Respect: The Life of Aretha Franklin (26 page)

During the course of the interview, Aretha mentioned one plan that she would soon realize—returning to church to record, a homecoming that would become the artistic triumph of her career.

W
hen you look back and see what are now considered the great Aretha Franklin albums of the late sixties and early seventies,” said Jerry Wexler, “they really aren’t albums at all. They’re compilations of singles. There was never any organizational principle. We just threw ’em together.
Soul ’69,
the mislabeled big-band album, was as close as we came. But some years after Isaac Hayes’s breakthrough
Hot Buttered Soul
—where his entire LP consisted of extended versions of four songs—at a time when Marvin Gaye was telling a complete story with his
What’s Going On
, neither Aretha nor I had any narrative in mind. For example, you could interchange the tunes on
Spirit in the Dark
with those on
Young, Gifted, and Black.
Mix and match as you please. The formula remained the same—Aretha did superlative covers and came in with originals, notably songs by her or her sister Carolyn. Well, all that was well and good, but I felt we needed to stir up the pot.

“I’ve always loved gospel and, at one of the early seventies sessions, got Aretha to sing ‘Heavenly Father,’ by Edna McGriff, who had a hit on Jubilee back in the early fifties with a song called ‘Note Droppin’ Papa.’ Like Aretha, Edna was equally skilled at sacred and secular. Aretha absolutely devastated ‘Heavenly Father’ but she felt
it didn’t belong on a pop album so it was never released until 2007, when I put out the
Rare and Unreleased Recordings.
I didn’t argue with her when she refused to put it out back in the seventies, but I did suggest she do an entire gospel album. She was a little reluctant. She thought it might hurt her fan base. I said the opposite was true. It would expand her base. She said she’d think about it. She did and started suggesting songs. I liked all her suggestions but not the one that had us recording in our New York studio. I wanted it to be live in church. Again, she hesitated. She would have less control that way. But the more she thought about it, the more she liked my idea.”

Aretha had a completely different view of the project’s genesis. On more than one occasion she told interviewers that the idea of recording a gospel album—and doing it live in church—was hers, not Wexler’s. She added that if she had not remained adamant, it would not have happened. She grew angry when people said she had abandoned the church. She insisted that she never could leave the church, since church was her essential inner core. This album would be her reaffirmation of that belief. Other people said that pressure had come from her father, but Aretha denied that. She denied that she felt pressure of any kind. She had sung blues. She had sung rhythm and blues. She had sung Broadway songs and folk songs. She had sung jazz. Now she wanted to revisit the music that had captivated her as a small child, the music that had birthed her artistry. She said that you could sing for man for only so long. At some point, you must sing for God.

Aretha was also careful to underline the notion that, to do justice to her tradition, merely recording a gospel album in a church was not enough. The music had to be the centerpiece of a larger concept—an actual church service. She reminded me that when she and her dad had traveled the country in the fifties, they didn’t put on concerts. Reverend C. L. Franklin conducted services in which music played a vital role. That’s the kind of record Aretha wanted. And, to a large degree, that’s the record that she eventually got with
Amazing Grace.

Aretha’s version of the story in
From These Roots
has her taking charge of the project. It was, in fact, the first time that she was listed as a coproducer, along with Wexler and Arif Mardin. It was her choice to record in the New Temple Baptist Missionary Church in Los Angeles and have the choir directed by Reverend James Cleveland, the former minister of music for her dad’s New Bethel Baptist Church in Detroit and the duly proclaimed King of Gospel.

“I was thrilled when Aretha called,” Cleveland told me, “and I saw it as a chance to bring gospel music and message to a wider audience. I believe she called not only because of my friendship with her family but because my reputation was built on harmonizing choirs in new and dynamic ways. My Southern California Community Choir was known far and wide for its precise voicings. They were like a crack military unit. When it came to singing, they were sharpshooters. Alexander Hamilton, my first lieutenant and assistant choir director, was impeccable. No one was out of tune—ever. From the sopranos to the basses, the parts were enunciated with feeling and flair. Aretha knew that she’d be among her peers—blood-washed believers ready to sing the glory of God in every note.”

Wexler knew just how to balance Cleveland’s contribution. “I was determined to sneak the devil’s rhythm section into church,” said Wexler. “It was fine for Aretha to pick the choir. She loved James Cleveland, and James was a great choice. But I needed my guys—Bernard Purdie on drums, Chuck Rainey on bass, Cornell Dupree on guitar, and Pancho Morales on congas—to keep the rhythm right. My original choice for keyboards was Richard Tee. Then James made a strong case for his protégé Ken Lupper. Minute I heard Ken on the Hammond B-3, I was sold. Ken had crazy chops.”

