Aretha

Hey nineteen
That’s ‘Retha Franklin
She don’t remember the Queen of Soul

That was recorded by Steely Dan in 1980, when Aretha already appeared to be in the rearview mirror.

But she wasn’t.

Forget the forgettable Arista hits, but remember her appearances on the Grammys, at Obama’s inauguration and the Kennedy Center Honors. Aretha Franklin transcended the hit parade, she was an icon as big as the music business itself. She forged her own path, and we loved her for it.

Now you’ve got to understand it was a different era. That’s right, the baby boomers had it best, they lived through the Beatles and the explosion of soul. Back when you owned a transistor radio instead of a smartphone, when we were all excited by what emanated from the single speaker in the dashboard, when if you wanted to know which way the wind blew, you listened to music.

It started with “Respect.”

1967 was the Summer of Love, it was also the year before the deaths of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy. There was a brief respite before the darkness overtook the light. Not that the light never shined thereafter, it’s just that we always expected the other shoe to drop, and it did. Tell a denizen of the sixties that racism is now prevalent and minorities are excluded on the voting rolls and their heads spin. We fought for freedom, the sky was the limit, we were on action, not reaction, and ultimately we all got on the same team, rednecks grew their hair, they were ultimately against the Vietnam War, and the twin pillars were Motown and rock.

And then came Aretha.

She started off on Columbia, which didn’t know what to do with her. Sometimes you’re too early, sometimes you’re lacking chemistry, sometimes you need someone to midwife you to success.

Like Jerry Wexler. Used to be the Jews and the blacks walked side by side. Why African-Americans find fault with the Semitic people today I do not know, we’re both minorities, both fighting to end injustice.

And Columbia was part of a conglomerate, whereas the more nimble Atlantic had a long history in black music. Aretha was finally home, at least when it comes to record companies.

What you want
Baby, I got it

Talk about girl power, talk about the beginning of the feminist revolution, Aretha’s place in the pantheon has not been elucidated. It was women who embraced Aretha first, they could hear the power in her voice, her message.

And overnight, “Sock it to me baby” became par of the vernacular. On “Laugh-In,” hell, even Richard Nixon uttered it on television.

That’s the power of a hit single, that’s the power of music, at least back then, can you imagine Trump quoting Kendrick Lamar today?

No way.

But “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” sounded completely different, we shouldn’t have been surprised when she subbed for Pavarotti at the Grammys and hit “Nessun Dorma” far over the fence, she could sing anything, she could make it her own. That’s the mark of a great artist, one who has breadth, who is not one note. Arguably this number is the one that made Goffin and King household names, and it was only a few years later that Carole cut her version on “Tapestry,” but even King would admit that Aretha owns it.

As for “Chain Of Fools,” once again it was a new twist, unconnected to what came before, other than it had soul! Aretha may not have written these songs but she owned them. And unlike Michael Jackson, she did not coin her own moniker and she did not fight for the spotlight, she was quiet about her career, she just kept making hits. Whether it be 1972’s “Rock Steady,” from the album “Young, Gifted And Black,” or the surprise “comeback” hit from 1973, “Until You Come Back To Me (That’s What I’m Gonna Do)” in an era where FM ruled and AM was a backwater. I heard this on the jukebox at the Alibi in Middlebury, Vermont and I had to buy the album, to be able to play it at will, it’s all about the chorus, not that there isn’t so much more.

And then came the victory lap. Aretha’s triumphant appearance in the “Blues Brothers” movie, where she blew every other musician off the screen, owning the movie in a matter of minutes, back in an era where musical performances onscreen were still rare, unavailable, this voice that emanated from the radio, the performance was every bit as energetic and believable and then…

Aretha disappeared.

Well, there was a bit of MTV action, especially 1985’s “Freeway Of Love,” but the recording was overproduced, a relic of the early MTV era, when the oldsters still had traction before the popsters and the rappers took over. Aretha’s performance was stellar, but she didn’t star in the song like she did in previous numbers and the metronomic, rhythm machine track didn’t swing like the hits of old, it lacked an element of soul, not that the verse was not catchy.

