Aretha Franklin’s Pitch-Perfect Performance in The Blues Brothers, the Film That Reinvigorated Her Career (1980)

There are many films of the 70s and 80s that could nev­er get made today. This is not your grumpy uncle’s rant about polit­i­cal cor­rect­ness gone wild. In many cas­es, it’s very much for the best. (And did we ever need “movies” like Porky’s or Hard­bod­ies in the first place? I’m going to say no.) Styles and social mores change. Actors and direc­tors who alone could have pulled off what they did, when they did, pass away. And so too do musi­cians whose equal we will nev­er see again. When these inim­itable forces come togeth­er, it’s once-in-a-life­time cel­lu­loid mag­ic. Remakes and ill-advised sequels seem like sac­ri­lege.

I am speak­ing on this occa­sion of The Blues Broth­ers, the 1980 musi­cal com­e­dy that brought togeth­er a pan­theon of leg­ends now most­ly depart­ed for that hall of fame in the sky. John Belushi, of course, but also John Can­dy and Car­rie Fish­er. James Brown, Cab Cal­loway, Ray Charles, John Lee Hook­er… and Aretha Franklin, whom the whole world now mourns. Charges of cul­tur­al appro­pri­a­tion might get lobbed at The Blues Broth­ers, but they would be mis­placed. For all its absur­dist slap­stick, the film was noth­ing if not a cel­e­bra­tion of black Amer­i­can music, a rev­er­ent, lov­ing trib­ute to the blues, R&B, and clas­sic soul that went direct­ly to the source, and in so doing, rein­vig­o­rat­ed Aretha’s flag­ging career.

The music scene of the late sev­en­ties had “turned away from soul and toward dis­co,” writes Lau­ra Bradley at Van­i­ty Fair. “Franklin was strug­gling to make the tran­si­tion, espe­cial­ly after Atlantic allowed her con­tract to expire.” Her attempt to keep up in the 1979 dis­co album La Diva had flopped. She was the Queen of Soul, not sweaty dance­floors, and so she would remain, thanks in part to the antics of Jake and Elwood and writer/director John Lan­dis, who cast her as Mrs. Mur­phy, a din­er wait­ress who gets to call the broth­ers “two honkys dressed like Hasidic dia­mond mer­chants” who “look like they’re from the CIA.”

The sto­ry of her cast­ing is bit­ter­sweet. “You have to remem­ber that in 1979,” says Lan­dis, “rhythm and blues was basi­cal­ly over, and the num­ber one music in the world was Abba, the Bee Gees… when peo­ple ask, how did you get the likes of Aretha Franklin and James Brown, it was easy. We just called them and said, ‘Wan­na job?’” Stu­dio exec­u­tives balked, want­i­ng hip­per acts like Rose Royce, who had sung the theme from Car Wash. It would have been a tragedy.

Thank­ful­ly, Lan­dis persisted—he had writ­ten the part for her. “Every­one in the movie,” he says in a recent inter­view, “the parts were writ­ten specif­i­cal­ly for them.” (Except James Brown, who took over as the preach­er when Lit­tle Richard “found Jesus, again,” and went to back to his church in Ten­nessee.) Lan­dis also insist­ed on Aretha singing “Think,” a song from her 1968 album Aretha Now, instead of her biggest hit. (“Real­ly?” he recalls her say­ing, “Don’t you want me to sing ‘Respect’?”) The song came direct­ly out of the dia­logue between her and blues gui­tarist Matt Mur­phy, play­ing her hus­band.

Lan­dis remem­bers Aretha’s re-record­ing of the extend­ed film ver­sion of the song:

So, we laid down the tracks for “Think.” She came in, a cou­ple days before she was to be shot. She lis­tened to the track once and said, “OK, but I would like to replace the piano.” We said, great, what do you want to do? She said, “I’ll play.”

So we got a piano, she sat in a record­ing stu­dio, and it was Uni­ver­sal Stu­dios’ record­ing stu­dios in Chica­go, a very old, funky stu­dio we were delight­ed to be in because it was where Chess Records did all their record­ings. We had a piano for her. She sat with her back to us, at the keys, and the piano and her voice was mic’d. She did it once, lis­tened to the play­back. She said, “I’d like to do it again.” She played piano as she sang, and the sec­ond take is the one in the movie. She was just won­der­ful. She didn’t like doing so many takes and she had issues with lip-sync­ing.

