  Another wonderful moment to savour.  The hook in the chorus is addictive. 

While I'm used to seeing Deans behind a guitar, it was nice to see her at the keyboards, sepecially at the end of the night with her two encore pieces Chelsea and Dialogue.  Both are delivered with a delicate care, like handling a newborn.  Which, given this album has only been released seems appropriate.  I really like this new album and it works superbly live and on record.  My biggest regret was not having the cash to pick a vinyl copy, having heard to songs live and thoroughly enjoyed them.

Review and photos by the Coffeebar Kid