Queen Rania of Jordan Plays With Proportions in Voluminous Max Mara Skirt for Rome Visit Alongside Italy's First Lady Laura Mattarella
After sharing remarks at the World's Summit on Children's Rights at the Vatican on Monday, Queen Rania of Jordan dressed up in Max Mara to visit the Jordan: Dawn of Christianity exhibition in Rome alongside Italy's first lady Laura Mattarella on Tuesday.
Queen Rania wore the Rosatea turtleneck sweater in a wool blend with a coordinated maxiskirt. The turtleneck featured long sleeves and a modern design. Her voluminous skirt featured a high waistline, pleating and a balloon-like shape.
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The royal wore a pair of yellow pumps courtesy of Aquazurra with her look and a small bag by Moynat. As for her accessories, Queen Rania wore gold statement earrings by Stone Fine Jewelry and a gold bangle by Rainbow K to coordinate.
Her glam featured her hair in a ponytail with wisps of hair to frame her face. The royal's makeup included bold brows, a lined eye and a glossy lip. Mattarella opted for a monochrome look in a pink dress with a hemline at the knee and a coordinated top handle purse and suede shoes.
Queen Rania's attire for her Rome visit on Tuesday was sartorially antithetical to the ensemble she wore on Monday. During her visit to the Vatican on Monday, Queen Rania wore a blush pink Oscar de la Renta dress with ornate lace detailing and a cutout on the sleeves.
The royal, who commemorated 25 years on the throne in June 2024, offered remarks on the global need to advocate for and provide resources to vulnerable children, particularly those in war zones. 'Whether they are missing their two front teeth or have lost limbs to war wounds, every child has an equal claim to our protection and care,' Queen Rania said.
For past royal occasions and events, Queen Rania has worn designs courtesy of such labels as Cos and Elie Saab, among others.
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25 Greatest Aretha Franklin Songs
American singer, songwriter, pianist, and civil rights activist Aretha Franklin performing in ... More Detroit, MI. Aretha Franklin, the Queen of Soul, laid out the blueprint for modern soul music through her remarkable vocal technique, emotional authenticity and ability to transform any song into a declaration of human dignity. She is largely considered one of the greatest singers of all time, and her catalog represents the evolution of American popular music itself. Franklin started singing in Detroit's New Bethel Baptist Church, where her father, C.L. Franklin, was a minister. In 1956, Franklin signed her first recording deal, at the age of 14, with J.V.B. Records, where she released her first album, Songs of Faith. In 1960, she transitioned to a secular career, signing a deal with Columbia Records and releasing her first secular album, Aretha: With The Ray Bryant Combo. In 1967, Franklin transitioned to Atlantic Records, which became a career-altering move for her and secured her as a commercially successful artist. Over five decades, she released 38 studio albums, earning 18 Grammy Awards and becoming the first woman inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1987. This ranking considers Franklin's commercial impact, critical acclaim, cultural significance and artistic evolution, drawing from her chart performances, Grammy recognition and mass appeal. Aretha Franklin's Amazing Grace album captured her in her spiritual element and reaffirmed her gospel roots and vocal supremacy. Recorded live at New Temple Missionary Baptist Church in Los Angeles over the course of two nights, the album represented not only the sonic power of Franklin in her element but the full emotional and communal weight of Black church worship. This was no performance for crossover appeal, but a return to her origins, and in returning, she redefined the possibilities of gospel music, making her a force that was capable of bridging gospel and secular music with rare conviction. Her vocal delivery throughout the album can be described as virtuosic yet restrained, technically flawless yet spiritually uncontainable. With the backing of the Southern California Community Choir and the legendary Rev. James Cleveland, she moves through hymns and standards with a reverence and fire that is both liturgical and vocally supreme. She elevates gospel to high art without abandoning its communal roots, proving that religious music could hold the same cultural gravitas as soul or pop when voiced with this much truth. In 1973, Franklin's Amazing Grace album won the Grammy Award for Best Soul Gospel Performance and is considered the best-selling gospel album of all time. In 2012, the titular album earned her an induction into the Gospel Music Hall of Fame, and the song 'Amazing Grace' was featured in the documentary film Amazing Grace (2018). Aretha Franklin's "I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)" was released as her Atlantic Records debut and represented Franklin's creative freedom. This raw confession took her pain, following the fallout of her traumatic marriage to her manager, Ted White, and made it art. After years of Columbia Records forcing her into ill-fitting jazz and pop arrangements, Atlantic's Jerry Wexler gave Franklin the creative freedom she had long been denied: 'They just