Franklin also thought of the expe­ri­ence fond­ly, writ­ing in her auto­bi­og­ra­phy that it was “some­thing I enjoyed mak­ing tremen­dous­ly.” She did final­ly get the chance to sing “Respect” in a Blues Broth­ers film, almost twen­ty years lat­er, when she reprised her role in Blues Broth­ers 2000. It’s arguable whether that movie ever should have been made. But there’s nev­er any argu­ing with Aretha Franklin’s com­mand­ing voice. See her tell off Mur­phy and Elwood Blues, again, in a clip from the belat­ed sequel below. Queen Aretha may have left us, but her lega­cy will live for­ev­er.

via Van­i­ty Fair

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aretha Franklin’s Most Pow­er­ful Ear­ly Per­for­mances: “Respect,” “Chain of Fools,” “Say a Lit­tle Prayer” & More

John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd Get Bri­an Wil­son Out of Bed and Force Him to Go Surf­ing, 1976

The Night John Belushi Cart­wheeled Onstage Dur­ing a Grate­ful Dead Show & Sang “U.S. Blues” with the Band (1980)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

David Bowie’s “Heroes” Delightfully Performed by the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain

Cov­er tunes are not trib­ute bands. The best cov­ers don’t aim to be car­bon copies. They expand our con­cept of the orig­i­nal with an unex­pect­ed ele­ment or fresh lens.

Would you believe me if I told you that the Ukulele Orches­tra of Great Britain’s take on David Bowie’s “Heroes”—the sec­ond most cov­ered tune in the late rocker’s canon—is even sex­i­er than the orig­i­nal?

No?

Good.

Noth­ing ever will be.

It is, how­ev­er, a com­pelling case for the pow­er of mul­ti­ple ukule­les.

A sin­gle uke could only be dwarfed by the mem­o­ry of “Heroes”’ dri­ving, famous­ly lay­ered sound, a group effort that includ­ed pro­duc­er Tony Vis­con­ti and gui­tarist Robert Fripp.

Bowie may have referred to the tem­po and rhythm as “plod­ding,” but co-writer Bri­an Eno’s descrip­tion of the sound as some­thing “grand and hero­ic” comes much clos­er to the mark.

Are eight ukes grand and hero­ic? Well, no. Not real­ly.

And there is some­thing unde­ni­ably humor­ous about a row of for­mal­ly attired, seat­ed, mid­dle-aged men and women, wail­ing away in uni­son with their right hands, but it’s telling that the audi­ence at New York’s mul­ti­me­dia art cabaret (le) Pois­son Rouge isn’t laugh­ing.

Admit­ted­ly, there were a few iso­lat­ed chuck­les in the begin­ning, a few notes in.

Philistines.

Prob­a­bly been dragged there on blind dates with ukulele-enthu­si­asts.

To be char­i­ta­ble, there will always be those in need of con­vinc­ing that the ukulele is a legit­i­mate instru­ment.

Who bet­ter to con­vince them than the Ukulele Orches­tra of Great Britain, whose very name sug­gests that its mem­bers are in on the joke, and capa­ble of turn­ing it on its head?

The lyrics, as most Bowie fans can tell you, were inspired by real life, but not exact­ly Bowie’s. The tune was on sol­id foot­ing, but the words were still slow to come, when Bowie glanced out the win­dow of his Berlin record­ing stu­dio to catch a back up singer and Vis­con­ti, mar­ried at the time, enjoy­ing what they believed was a stolen kiss.

The rest, as they say is his­to­ry, kept some­what shroud­ed in mys­tery until rel­a­tive­ly recent­ly.

The Ukulele Orches­tra singers wise­ly steer clear of Bowie’s howl­ing, emo­tion­al deliv­ery, which Vis­con­ti got on tape almost before the ink on those lyrics had time to dry.

Instead, they hon­or him, and the place this song has in so many people’s hearts, with their sin­cer­i­ty.