But Aretha suddenly became unavailable. Especially at the turn of the century, when seemingly every classic act took to the boards since they could no longer have radio hits, in an endless dash for cash, to the point where the younger generation became unfamiliar with her, she certainly was a legend, but they didn’t realize she was a living, breathing person who could still deliver. She was a diva, she had to do it her way, but when you saw her her magnetism attracted you and then you found yourself hovering over the arena, able to fly on the notes alone.

She knew she was that good, that great, that phenomenal, truly above everybody else. But she didn’t have to advertise herself, the penumbra was irrelevant, all she had to do was open her mouth.

For her last famous public appearance on the Kennedy Center Honors. You didn’t want to follow Aretha, you couldn’t! She came out playing the piano, people aren’t supposed to be trained, but Aretha paid her dues in church, she didn’t burst on the scene with no backstory. And when she stood and shed her fur and sang… You could say belted, but this was not Mariah Carey, Aretha was always in service to the song, she showed off without trying to, all she had to do was perform!

And there you have it folks, she was here and now she’s gone.

Too many of them are gone. From Bowie to Frey to those who O.D.’ed before their time, like Prince. But pancreatic cancer got the Queen of Soul. There’s really no treatment, it’s a death sentence, a couple of months and you’re out, done, finished.

And in this case Roger Friedman gave us advance warning, so we weren’t surprised, today these deaths come from seemingly nowhere, like records.

But still…

76 ain’t young, but it’s not old either. Paul McCartney is 76 and he’s got a new album, he’s still touring, he’s still alive, we expect these musicians to live forever.

But they don’t.

And when they’re gone they’re never coming back, like the era they dominated.

But most of the classic acts have been forgotten, touring sans original members, there are only a few giants, superstars who can still sell every ticket, but no one lives forever and at some point this era will fade.

Will the music survive?

It appears so, because it was built on a different foundation. When you could not be famous for nothing, when you had to have talent to make it, when you had to pay endless dues to break through. We baby boomers lived through the Renaissance, they painted and sculpted after Raphael and Michelangelo, but at no time thereafter was there such a burst of genius, such dominance. Same deal with music. I know, I know, you want to believe it’s the same as ever, but change happens, and it has.

So certainly spin the records. But if you ever had a hankering to see these legends, go now. It was joke that this was the last time for the Stones, that you had to see them before they died, but at some point Mick and Keith will truly go, then what?

It’ll be like today. Aretha was here, always in the back of our mind, the records still as vital as they were yesterday, and now, pfft, she’s gone!

Kinda funny in a country focused on youth. We only give legends their due when they pass.

But that’s not true of Aretha, she was always here, those records are forever. Just go to a wedding or bar mitzvah, you’ll hear ’em, everybody knows them. As big as Michael Jackson was, Aretha was bigger. But she lived her life privately, with fewer shenanigans. And she tried to live it for herself, but there were endless tragedies and mistreatments. But still, we were and still are the beneficiaries of her fantastic talent. She ultimately suffered for us.

And we still remember the Queen of Soul.

Touring vs. Labels

The script has flipped, record companies no longer drive the business, they get all the press, but the question is not how many streams you have, but how many tickets you’re worth, then the industry knows if you have real fans. Better to play to the local promoter than the A&R guy. And if you don’t play live, you’ve got no chance to cement your bond with your audience. That’s where it happens, on stage. At the beginning sinews are formed at the merch table. Never underestimate face to face, give someone the time of day and they’ll support you forever.

I don’t want to denigrate Lucian Grainge and Rob Stringer and whoever really has the power at Warner, but the truth is promoters lay down much more cash, they’ve got much more at risk, the road is where you really get paid, the true majordomos are Michael Rapino and Jay Marciano, even though neither is a household name, the average person still can’t understand the touring business, they know if you get social data online you can interest a label, especially if it’s accompanied by streaming stats, but none of that means much to a promoter, a promoter is not interested in the penumbra so much as the core.