told me to sit at the piano and sing,' Franklin once said of the song. The aftermath was a blues song so intimate and devastating that listening to it felt like eavesdropping on a woman's most private emotional reckoning. Franklin's voice moves from vulnerable whisper to gospel-powered wail, embodying the paradoxical extremes of what toxic love can be: addictive and catastrophic. Spooner Oldham's electric piano created a church-like reverence in making the song, while the rhythm section's understated power allowed every nuance of Franklin's performance to breathe. This was when Franklin stopped being a talented vocalist and became an artist capable of alchemizing pain into beauty. Upon its release, the track became a defining song for Franklin, peaking at No. 1 on the rhythm and blues charts and becoming Franklin's first R&B No. 1. The album I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You contributed to Franklin's eight-year winning streak in the Best Female R&B Vocal Performance category at the Grammy Awards from 1967 to 1974. Franklin's version of 'A Deeper Love' (1994) represents one of popular music's most audacious reinventions—the Queen of Soul transforming a club anthem into a gospel-powered manifesto of self-determination. The song was originally recorded by Clivillés & Cole in 1991, but it found its voice when Franklin claimed it three years later, and revamped the dance-floor euphoria with her signature spiritual authority. This was not a typical cover but a remake that showed Franklin bending the song's house music framework to accommodate her expansive vocal range. Her interpretation changed the song's message of pride into something approaching spiritual doctrine, turning "the power that gives you the strength to survive" into a declaration of divine self-worth. At the same time, the Clivillés & Cole production maintained the song's club sensibility while creating space for Franklin's gospel-inflected interpretations. The song became an anthem for the LGBTQ+ community, its message of pride and survival resonating at parades and in clubs, while earning Franklin a Grammy nomination and demonstrating her remarkable ability to remain culturally relevant three decades into her career. The track reached No. 1 on the US dance charts and No. 63 on the Billboard Hot 100. It was featured in the movie Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit (1993). Aretha Franklin's 'Call Me' (1970) was written and recorded in the aftermath of her divorce from manager Ted White. The song represents Franklin at her most exposed—yet paradoxically, her most commanding. After witnessing a young couple's affectionate 'I love me' farewell on New York's Park Avenue, Franklin was inspired to write the song. According to guitarist Jimmy Johnson, Franklin "may have cried during the lyrics of that song" because she was still heartbroken over her split from White, leading to an emotional recording session that left the entire Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section in tears. Yet Franklin's vocal performance exceeds autobiography and moves between whispered confession and gospel-powered declaration with the precision of a master storyteller. Her piano work provides the song's emotional scaffolding while the Muscle Shoals musicians create space for every nuance of longing and grief. The track reached No. 1 on the R&B charts for two weeks and No. 13 on the pop chart. 'Call Me' proved that Franklin's greatest gift wasn't avoiding pain but altering it into something that spoke to the universal human experience of love and loss. American Soul and R&B musician Aretha Franklin plays piano as she performs onstage during the 1968 ... More 'Soul Together' Concert at Madison Square Garden, New York City. Franklin's version of 'Eleanor Rigby' reclaimed the Beatles' original song in a way that most covers don't. Where the Beatles rendered loneliness with baroque distance and string quartet melancholy, Franklin reworked it into something visceral, human and inspired by the lived experience of disconnection. Gone is the polite detachment of the original; in its place is a gospel-saturated lament that wrestles directly with the spiritual and social cost of being unseen. She strips the song down to its emotional chassis and rebuilds it with the full weight of Black musical tradition in a radically free way while bending McCartney's melody into new contours, inserting calls, pauses and moans that feel improvised but land with intention. Her voice turns the anonymous 'all the lonely people' into a communal indictment: Who is watching them, and why are they forgotten? Musically, she trades the string quartet for something earthier: Spooner Oldham's electric piano and the Muscle Shoals rhythm section give the track a foundation of soulful gravity. At the same time, subtle organ fills evoke the sanctified hush of the Black church. The result is a version of 'Eleanor Rigby' that gives the song renewed gravitas and translates it into a language the original could only hint at. Upon its release, the track reached No. 17 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 5 on the R&B chart. But its real achievement was conceptual: it proved that Franklin could not only inhabit material written by others but also elevate it, politicize it and drag it into new emotional and