Picking up on the religious undercurrent of the lyrics, she shifts from scat singing to fervent gospel sermonising its full power is revealed on the a capella intro of C&C’s Deeper Mix. A Deeper Love (1992)įranklin’s great excursion into house music – produced by Clivillés and Cole of C&C Music Factory fame – features a typically amazing vocal over the relentless height-of-the-night groove. The backing perfectly conjures up a dingy club at 3am, her performance switching between weariness and a weird kind of relish: “The night life ain’t no good life, but you know it’s my life.” 20. A frantic take on Dinah Washington’s 1963 hit, this is more edgy and exciting than the MOR and jazz-pop the label usually lumbered her with.įranklin completely inhabits Willie Nelson’s song about his early career, struggling at the bottom of Nashville’s ladder. Occasionally, however, her full power was unleashed, as here. Soulville (1964)Ĭolumbia Records knew Franklin was talented, but not what to do with her, peppering her career with false starts. From the Luther Vandross-produced LP Get It Right, Every Girl (Wants My Guy) is a fabulously sassy slice of post-disco boogie. They are certainly not unimpeachable classics to match her late 60s/early 70s imperial period, but they’re still studded with gems. Every Girl (Wants My Guy) (1983)įranklin’s early-80s albums don’t get a lot of love. The beat and the lyrical references to “flossin’” are contemporary, but the singer sounds unfazed, delivering a coolly controlled performance. The late 90s attempt to give Franklin a hip-hop/neo soul-influenced makeover didn’t really work, except on the album’s Lauryn Hill-penned title track. I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You) (1967)įinally allowed, by her new label Atlantic, to do whatever she wanted – “They just told me to sit at the piano and sing” – Franklin responded with the title track of her 10th album, a blues into which she appeared to pour all the pain of her marriage to the appalling Ted White. Something He Can Feel was supposed to be part of the repertoire of the 60s girl group at the heart of the film, but it’s too well-written and subtle to sound like pastiche. The Curtis Mayfield-helmed soundtrack to the film Sparkle is an overlooked gem in Franklin’s catalogue, his songs great, the lush proto-disco sound a delight. Photograph: Michael Ochs Archives/Redferns 26. Her audience seemed to think Franklin was lowering herself by making the disco album La Diva, but the reality is far better than its wretched reputation suggests, as evidenced by her version of this Lalomie Washburn song, far too funky and robust to feel like belated bandwagon-jumping. But it’s such a fantastic song, it hardly matters: Franklin, meanwhile, sounds exuberant. The album’s production is very of its era: the 60s Motown pastiche Freeway of Love was remixed to appeal to “rock” – ie white – audiences. Laden with guest appearances, home to Sisters Are Doing It for Themselves, 1985’s Who’s Zoomin’ Who restored Franklin to the charts. You can hear it on Holdin’ On, co-written and arranged by Mary J Blige, proof that her vocal ability was undiminished in her 60s. Her last album (after 23 years) on Arista, So Damn Happy made more concessions to Franklin’s past than its immediate predecessors: she played piano, wrote material and sounded more comfortable in her surroundings. But you can’t get away from the fact that she sounds amazing, investing the lyric with undeniable power. In one sense, United Together is symbolic of what went wrong with Franklin’s career in the early 80s – it’s a high-gloss MOR ballad, a world away from the music that made her name.
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