I never left the church. The church goes with me.
— Aretha Franklin
The atmosphere at the Wells Fargo Center, in Philadelphia, was vibrant. Crowds of people stormed the escalators and, after waiting in long lines, entered their respective halls and sat down in blue seats, anxiously anticipating the crowning moment of Hillary Clinton’s Democratic nomination acceptance speech for president of the United States, in 2016. Away from the movement of the crowd was a small room concealed by dark curtains, the only glimmer of light toward the room’s entrance. As I showed my pass to the guard and stepped into this room, a low but constant hum of individual voices buzzed with anticipation. I set my belongings down and took my seat while my eyes toured the surroundings; most people, huddled in small circles conversing, were not even cognizant of who was about to walk into the room. I spoke with several people near me, and as my eyes shifted to the right, I could feel them widen. Standing in the doorway, then taking one step slowly in front of the other, in a blue, resplendent dress, was the Queen of Soul: Ms. Aretha Franklin. With her bodyguard and a couple of relatives by her side, she calmly sat in one of the plush white seats at the front of the room, which was positioned on an upper level in the stadium, to the right of the main stage.
Word traveled fast once Aretha arrived. Approximately five minutes after she took her seat, Democratic strategist Donna Brazile and Bishop Leah D. Daughtry walked in to greet her. As the atmosphere began to calm down and the speeches of delegates were made, I could see Aretha nodding her head in affirmation, saying repeatedly as she watched, “That’s right. Yes.” During a break in the speeches, I vacillated about whether to walk over and introduce myself. Normally, I am bold, but this time my feet froze as I pondered my next move. But eventually, I found myself in front of Aretha Franklin. The next few moments were surreal — it was a conversation with the Queen of Soul that is indelibly etched in my mind. She was seated, and as I knelt next to her, I felt the power of her spirit and her decades of soul singing, which had lifted the spirits not only of the nation but also the world. Growing up under the same church cultural traditions, I felt almost instantly a spiritual kinship with her. Knowing that I might not get this chance again, I told her that we had shared the same performance stage during Pope Francis’s historic last stop in the United States, in Philadelphia, for the World Meeting of Families. She sang that Saturday evening, and I played gospel songs on my violin for the Papal Mass of Pope Francis the next day. After our conversation, my heart soared. I knew I had witnessed legendary history: Hillary Clinton’s historic nomination and my conversation with Aretha, all happening in one evening. As I walked away, I felt gratitude for the opportunity to speak with her. Approximately a year and a half later, on August 16, 2018, Aretha Franklin, the Queen of Soul, passed away.
Through what contemporary figures can we continue to think about how music and social justice activism are related?
When I heard the news of her passing, at age 76, I began thinking about what Aretha’s music meant to me, and the ways in which she gracefully and efficaciously merged music and social justice activism. I thought about how instruments and voices harmonize and sing to bring people together in turbulent times. Aretha Franklin was a preacher/prophet in song, and with her sermonizing voice and improvisatory, rhythmic piano compositions created sonic “Clearings” in the same way that Baby Suggs, in Toni Morrison’s Beloved, “took her great heart to the Clearing — a wide-open place cut deep in the woods nobody knew for what,” in order to preach the word. Aretha’s performances of “Wholy Holy,” “Amazing Grace,” “Rocksteady,” “Respect,” and other classics represent the beauty of African American identity and expressive culture.
In 1972, with the Reverend James Cleveland and the Southern California Community Choir, Aretha recorded the biggest-selling gospel album of all time: Amazing Grace. With Bernard Purdie on drums, Cornell Dupree on guitar, Chuck Rainey on bass, and producers Jerry Wexler and Arif Mardin, the album was captured live over the span of two nights at the New Temple Missionary Baptist Church, in Los Angeles. Here, Aretha becomes the metaphorical Black woman preacher in song, invoking what I like to call a womanist sermonic aesthetic, calling for collective unity through song and sermon with a commitment to the survival of an entire people. Singing effortlessly, Aretha becomes the proclaimer of testimony wrapped in song, not only for herself but for the nation and world.
During the recording, after the choir marches rhythmically down the aisles of the church to “On Our Way,” Aretha sits gracefully at the piano and begins the main key of the song in a B flat major interlude, sliding comfortably for 12 notes into B flat minor and then returning to the main key of B flat major. She starts to sing “Wholy Holy,” a composition, written by Marvin Gaye, that embraces complete sacred unity.
Wholy holy
Come together
Wholy holy
People we all gotta come together
’Cause we need the strength, power, and all the feeling.
Jesus left a long time ago, said He would return
He left us a book to believe in
In it we’ve got a lot to learn
Oh, wholy holy.
In a 2021 interview, Reverend Dr. Brigitte Franklin, the granddaughter of the late Reverend C.L. Franklin and Aretha Franklin’s niece, recounted to me memories of her aunt singing in the midnight hour: “I was telling one of my friends one of the things I used to love when I came to visit. My aunt was very nocturnal, so I’d get in my room and then it could be 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning and she would be on the piano downstairs playing. She would be singing, and I would think I was dreaming … And I would just stand over the staircase in the pitch dark and I would just listen to her sing in the midnight hour. It was beautiful. Because she couldn’t sleep. So, she’d get up and go to the piano.”
Through what contemporary figures can we continue to think about how music and social justice activism are related? Lauryn Hill, Ursula Rucker, Tracy Chapman, Beyoncé, Ledisi, and Bernice Johnson Reagon are some artists out of many who are carrying the legendary mantle of Black music’s impact in the 21st-century freedom movement. On the fifth anniversary of Aretha’s passing, August 16, I am reminded of the importance of music’s role in working toward social justice, for Aretha Franklin was the epitome of a sonic prophet who believed in bringing humanity together. I am also reminded of how powerfully unifying music is, and the magnitude of souls reached with one person’s response of “Yes” to a divine call. Aretha Franklin — a woman whose voice helped carry this nation through turbulent times during the civil rights movement and the Black Power epoch — becomes the prophetic preacher who, through her songs and performances at the White House, ushers in the spirit of empowerment and healing. It is through this mode of Black expressive culture and resurrection that the voiceless find a voice. It is through this Black expressive culture that the musician writes her psalm. It is through this Black expressive culture that the writer finds her poetic use and uses her pen as a weapon, writing through the struggle. It is through this Black expressive culture that even the dancer’s limbs — from head to torso to feet — move and dance through pain. Remembering Aretha Franklin, she is the Black woman musician/prophet as spirit figure, and through the union of song and spirit, healing and transformation take place. ❖
Dr. Melanie R. Hill is Named Term Chair Andrew W. Mellon Assistant Professor of Global Racial Justice and Assistant Professor of American Literature at Rutgers University. Her writing has appeared in the James Baldwin Review, Religions Journal, and Oxford Bibliographies.
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