Lis­ten to the Ukulele Orches­tra of Great Britain’s take on Bowie’s Life on Mars here.

via Laugh­ing Squid

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ukulele Orches­tra of Great Britain Per­forms Stun­ning Cov­ers of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it,” Talk­ing Heads’ “Psy­cho Killer” & More

Pro­duc­er Tony Vis­con­ti Breaks Down the Mak­ing of David Bowie’s Clas­sic “Heroes,” Track by Track

George Har­ri­son Explains Why Every­one Should Play the Ukulele

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Sep­tem­ber 24 for anoth­er month­ly install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

See the First Ever Video of Elvis Costello Performing, Summer 1974

The set­ting: Lon­don. In par­tic­u­lar, Step­ney, Lon­don E1. The year, a warm sum­mer in 1974, July 21 to be exact. And a very ear­ly video cam­era, only able to shoot in black and white, records the events of the E1 Fes­ti­val, a free day out for fam­i­lies, rest­less teens, and bell bot­tomed, long-haired youth enjoy­ing the sun. There’s Indi­an musi­cians, face paint­ing, car­ni­val games, jazz bands, folk danc­ing, and a “Wellie Boot Chuck­ing Com­pe­ti­tion”. You know, “the lot,” as the Eng­lish would say. But then, around 40 min­utes in, the video­g­ra­ph­er decides to shoot the pub rock band play­ing on the main stage.

If the bespec­ta­cled 19 year old looks and sounds a bit famil­iar, well luvvies, you’re not see­ing things. This is the first filmed appear­ance of a young Elvis Costel­lo, beclad in very fetch­ing dun­ga­rees and fronting his first band Flip City. This was their third ever gig, accord­ing to the Elvis Costel­lo fan site.

A full three years before Declan Mac­Manus would change his name and burst upon the scene with My Aim Is True, here he is pay­ing his dues.

Flip City was Costello’s sec­ond group, the first being a folk rock duo called Rusty that played John Prine, Jesse Win­ches­ter, and Van Mor­ri­son cov­ers in between their own songs. After Costel­lo split from Liv­er­pool and left for Lon­don, he jumped on the pub rock band­wag­on that was already formed around Nick Lowe, Dr. Feel­go­od, and Brins­ley Schwarz, mix­ing up Amer­i­cana and R’n’B cov­ers with very British orig­i­nals. They even record­ed demos a few years after this gig, which were wide­ly boot­legged until most of them appeared on bonus tracks on var­i­ous CD reis­sues. (You can lis­ten to them here.)

But back to 1974. We have no record of their full set, but the two songs on the video are from the Coast­ers’ “I’m a Hog for You” (the B‑side of “Char­lie Brown” but cov­ered by Scream­ing Lord Sutch in 1963) and from the Isley Broth­ers, “This Old Heart of Mine,” a Motown sta­ple. Despite Costello’s ency­clo­pe­di­ac knowl­edge of music, he nev­er again played these two songs live again.

It might be 20/20 hind­sight, but one can already hear the tal­ent and the con­fi­dence (or at least mock con­fi­dence) that would soon pro­pel the young man into the charts. The rest, as they say, is much bet­ter than win­ning the wellie chuck­ing con­test.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New Wave Music–DEVO, Talk­ing Heads, Blondie, Elvis Costello–Gets Intro­duced to Amer­i­ca by ABC’s TV Show, 20/20 (1979)

The Stunt That Got Elvis Costel­lo Banned From Sat­ur­day Night Live (1977)

Elvis Costel­lo Sings “Pen­ny Lane” for Sir Paul McCart­ney at The White House

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

NASA Creates a Visualization That Sets Breathtaking Footage of the Moon to Claude Debussy’s “Clair de Lune” (Moonlight)

From NASA’s Ernie Wright comes “Moon­light (Clair de Lune),” a visu­al­iza­tion that takes beau­ti­ful images of the lunar ter­rain and sets them to Claude Debussy’s 1905 com­po­si­tion, Clair de Lune (1905). Here’s how Wright describes the project:

This visu­al­iza­tion attempts to cap­ture the mood of Claude Debussy’s best-known com­po­si­tion, Clair de Lune (moon­light in French). The piece was pub­lished in 1905 as the third of four move­ments in the com­poser’s Suite Berga­masque, and unlike the oth­er parts of this work, Clair is qui­et, con­tem­pla­tive, and slight­ly melan­choly, evok­ing the feel­ing of a soli­tary walk through a moon­lit gar­den. The visu­als were com­posed like a nature doc­u­men­tary, with clean cuts and a most­ly sta­tion­ary vir­tu­al cam­era. The view­er fol­lows the Sun through­out a lunar day, see­ing sun­ris­es and then sun­sets over promi­nent fea­tures on the Moon. The sprawl­ing ray sys­tem sur­round­ing Coper­ni­cus crater, for exam­ple, is revealed beneath reced­ing shad­ows at sun­rise and lat­er slips back into dark­ness as night encroach­es. The visu­al­iza­tion was cre­at­ed to accom­pa­ny a per­for­mance of Clair de Lune by the Nation­al Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra Pops, led by con­duc­tor Emil de Cou, at the Kennedy Cen­ter for the Per­form­ing Arts in Wash­ing­ton, DC, on June 1 and 2, 2018, as part of a cel­e­bra­tion of NASA’s 60th anniver­sary. The visu­al­iza­tion uses a dig­i­tal 3D mod­el of the Moon built from Lunar Recon­nais­sance Orbiter glob­al ele­va­tion maps and image mosaics. The light­ing is derived from actu­al Sun angles dur­ing lunar days in 2018.

Enjoy…

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Debussy Play Debussy: A Vin­tage Record­ing from 1913

Pianist Plays Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, Rav­el & Debussy for Blind Ele­phants in Thai­land

Watch Clas­si­cal Music Come to Life in Art­ful­ly Ani­mat­ed Scores: Stravin­sky, Debussy, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart & More

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Did Lennon or McCartney Write the Beatles 1965 Song “In My Life”? A Math Professor, Using Statistics, Solves the Decades-Old Mystery


In 2009, gui­tarist Randy Bach­man of the Guess Who and Bach­man-Turn­er Over­drive had the rare oppor­tu­ni­ty to hear the indi­vid­ual tracks that make up that myth­ic open­ing chord in the Bea­t­les’ “A Hard Day’s Night,” an enig­ma that has baf­fled musi­cians for decades. Bach­man found that it’s actu­al­ly made up of a com­bi­na­tion of dif­fer­ent chords played all at once by George, John, and Paul. The dis­cov­ery made for a great sto­ry, and Bach­man told it the fol­low­ing year on his CBC radio show. Unbe­knownst to him, it seems, anoth­er Cana­di­an Bea­t­les lover, Dal­housie Uni­ver­si­ty math pro­fes­sor Jason Brown, claimed he had cracked the code the pre­vi­ous year, with­out set­ting foot in Abbey Road.

Instead, Brown used what is called a Fouri­er Analy­sis, based on work done in the 1820s by French sci­en­tist Joseph Fouri­er, which reduces sounds into their “con­stituent sine or cosine waves.” The prob­lem with Bachman’s expla­na­tion, as Eliot Van Buskirk notes at Wired, is that the chord “con­tains a note that would be impos­si­ble for the Bea­t­les’ two gui­tarists and bassist to play in one take.” Since there was no over­dub­bing involved, some­thing else must have been hap­pen­ing. Through his math­e­mat­i­cal analy­sis, Brown deter­mined that some­thing else to have been five notes played on the piano, appar­ent­ly by George Mar­tin, “who is known to have dou­bled on piano George Harrison’s solo on the track.”

After ten years of work, Brown has returned with the solu­tion to anoth­er long­time Bea­t­les mys­tery, this time with a lit­tle help from his col­leagues, Har­vard math­e­mati­cians Mark Glick­man and Ryan Song. The prob­lem: who wrote the melody for “In My Life,” Rub­ber Soul’s nos­tal­gic bal­lad? The song is cred­it­ed to the crack team of Lennon-McCart­ney, but while the two agreed that Lennon penned the lyrics, both sep­a­rate­ly claimed in inter­views to have writ­ten the music. Brown and his col­lab­o­ra­tors used sta­tis­ti­cal meth­ods to deter­mine that it was, in fact, Lennon who wrote the whole song.