cultural territory. Aretha Franklin's 1985 collaboration with Eurythmics, 'Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves,' stands as one of the most culturally resonant duets of her later career. It paired two powerhouse voices from different musical traditions—Franklin's soul-rooted authority and Annie Lennox's new wave cool—into a track that delivered both a hook and a headline: women claiming power, in their voices and in their lives. Franklin's vocal phrasing carries decades of lived experience, turning each line into something grounded and urgent. Backed by the Southern soul textures of the MG's and the glint of Eurythmics' synth production, the song feels anchored in tradition but made for the moment. Its lyrical directness—'Now this is a song to celebrate / The conscious liberation of the female state'—was unapologetic, and Franklin, as usual, did not disappoint in her vocal delivery. The song reached No. 18 on the Billboard Hot 100 and became a staple of both artists' legacies. It also received a Grammy nomination for Best R&B Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocals. More importantly, it extended Franklin's long-running role as a voice not just of personal strength, but of collective empowerment. By stepping into a new sonic terrain without compromising her voice or message, she reminded the music world—and the world at large—that she always would have that 'It' factor as an artist. The song was featured in Legally Blonde 2: Red, White & Blonde (2003), The First Wives Club (1996) and Just Like a Woman (1992). One of the signs of a phenomenal artist is their ability to seamlessly collaborate with their peers, regardless of the cross-genre. Franklin's duet with George Michael was proof that she could collaborate with contemporary artists and still maintain her soulful approach to music. Michael, then at the height of his pop superstardom, brought sleek production and youthful polish. Franklin, ever the anchor, brought gravitas and vocal authority, and together, they met at the intersection of gospel fervor and radio-friendly pop. The result was a track that soared. At the time of the song's release, it wasn't the novelty that made it stand out, but the chemistry between both artists. Franklin's vocal delivery brimmed with subtle phrasing choices and emotional control that grounded the duet in something deeper than a typical crossover. Michael, too, held his own, clearly reverent of the legend beside him, and Franklin never ceded the center of gravity because she had nothing to prove—and proved everything. The single hit No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 and earned the pair a Grammy for Best R&B Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocals. It also reaffirmed what had always been true of Franklin: that her voice could move fluidly between eras, genres and collaborators without ever losing its core. 'I Knew You Were Waiting' was a hit, but it was also a signal that Aretha Franklin didn't follow trends. She blessed them. By the mid-1980s, many '60s legacy artists were fading, but Franklin, instead, was evolving. 'Who's Zoomin' Who?' was a song that paid homage to current R&B and pop trends but had a confident reinvention. Armed with synth-heavy production, danceable undertones and a fearless embrace of new sonic textures, Franklin didn't chase the era's sound but met it on her own terms. The lyrics were flirtatious and sharp, a cat-and-mouse game of romantic power dynamics, and Franklin delivered them with cool precision and knowing wit. Her voice cut through the glossy arrangement, reminding everyone that no matter how digitized the studio became, her presence remained analog, soulful and unshakable. The track was produced by pop hitmaker Narada Michael Walden and backed by a top-tier rhythm section; an arrangement that worked well to showcase Franklin as an artist who could flirt with the aesthetics of MTV and synth-pop without surrendering a shred of her identity. Her decision to do this was not reinvention out of desperation but a strategic evolution from a maestro who understood the business, the culture and her audience. The song peaked at No. 7 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 2 on the R&B chart, proving that she could remain a commercial success regardless of the new generation of music listeners. The song also proved without a doubt that the Queen of Soul could still rule in any decade—and on any terms she chose. Singer Aretha Franklin performs during a 1968 concert at Madison Square Garden in New York City, New ... More York. By 1972, Aretha Franklin was the Queen of Soul and a cultural force. 'Young, Gifted and Black' was her most explicit declaration of that power. Penned initially by Nina Simone and Weldon Irvine as a civil rights anthem, the song carried enormous weight. Co-producer Jerry Wexler reportedly hesitated regarding the song, as Simone had already immortalized it. But Franklin wasn't interested in duplication because she knew that in her hands, she could take the song and transform it. Backed by Billy Preston's sanctified organ and her church-honed piano phrasing, Franklin reframed the song less as a rallying cry and more as a blessing. Where Simone's version was searing and resolute, Franklin's was soaring and generous, offering pride not just as resistance, but as inheritance. 