Aretha said the decision to fly in her New York–based Atlantic recording-session rhythm section was hers. By then Purdie had become her musical director and Rainey her favorite bassist. She had high regard for Cornell Dupree’s funky guitar and thought that Pancho Morales would add just the right spice. She saw no
contradiction in using secular musicians in a sacred service and said that Wexler’s notion of sneaking in the devil’s rhythm section was absurd. She wanted the best players, the best choir, and the best songs.

To rest up for the grand event—two services over two nights (Thursday, January 13, and Friday, January 14, 1972)—Aretha and Ken Cunningham traveled to Barbados with an entourage that included brother Cecil as well as Bernard Purdie and Chuck Rainey. Cunningham shot the album cover photo at Sam Lord’s Castle, which had been converted into a luxury hotel, with Aretha adorned in African garb.

In
Amazing Grace,
Aaron Cohen’s insightful book on the making of the album, Rainey reflected back on this period: “I was with Aretha for three years and if I were to count the words I heard her say, other than singing, it couldn’t have been more than 200 words. She very seldom said anything. When she did, she said it hard and quick. Mahalia Jackson was the same way. Sat in the chair with her knees close together, with her arms folded in front of her. Honoring whatever. That was the way she was. I’ve never been around Aretha where I was, ‘Wow, Aretha!’ I never saw that at all. She would speak to the wives more than to the band.”

“I understand that Aretha’s not a talker,” said James Cleveland. “She’s a musician who talks through music. She and I had our own shorthand. We communicated with nods. We were always on the same page. We rehearsed at the church that I pastored—the Cornerstone Institutional Baptist—where I would have preferred to hold the services. But Wexler had bigger plans. He not only had a recording crew, he had a film crew. That’s why we moved the whole operation to the larger church down in Watts.”

“Through Warner Brothers, who owned Atlantic, I had arranged for Sydney Pollack to film both nights,” said Jerry. “This was after he directed
They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?
and just before he did
The Way We Were.
Sydney loved the idea and showed up with a multicamera crew.”

“While Wexler was running around and worrying about the
movie director and big stars he had invited, Aretha and I were tending to the music and the arrangements,” said Cleveland. “Don’t get me wrong. I knew King Curtis and I loved his rhythm section. Purdie and Rainey and the boys were great. Arif Mardin helped out with the arrangements. Wexler was a good traffic cop. But the truth of the matter is that Sister Aretha and I put the whole thing together.

“She came in with the new songs. Marvin Gaye had
What’s Going On
out and she asked me if I thought ‘Wholy Holy’ from that album would be inappropriate for church. Well, sir, I’m made from the same musical mold as Aretha’s daddy. I’m a musical liberal. It’s all God’s music and it’s all good. Marvin was essentially a minister and I welcome his songs in my church. The other big album back then was Carole King’s
Tapestry.
Carole had written ‘Natural Woman’ for Aretha, and Carole had deep soul. What did I think of incorporating her ‘You’ve Got a Friend’ into the service? I loved the idea, especially since we both wanted to change the words a little to say that the friend is Jesus. I suggested a little Rodgers and Hammerstein. I remember seeing
Carousel
and weeping when they sang ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone.’ That might be Broadway but, hey, Broadway and gospel are not incompatible. Broadway can preach. So could the Beatles. That’s why we put George Harrison’s ‘My Sweet Lord’ in there.

“Of course, the core of the service would have to be straight-up gospel, what they had begun to call old-school gospel, the kind of gospel with lots of meat on the bones, the same gospel Aretha and I grew up on. Can’t remember whether it was me or Aretha, but we agreed that we needed traditional material like ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus’ and ‘Climbing Higher Mountains.’

“Because Aretha idolized the Caravans and because I was their piano-playing disciple, we needed the Caravans’ spirit in this service. Albertina Walker, the queen Caravan, hired Inez Andrews, who put together her own version of ‘Mary, Don’t You Weep.’ ‘Precious Lord, Take My Hand,’ the famous Thomas A. Dorsey hymn, was something that Dr. King always requested and we
wanted to include it. It was the idea of my trusty and worthy assistant Alexander Hamilton to combine it with ‘You’ve Got a Friend.’ It was my idea to get Aretha to sing a song she had sung as a child—a song I heard her sing when I was working at her daddy’s church in Detroit—‘Never Grow Old.’ If you compare the version she recorded as a teenager with the one she does with New Temple, you will have the best demonstration of the flowering of genius that anyone could ask for. As a kid, she was a prodigy. As a twenty-nine-year-old woman, she has fulfilled the promise of her gift.

