Page 29 - the NOISE October 2014

Aretha Franklin, circa 1964 & 1972 inteRnet ARChives
demand for respect, and Aretha dug it.
She came armed as well. Her friend Ronnie Shannon had written “I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Love You)” specifically for her, and
it was a gem. Wexler was itching to get a sin- gle out and planned to walk away from this session with both the A and B sides finished.
Wexler raved about Aretha to the band, but they had heard his spiel before. OK, Jer- ry. Right on. She’s Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith and Rosa Parks and Aunt Jemima all rolled into one. Sure, Mr. Record Man.
The weather was terrible that day, sleet and howling wind. The vibe in the studio was casual. The musicians smoked cigarettes and shot the sh*t. Behind the board were engineers Tom Dowd and Arif Mardin and producer Wexler.
Aretha arrived with her three backup sing- ers, one of which was her sister Carolyn. They shook off the snow and hail, removed their coats, and hung them up. The girls stayed in the booth making their introductions while Aretha walked into the studio. She glanced at the band, then went to the piano and sat down. She hit a single chord:
DNNNNGGG!
The chord wasn’t especially loud, but it was authoritative. The men snapped to attention. All small talk stopped. Cigarettes were extin- guished. Without opening her mouth, Aretha had said to them: “OK boys, listen up. We’re going to start now.” From that moment on, they knew who was calling the shots, who was in charge. THEY worked for HER.
She was the last thing they expected: a musician. Aretha ate, slept, and breathed music. She was one of them. Without pen or paper she laid out both songs’ arrangements one instrument at a time, and it all came from the piano line. The horns, the backups, everything. The boys scribbled their notes and went to work.
Ordinarily, Wexler would be down among them throwing in his two cents, but he just stayed behind the board (satisfied that, once again, his instincts had been correct) and let Aretha take care of business. She cut the instrumental tracks with the band, playing piano, as she would on almost every subse- quent session.
She won their respect tenfold. By the time night started falling they were all in awe of her and half in love. They also intuitively sensed what Jerry Wexler had years before: she was going to be huge, a superstar. They
By tony BAllz
just might be making history here with this amazing woman. Aretha Franklin was 24 years old.
The songs they recorded that day were classics. “Do Right Woman (Do Right Man)” turned out beautiful, but “I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Love You)” was leagues be- yond any of Aretha’s Columbia material. It was blatantly sexual, with Aretha’s gospel shouts and swoops echoing the sounds of lovemaking. And when the arrangement briefly stopped for the girls to breathily pant the title line it was downright erotic.
Aretha had just nailed her lead and they were all crammed in the control room listen- ing to the playback. Wexler relinquished his producer’s chair to the lady of the hour so she could work the faders on her vocal track. Someone had broken out a bottle of whiskey and Aretha was knocking ‘em back too. The girls were being chatted up. Everyone was loose and near ecstatic.
One of the band (none of the men would ever cop to who) stood behind Aretha’s chair, rubbing her shoulders and cooing in her ear: “Why Miss Franklin, the way you sing that song makes me feel ... I don’t know, all FUNNY inside ...”
To which Aretha responded: “Sounds like gas to me. Get yourself some Pepto.”
Everybody laughed. Despite being a preacher’s daughter, Aretha was no delicate flower. She grew up on the streets of Detroit and could talk the trash as good as anyone. Romeo kept on with his rap:
“No, no ... like I want to, well ... be ALONE with you for awhile ...”
Aretha snorted: “Oh, good Lord. Dream ON, son!”
The room roared. Romeo acted mock- wounded and removed his hands from her shoulders.
“Hey, I didn’t say you should STOP, honey!” He resumed. Aretha closed her eyes and enjoyed the massage. Goddamn, Jerry was
right. These boys had the stuff, they could re- ally cook. She felt the same connection they did. This was only the start, they were going to make some great music together. She hadn’t felt this satisfied in years. It had been a productive session. All that was left was for her to lay down the vocal on “Do Right Wom- an” and it would be ...
“HEY! What the hell is this?”
Everybody turned. There in the doorway stood Ted White, Mr. Aretha Franklin ...
>> continued next edition >>
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OCTOBER 2014 • 29