'You are young, gifted, and Black,' she sings, not as an observation but as a benediction. Vocally, she's in masterful form—unwavering, clear and open-hearted—and every phrase is built to uplift. The arrangement fuses gospel, soul and stately R&B with a sense of occasion, emphasizing the track's role as both a political statement and a spiritual hymn. The fact that this was the title track to her critically acclaimed 18th studio album was no accident. After all, Franklin wasn't merely aligning herself with the Black Power movement but was embedding it into the fabric of her art. The Young, Gifted and Black album reached No. 11 on the Billboard 200 chart and won the Grammy Award for Best Female R&B Vocal Performance in 1972. Written by her sister Carolyn Franklin, 'Ain't No Way' is one of the most emotionally direct songs in Aretha's catalog. Where 'Respect' asserted power, this track leaned into vulnerability. This song explores love's emotional limits in the quiet spaces where it falters and pride takes its place. Aretha's performance here is remarkably restrained. There isn't any oversinging or dramatic belting; instead, she listens, waits and lets the tension do the work. Carolyn's background vocals act as an emotional counterpoint, giving the track its familial weight and gospel undertow. Together, their voices feel less like harmony and more like conversation, one sister finishing the other's sentence in song. The arrangement is purposefully minimal: just piano, organ and a brushed rhythm section, which works well because it makes the song feel timeless, stripped of anything that might tie it too closely to an era. The result is as intimate as a whispered confession and as unflinching as a breakup lovers never wanted to have. Upon its release, the song peaked at No. 16 on the Billboard Hot 100 and reached No. 9 on the R&B chart. Ultimately, Franklin's decision to cede vocal space to her sister proved to be more about artistic wisdom than mere family generosity. Although the song did not win any major awards, it was featured in the 2021 movie Respect, a biopic about Franklin's life, and in the 2017 comedy Girls Trip. Released as the lead single from Hey Now Hey (The Other Side of the Sky), 'Angel' represented a strategic pivot in Aretha Franklin's early-'70s repertoire—less declarative than her late-'60s songs, more introspective and vocally controlled. Aretha's sister, Carolyn, and Sonny Saunders wrote the song and thanks to Aretha's co-production with Quincy Jones, the song delivered a pared-down, mid-tempo soul ballad highlighting Aretha's ability to carry emotional weight with subtlety rather than force. There's no vocal climax or orchestral swell, just a focused, minimalist arrangement that places the lyric front and center. Jones's production leans into Rhodes piano and muted horns, favoring space over density. And Aretha responds in kind, adapting her delivery to fit the song's interior tone, demonstrating vocal flexibility and a strong editorial sense about when to scale back. The strategy proved commercially astute: "Angel" topped the R&B chart while reaching No. 20 on the Hot 100—an important showing in a transitional period where soul artists were competing with emerging disco and soft rock for radio space. It reinforced the Detroit native's continued relevance and adaptability in working with contemporary producers without compromising her core artistry. Thematically, the track also prefigured a shift in soul music's concerns—from collective empowerment to personal reckoning. Aretha Franklin sings in the Atlantic Records studio during 'The Weight' recording session in New ... More York City. Aretha Franklin's 'Spanish Harlem' cover was a brick-by-brick remaking of the song in her own image. Where the original leaned into a Latin-tinged track, Franklin infused the song with the full weight of gospel, soul, and the lived Black American experience. Her voice blooms through the verses like the fabled rose in the lyrics—unexpected, defiant and deeply rooted. With her signature melisma and unshakable control, Franklin poured new emotional depth into the Leiber and Stoller classic, turning it into a meditation on beauty, survival and cultural pride. Her phrasing stretches syllables into prayers, lifting the song from sweet romance into something sacred and unshakably human, and in her hands, the song became an anthem not just of place, but of steadiness. The track soared to No. 2 on the R&B charts—not just a commercial success, but proof of her artistic reinvention. By the early 1970s, Franklin had developed an uncanny ability to interpret and reshape standards with a profound spiritual charge. 