This is antithetical to everything you’ve heard, but that does not mean it’s untrue.

Forever, the label was the bank, the label built careers, the tour was the advertisement for the record. Now it’s vice versa. The label’s payments are de minimis compared to the promoter’s. And you build careers on the road, not on streaming services. Streaming is like swipes on Tinder, people are interested, but it doesn’t compare to a successful date.

Now the funny thing is streaming is dominated by hip-hop, but live a cornucopia of genres do well. And unlike in the sixties or seventies or the MTV era, we do not live in a monoculture, no act is dominant. As big as Drake is, many people have never heard his music. But they are listening to music, are they listening to yours?

In many cases they’re listening to oldies, heritage music, which the labels pooh-pooh, because there may not be a record deal anymore, there may not even be new recordings, furthermore, no one at the label was there when the original recordings were made and they’re uninterested, they’re focused on the new, they want the glory, and this doesn’t square with reality. The reality is numerous fans are married to the legacy artists, the new ones? Not so much.

And it’s not sexy to say the Eagles are selling out another building, so there’s little press on the heritage acts. They do call it the NEWSpaper! So what is really happening frequently goes undocumented. This is not politics, where the loser is forgotten, seemingly no one is forgotten in music, especially if they’ve made their bones on the road.

Playing live and garnering an audience is much more difficult than shooting a video and posting it online, much more difficult than spamming everybody to pay attention. And the road is black and white, either you can sell tickets or you can’t. People lament paying to play, but the truth is you’re paying because you have no audience and the promoter is running a business and once you do have an audience you’ll get paid, although few do.

The bar is so high these days. You can only fail in your basement, in rehearsal. Once people are paying attention, you’ve got to deliver, which is much more difficult than tweaking your product in Pro Tools. And it’s hard to fake it live, and those who do tend to have a short shelf life. You’ve got to know how to play, how to deliver. And if you do this well, you’ll eventually blow up, probably when you write a hit tune, which most acts can never do. The landscape is littered with acts that can play but can’t write, who can never concoct the single that puts them over the top. And the single comes last, if it comes first, none of the above applies, you’ve got no fanbase, you’re just flavor of the moment, if you don’t follow up the recording with something equally as good, forget it.

Now road people are lifers, from top to bottom. If you’re good, you keep your job, because experience is everything. Once again, it’s less sexy than working at a label, but you have more power. You see the promoter is making bets every single day, or every single week. This is not a record label throwing stuff at the wall, hoping a record sticks. The shows have to pay, otherwise the company goes out of business. And promoters are always interested in what youngsters have to say, because they believe they’re more in touch. Until you get to the superstar level, everything’s up for grabs, it isn’t a negotiation solely between agent, attorney and promoter. Input is key upon development.

And live there are sellers and buyers.

Sellers are agents, promoters are buyers.

You need an agent, someone who will get you gigs. It’s harder than getting a record deal and the deal is clean, the standard is 10%. And the agent won’t work unless he or she can make money. Sure, they’ll work for bupkes if they believe in you, but if you don’t pan out, if they don’t think you’re working hard enough, they’ll drop you. Meanwhile, the opposite is true too, you can fire your agent.

If you’re in the hip-hop game, labels are big players. They advance you money, get you playlisted and on radio and TV. But if you’re not a rapper, radio and TV that count are not really interested, and neither is the label, you’re better off going it alone. Used to be the label was your only choice, but the truth is those complaining about millions of streams and low payouts all have major label deals, where the lion’s share of the money goes to the company.

Meanwhile, Chance did it without a label.

So the wheel has turned. You use the internet to connect with your fans as opposed to spread the word, it’s about infecting those at the show, mobilizing them to spread the word, there are just too many messages online, yours gets lost, it is not heard, but when a real person, a friend, testifies, people pay attention.

I know, I know, this is a much rougher row to hoe than playing the label game. But it pays many more dividends. Used to be you needed a label to play, not anymore. The nineties saw the growth of the indies, since MTV played so little product. The aughts were about using the net as a tool to get noticed. But in the teens cacophony rules and you’re better off with a subscription to “Pollstar” than “Billboard.”