They present their research in a paper titled “Assess­ing Author­ship of Bea­t­les Songs from Musi­cal Con­tent: Bayesian Clas­si­fi­ca­tion Mod­el­ing from Bags-Of-Words Rep­re­sen­ta­tions.” In the NPR Week­end Edi­tion inter­view above, you can hear Stan­ford math­e­mati­cian Kei­th Devlin break down the terms of their project, includ­ing that odd phrase “bags-of-words rep­re­sen­ta­tions,” which “actu­al­ly goes back to the 1950s,” he says. “Bags-of-words”—like the word clouds we now see on websites—take text, “ignore the gram­mar” and word order and pro­duce a col­lec­tion of words. The method was used to gen­er­ate the first spam fil­ters. Rather than use words, how­ev­er, the math­e­mati­cians decon­tex­tu­al­ized snip­pets of sound.

In an analy­sis of “about 70 songs from Lennon and McCart­ney… they found there were 149 very dis­tinct tran­si­tions between notes and chords.” These are unique to one or the oth­er song­writ­ers. “When you do the math,” Devlin says, it turns out “the prob­a­bil­i­ty that McCart­ney wrote it was .o18—that’s essen­tial­ly zero.” Why might Paul have mis­re­mem­bered this—even say­ing specif­i­cal­ly in a 1984 Play­boy inter­view that he recalled “going off for half an hour and sit­ting with a Mel­lotron… writ­ing the tune”? Who knows. Mash­able has reached out to McCartney’s pub­li­cist for com­ment. But in the final analy­sis, says Devlin, “I would go with math­e­mat­ics” over faulty human mem­o­ry.

via NPR

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gui­tarist Randy Bach­man Demys­ti­fies the Open­ing Chord of The Bea­t­les’ “A Hard Day’s Night”

Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Pro­gram Tries to Write a Bea­t­les Song: Lis­ten to “Daddy’s Car”

The Bea­t­les “While My Gui­tar Gen­tly Weeps” Gets a Dreamy New Music Video from Cirque du Soleil

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

How Leonard Cohen Wrote a Love Song

So many songs take love as their top­ic, almost by default, that we hard­ly even think of the “love song” as a dis­tinct type of musi­cal work any­more. And when we do, we often do it out of a desire for alter­na­tives: lyrics and com­po­si­tions of a more com­plex, cere­bral, and icon­ic nature, escapes from the sim­ple paeans to infat­u­a­tion, romance, and cou­ple­hood with which we can eas­i­ly feel fed up. Few singer-song­writ­ers in recent his­to­ry would seem more capa­ble of pro­vid­ing such escapes than Leonard Cohen, who nev­er shied away from look­ing at life (and when the time came, death) straight on, refus­ing to shrink from its infi­nite emo­tion­al chiaroscuro.

But Leonard Cohen, too, wrote love songs now and again. In “How Leonard Cohen Writes a Love Song,” the video essay from Poly­phon­ic above, we learn just how he tack­led that most com­mon of all musi­cal sub­jects with­out aban­don­ing his inim­itable sen­si­bil­i­ty. It first exam­ines Cohen’s song “Suzanne,” which has its ori­gins in a poem he wrote in 1966 and appeared on his debut album Songs of Leonard Cohen the fol­low­ing year. Unlike almost all love songs, “Suzanne” deals with a Pla­ton­ic rela­tion­ship, in this case the one between Cohen and a woman with whom he reg­u­lar­ly drank tea and took walks around his native Mon­tre­al.

From “Suzanne” the analy­sis moves on to “Famous Blue Rain­coat” from Cohen’s 1971 album Songs of Love and Hate. The nec­es­sary bal­ance between those forces implied in the album’s title reflects Cohen’s world­view, which in the 1970s led him into an involve­ment with Bud­dhism. But he’d also looked into Sci­en­tol­ogy, which explains the song’s then-cryp­tic ques­tion “Did you ever go clear?” That counts as only one of the many cul­tur­al ref­er­ences with which Cohen lay­ers “Famous Blue Rain­coat,” as he lay­ered so much of his work; even a song osten­si­bly about love was also about much else in the world besides love.

