R.I.P. Aretha Franklin
Recalling memories of presidential tears, natural women, divahood and expert fur coat rocking.
I’m not the only person waxing bittersweetly rhapsodic over the masterwork of talent, style and gumption that is Aretha Franklin. I’ve been down a Queen of Soul rabbit hole for the past few days now. And of all of the clips, interviews and oddities I’ve found, arguably the most Aretha Franklin-y of all Aretha Franklin performances, seamlessly melds musicianship, sequins, emotionally poignant fur coat maneuvering and a note so majestic it brought the president of the United States to tears.
Which, for Aretha Franklin, is probably a random Tuesday.
The occasion was the induction of legendary singer-songwriter Carole King into the 2015 class of the Kennedy Center Honors. Miss Franklin — because she deserves the honorarium — strides onstage, takes her place behind a piano and begins playing “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman,” written by King and late ex-husband Gerry Goffin. Miss Franklin is wearing a massive fur coat and carrying a sparkly purse, like she was riding by the Kennedy Center on the way to dinner and thought “Y’all know what? I heard Carole and President Obama and them were having a party. I should swing by and blow everybody’s mind. Keep the limo running.”
It’s not clear what happens to the purse — I assume some minion came to fetch it and stand off-stage where The Queen could see it, because boss women such as Aretha Franklin need to keep their eyes on the money. But the fur remains on her majestic shoulders as she sings King’s musical manifesto on the soul-restoring powers of the right partner. It’s the world’s most grownup love song, the kind that scores of talent show babies have tried and failed to capture the world-weary glory of. But there, on the stage, as she has done for decades, Aretha Franklin “saaangs” that thing, embodying each declaration of gratitude and passion so expertly that she seems to be writing it from her own tear-stained diary as she sings it.
And then, at the bridge, Miss Franklin rises from the piano and strides into the middle of the stage and it is on. She does a little shoulder shimmy. She hits this series of high, bellowing beautiful notes that pretty much take out the front row. In the balcony, Carole King is beside herself. President Obama is weeping. First lady Michelle Obama is jamming. And just when you think the fabulosity has reached its peak, Miss Franklin rolls one majestic shoulder back, and then another, and shrugs that massive fur that costs more than my Prius off onto the stage. That’s how much of a natural woman this man she sings of makes her feel. The fur comes off. The crowd leaps to their feet. Somewhere in the wings, the purse minion is crying. The truth is that Aretha Franklin has proba- bly been that amazing every time she sings that song, induced that many tears, shrugged off coats as dramatically. The treat is that this time, more of us got to see it. And we’ll be forever grateful.