Think about that.

Kaskade-This Week’s Podcast

I loved talking to Ryan, that’s his real name, you learn the genesis of his stage moniker in this podcast.

He grew up in Northbrook, Illinois and got infected by the Chicago house music scene. Then he brought his records to BYU where he flailed.

After his mission in Japan, he was a tour guide in NYC, and then back to SLC where he matriculated at the U and…started to spin records on a dead night in a club. Everybody’s looking for shortcuts, but not Ryan, not so many who make it. They’re impresarios, you don’t have to be in tech to be an entrepreneur. And he ended up in SF with his wife and…

Went to work at a record label, honed his production chops, continued to make music, and eventually he made it.

What does making it look like today?

Primarily having an audience, that supports you. Who cares about the evanescent acts featured in the media, it’s the fans who keep you alive. And I experienced the vibe with 30,000 acolytes at Sunsoaked, in Long Beach.

Ryan is nothing like what you think he is. That’s right, he is Mormon and he does not do drugs. But even more than that, his personality is infectious, he’s alive, he’s excited, there’s none of the affected cool so prevalent amongst musicians. I could have talked to him all day.

Listen to a snippet- Kaskade on the Vegas pool party that attracted 15,000 fans:

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The Jacket

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This is a hit record!

It’s got a hole in the elbow, bandana pocket
Silver button missin’ from the snap at the bottom
I said ‘That thing’s seen better days, daddy you should toss it’
And he said, ‘Darlin’ I can’t’

Steve expected me to be wearing my jean jacket. I hadn’t seen him in decades, but when I was in college I wore that Lee jacket until it faded and started to get holes. It was the only thing I wore my first winter in L.A.

And then it fell apart.

You used to have to break them in, they were evidence of wear and tear, of a life.

This thing is two thousand bonfires, hitchhiked to Boulder
It’s kept a million raindrops off your mama’s shoulders
My heart on my sleeve, my life in these patches
Then he wrapped his arms around me in that old
Jean jacket

That’s when you know you’ve crossed a bridge, when the sinews have formed, when she wears your clothing, it’s intimate, she wants to feel connected and it makes you feel good.

It’s been a bed for a hound dog, a picnic blanket
There’s blood on the collar from a punk who tried to take it from me
Seen Willie Nelson play four or five states
The best Levi ever made

That’s the great thing about music, it’s not quantifiable, it lives and breathes, like people. No computer can match you for a date, the machine never gets it right, you’ve got to see the person to know. And oftentimes you just do… You see them across a room, it’s the way they hold their head, the way they wink, you’re hooked. And that’s the way I felt when I heard “The Jacket” on Ashley McBryde’s album last night, it jumped out of the iPhone, from Spotify to me. I can only describe the feeling, of being rooted, of being alive, the way the changes integrated with me.

And then it got better.

It ain’t much to look at, but he let me have it
So I could feel his arms around me in that old
Jean jacket
Jean jacket

What a closer! A story of life in two minutes and forty seconds. I had to play it again, immediately. That’s what a hit is.

That’s why country radio should play this record, because the format’s based on callout research, on females, even though it rarely plays women on the stations. It’s not about formula, it’s about a feeling. And you cannot help but feel warm and fuzzy and alive when you hear “The Jacket.”

We strung four miles of barbed wire in Corinth, Mississippi
Spent a night in county jail with an old drunk and a hippie
It’s my heart on the sleeve, it’s my life in these patches
With his arms wrapped around me in that old jean jacket

Your history is in your clothes. Even if you can afford new ones, you like the old broken-in ones, they’ve seen so much, they’re part of you.

The jacket’s experienced, just like you. It’s got miles on it, just like you. It’s good and bad, love and hate, and those memorable moments, like at the show, the Willie Nelson show.

This is songwriting, it’s personal, it’s located in time and space, you can visualize it, and it’s got an emotion that trumps all other art forms when done right.

This is a winner.