After an unpromis­ing ini­tial release in 1984, “Hal­lelu­jah,” would go on to become Cohen’s sig­na­ture song. (Mal­colm Glad­well tells the sto­ry on his pod­cast Revi­sion­ist His­to­ry). Despite the reli­gious themes on its sur­face, “Hal­lelu­jah” has a deep­er mean­ing, so the video reveals, as a love song, albeit a love song of a mul­ti­va­lent kind. Last comes “I’m Your Man,” the title track from Cohen’s unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly syn­the­siz­er-heavy 1988 album, and itself an unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly love song-like love song. But, in the words of Pitch­fork’s Dori­an Lynksey, it takes its “sen­ti­men­tal clichés — I’m addict­ed to love, I’ll do any­thing for love — to bru­tal extremes.” Though Cohen ulti­mate­ly had to admit his inabil­i­ty to ful­ly under­stand, much less tame, the forces of love, nev­er did he give up try­ing to mas­ter it in song, approach­ing it in all the ways typ­i­cal love songs teach us nev­er to expect.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hal­lelu­jah!: You Can Stream Every Leonard Cohen Album in a 22-Hour Chrono­log­i­cal Playlist (1967–2016)

How Leonard Cohen & David Bowie Faced Death Through Their Art: A Look at Their Final Albums

Say Good­bye to Leonard Cohen Through Some of His Best-Loved Songs: “Hal­lelu­jah,” “Suzanne” and 235 Oth­er Tracks

Hear Leonard Cohen’s Final Inter­view: Record­ed by David Rem­nick of The New York­er

Mal­colm Glad­well on Why Genius Takes Time: A Look at the Mak­ing of Elvis Costello’s “Depor­tee” & Leonard Cohen’s “Hal­lelu­jah”

Lis­ten to Nick Cave’s Lec­ture on the Art of Writ­ing Sub­lime Love Songs (1999)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Aretha Franklin’s Most Powerful Early Performances: “Respect,” “Chain of Fools,” “Say a Little Prayer” & More

Sure­ly you’ve heard, the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, is grave­ly ill with ter­mi­nal can­cer and has been moved to hos­pice care. The news has brought tear­ful trib­utes from celebri­ties and fans; lengthy ret­ro­spec­tives of her almost six­ty-year career will fol­low. In a life as rich, trou­bled, and glam­orous as hers, with so many intense highs and lows, it’s almost impos­si­ble to know where to begin, though a num­ber of biog­ra­phers have already told her story—or sto­ries. She kept many of the details of her life pri­vate for years, and denied the sen­sa­tion­al details in a recent biog­ra­phy by David Ritz, who col­lab­o­rat­ed with her on an ear­li­er bio, 1999’s Aretha: From These Roots.

Her strug­gles with alco­hol and overeat­ing, preg­nan­cies at 12 and 14 years old, tumul­tuous and abu­sive rela­tion­ships… describ­ing her chal­lenges and her wilder times, claims Ritz in his defense, throws her incred­i­ble tal­ent and suc­cess into even high­er relief. It prob­a­bly won’t hurt sales, either. In any case, there’s no doubt that Aretha is a sur­vivor. She sang anthems of self-reliance like “Respect” and “Think” from deep wells of per­son­al feel­ing and expe­ri­ence. Music, she told Essence mag­a­zine in 1973, “is my way of com­mu­ni­cat­ing that part of me I can get out front and share. It’s what I have to give; my way of say­ing, ‘Let’s find one anoth­er.’”

A musi­cal prodi­gy as a singer and pianist, America’s reign­ing diva “grew up sur­round­ed by gospel greats,” notes Biography.com, “such as Mahalia Jack­son, Sam Cooke and Clara Ward, as well as civ­il rights icons includ­ing Mar­tin Luther King Jr.,” whom she mourned in song at his funer­al. She’s won 18 Gram­mys, sung at the inau­gu­ra­tion of three pres­i­dents, became the first woman induct­ed into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, had 43 sin­gles in the top 40 charts… this list of accom­plish­ments seems to just scratch the sur­face. What mat­ters in the end, and what will endure, are not the hon­ors, awards, and chart posi­tions, but her incred­i­ble musi­cian­ship and voice. Her gospel roots drove every per­for­mance, giv­ing even the light­est of songs, like Burt Bacharach and Hal David’s “I Say a Lit­tle Prayer,” a stir­ring pow­er and con­vic­tion.