“Clara Ward holds a special place in Aretha’s heart,” Cleveland continued. “Every artist needs a role model, and Clara is Aretha’s. Clara has style and class and rare musical character. I believe that Aretha has surpassed Clara because her range is greater and her material more varied. Aretha has gone farther afield. Aretha has conquered every musical ground there is to be conquered. But that doesn’t take away the importance of Clara in Aretha’s maturity. It was Aretha’s idea to do ‘Old Landmark,’ a song associated with Clara, as well as ‘How I Got Over,’ one of Clara’s biggest hits. It was a sure bet that Clara, along with her mother, Gertrude, was coming to one of the services. When I mentioned that, Aretha got all flustered and said, ‘Of course Clara is coming, but I can’t believe I completely forgot to invite my father.’ ‘Well, you better get on the phone right now and tell Reverend to catch the first plane out.’ She did, and her dad, in the company of Clara Ward, sat right there on the front row.

“Aretha insisted that I sing ‘Precious Memories’ with her. I knew Sister Rosetta Tharpe’s version, but Aretha had another notion of how to do it. She had this slow-walk-through-the-muddy-water-to-Sunday-morning-church-service groove that fit it just right. She gave it a fresh coat of paint and made it sound new without losing its ancient wisdom. Even at twenty-nine, Aretha was an old soul. She’d been here before. And have no doubt about it, she was also a preacher. That didn’t happen during the services themselves, but at rehearsals she let loose. My most precious memories of the entire event were the rehearsals.”

“The rehearsals were the joint,” Bernard Purdie told Aaron Cohen. “While we were in church, Aretha preached. The actual recording of the date was nowhere near like the rehearsals… She was actually being a minister. The choir and everyone was totally in shock because the lady was preaching. She went someplace else.”

For the services themselves, there was some concern that the presence of the recording technicians and equipment would overwhelm the church’s physical facilities. Alexander Hamilton was especially worried that the film crew would be intrusive.

“The one thing that you don’t want is for the things with the light and the director to distract you from doing what you’re able to do,” Hamilton told Aaron Cohen. “He [Sydney Pollack] had a camera in the Baptismal pool, behind the choir, shooting. Was it OK to do that? Noooo. The good sisters and brothers would have had a cow! Normally, somebody going up there with a camera, they’d be Baptized for real!”

“I had to keep reminding everyone that this was church,” said Cleveland, “and not some rock-and-roll show. There’s a notion out there that the black Baptist church is all about hysterical people waving their hands and jumping up and down in the aisles. There surely is joy in the way we celebrate God’s grace, but the service itself is, above all else, sacred. It is no joke, no show, no sham. We worship Christ in complete and absolute sincerity—and the music, born out of our genuine love of a caring God, carries that same sincerity.”

Before the music began, Cleveland took the time to explain to the congregation that this was a serious church service. They had assembled, first and foremost, to praise the living God.

Aretha’s first solo on the first night of services was Marvin Gaye’s “Wholy Holy.” A dozen years after the night she sang it in the church in Watts, Marvin and I listened to it together on a rainy night in Ostend, Belgium. Marvin was deep into one of his long periods of exile from his Los Angeles home.

After it played, Marvin sat in silence. I was reluctant to break the spell, but there were so many questions I wanted to ask.

“When did you learn she was going to record it?”

“Not until the record came out,” he said.

“So you were surprised.”

“Stunned. As stunned then as I am now. Not only was I stunned with the knowledge that Aretha had decided that I had written something worthy of her voice, I was stunned by the beauty of her interpretation.
What’s Going On
hadn’t been out all that long. Because it came out of controversy—that whole business of Motown not thinking it was commercial—I was still a little battle-weary. I told my label that I’d never record again if they didn’t release it. I won the fight, and the public seemed to be validating my stance—the record was selling—but I was still in a state of uncertainty. I knew it was good, but when Aretha sang ‘Wholy Holy,’ I saw just how good. She and I have similar musical backgrounds—watching and listening to our dads preach and sing—so I knew she had especially discriminating taste when it came to this kind of material. To me, gospel is the ultimate truth and ultimate test. I once heard a story about Duke Ellington, who had devoted a good piece of his later life to composing sacred music. He was in the middle of writing one of his great suites when a woman friend invited him out to a club. Duke demurred. The woman kept insisting, saying, ‘You’ll have time to finish the music later.’ ‘Darling,’ said Duke, ‘you can jive a lot of people a lot of the time, but you can never jive God.’ That’s the essence of gospel music—its connection to the divine makes it incorruptible. Aretha is incorruptible. Her God spirit is incorruptible. When I sang the song, I overdubbed my voice and devised a kind of self-harmony. I shadowed myself. I had strings and saxophones and a host of sound effects. Aretha had only her voice and that beautiful full-bodied choir. She built it up. She beefed it up. I believed she immortalized it.”