As mil­lions around the world offer prayers for Aretha, revis­it some of the finest live moments in her ear­ly career in the clips here— “Respect” in 1967, at the top, the year she won her first Gram­my for best R&B record­ing. See her per­form “Chain of Fools” in 1968—the year she appeared on the cov­er of Time mag­a­zine under the head­line “The Sound of Soul”—and “Say a Lit­tle Prayer” on The Cliff Richard Show in 1970. Just above, catch a stun­ning per­for­mance of one of her most beloved hits, “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Nat­ur­al Woman.” And below, see her soul­ful take on Paul Simon’s “Bridge Over Trou­bled Water” at the Fill­more West in 1971. Our thoughts are with Aretha and her fam­i­ly. May she con­tin­ue to inspire new gen­er­a­tions for many decades more after she leaves us.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Women of the Blues: Hear a Playlist of Great Blues Singers, from Bessie Smith & Etta James, to Bil­lie Hol­i­day & Janis Joplin

Hear Mar­vin Gaye Sing “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” A Capel­la: The Haunt­ing Iso­lat­ed Vocal Track

Reli­gious Songs That Sec­u­lar Peo­ple Can Love: Bob Dylan, The Byrds, Sam Cooke, John­ny Cash & Your Favorites

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Hear Singers from the Metropolitan Opera Record Their Voices on Traditional Wax Cylinders

Vinyl is back in a big way.

Music lovers who boot­ed their record col­lec­tions dur­ing the com­pact disc’s approx­i­mate­ly 15 year reign are scram­bling to replace their old favorites, even in the age of stream­ing. They can’t get enough of that warm ana­log sound.

Can a wax cylin­der revival be far behind?

A recent wax cylin­der exper­i­ment by Met­ro­pol­i­tan Opera sopra­no Susan­na Phillips and tenor Piotr Becza­la, above, sug­gests no. This ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry tech­nol­o­gy is no more due for a come­back than the zoetrope or the steam pow­ered vibra­tor.

Becza­la ini­ti­at­ed the project, curi­ous to know how his voice would sound when cap­tured by a Thomas Edi­son-era device. If it yield­ed a faith­ful repro­duc­tion, we can assume that the voice mod­ern lis­ten­ers accept as that of a great such as Enri­co Caru­so, whose out­put pre­dat­ed the advent of the elec­tri­cal record­ing process, is fair­ly iden­ti­cal to the one expe­ri­enced by his live audi­ences.

Work­ing togeth­er with the New York Pub­lic Library’s Rodgers and Ham­mer­stein Archives of Record­ed Sound and the Thomas Edi­son Nation­al His­tor­i­cal Park, the Met was able to set up a ses­sion to find out.

The result is not with­out a cer­tain ghost­ly appeal, but the fac­sim­i­le is far from rea­son­able.

As Becza­la told The New York Times, the tech­no­log­i­cal lim­i­ta­tions under­mined his into­na­tion, dic­tion, or per­for­mance of the qui­eter pas­sages of his selec­tion from Verdi’s Luisa Miller. In a field where craft and tech­nique are under con­stant scruti­ny, the exis­tence of such a record­ing could be a lia­bil­i­ty, were it not intend­ed as a curios­i­ty from the get go.

Phillips, ear turned to the horn for play­back, insist­ed that she would­n’t have rec­og­nized this record­ing of “Per Pieta” from Mozart’s Così fan tutte as her own.

Learn more about wax cylin­der record­ing tech­nol­o­gy and preser­va­tion here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Tchaikovsky’s Voice Cap­tured on an Edi­son Cylin­der (1890)

Down­load 10,000 of the First Record­ings of Music Ever Made, Thanks to the UCSB Cylin­der Audio Archive

Opti­cal Scan­ning Tech­nol­o­gy Lets Researchers Recov­er Lost Indige­nous Lan­guages from Old Wax Cylin­der Record­ings

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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