'Spanish Harlem' is proof of Franklin's power to honor the bones of a song while draping it in her artistic imprint, which has always been intelligent, emotionally charged and inspired by a sense of identity that made every word feel lived. Franklin's version of the song earned her the Grammy for Best Female R&B Vocal Performance in 1972 and years later was immortalized in the Grammy Hall of Fame. It also won awards for Best Rhythm & Blues Solo Vocal Performance and Best R&B Recording. With 'Day Dreaming,' the Queen of Soul stepped back from the pulpit and leaned into something more introspective, one that felt closer to jazz and soft funk than the fiery gospel-infused soul she was best known for. But that's what made it powerful: it showed a different dimension of her artistry, one that didn't need to raise its voice to be heard. This aspect of her craft showed her in full control, not just of her voice, but of the mood, the pacing and the emotional undercurrent of the record. Her voice on this song is relaxed yet purposeful, and every word feels deliberately considered but never stiff, and the lyrics speak of longing and escape. Franklin's delivery on this song was not that of a diva but of a woman who was daydreaming about a love that felt slightly out of reach and frustratingly so. You believe her because she doesn't push the emotion; she wears it lightly, like a memory, and it was that sense of effortlessness that made the performance so rich. The song achieved the top spot on the Hot Soul Singles chart and the fifth spot on the R&B chart. Despite not being a commercial hit, it subtly redefined the boundaries of what a soul ballad could be. And that made it stick, because the track became a template for a more introspective kind of R&B, influencing a generation of artists who followed. Aretha Franklin during taping of The Midnight Special TV show, NBC Studios in Burbank, California. With 'Rock Steady,' Aretha Franklin dove headfirst into the funk movement, proving she could more than keep up. The song was built on a tight, syncopated groove and led by a bold bass line, crisp drums and layered rhythm guitar. It's funk through and through, but Aretha puts her spin on it from the beginning without overpowering the beat. Aretha's phrasing is sharp, agile, and deeply rhythmic, effortlessly locking into the rhythm with confidence. This is Aretha shifting gears and leaning into a more contemporary sound without forfeiting the soulfulness that made her the Queen of Soul. The song climbed to No. 9 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 2 on the R&B chart. While other artists struggled to adapt to the new sounds of the early '70s, Aretha showed yet again that she could pivot without compromise. The song's polished interpretation of funk and soul helped shape dance music's direction in the decade to come. You can hear echoes of it in early disco, modern R&B, and even in hip-hop sampling decades later, but at its core, it's more evidence of Franklin's versatility because she was leading the next generation of music, all without veering from her soulful roots. The song was featured in soundtracks for movies like High Fidelity (2000) and The Upside (2017). Franklin knew how to find the heart of a song, and in 'Until You Come Back to Me,' she saw something quietly powerful. Stevie Wonder, Morris Broadnax and Clarence Paul initially wrote the song, but it landed in the right hands with Franklin, who brought a new level of emotional honesty to it. Her version is calm but tense, a mix that is part devotion, part defiance. The arrangement is clean and understated, with just enough orchestration to give it polish without distracting from her voice. And that voice is as focused and expressive as ever—never showy, but full of intention. Every line feels like it matters. She lets the melody guide her but brings enough subtle phrasing and tonal shifts to recompose the song and make it hers. The song reached No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 and topped the R&B chart, marking Franklin's return to significant commercial success in the mid-1970s. It also earned her a Grammy nomination and showed that she was a classic artist who could reinterpret songs, regardless of whether she wrote the lyrics or not. The track's gold certification validated what the charts had already proven: that Franklin was a commercially successful act who could remain successful regardless of changing musical trends. Aretha Franklin recording at the piano at Columbia Studios in New York. Unlike other Franklin songs that thunder or weep, 'Spirit in the Dark' doesn't do either. Instead, it shuffles and flickers like a flame trying to hold itself together in a midnight room. Released in 1970 as both the title track of her album and a stand-alone single, it's Franklin stripped of polish and ceremony, digging into something looser, funkier, stranger—and somehow more candid. It starts small, with Franklin's piano walking the line between gospel chord and barroom sway, then builds as if powered by something just beneath the surface. She's not belting. She's coaxing and asking, almost playfully, 'Are you getting the spirit?' But by the end, it's not a question. It's a demand. And if you're not moved, you're not listening. The track was recorded with the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section, but it doesn't sound like a Muscle Shoals song. It sounds like Franklin reimagining what soul music could be when it stopped trying to please everyone. The beat is low-slung and patient. There's no crescendo in the traditional sense; instead, the song unspools and each repetition adds heat, pressure and depth. If Franklin's gospel roots are in there, they're mingling with the funk, not standing apart from it. The single reached No. 3 on the U.S. R&B chart and No. 23 on the Billboard Hot 100. When Aretha Franklin set her sights on Ben E. King's 'Don't Play That Song,' she cut away everything that was safe about the song and reimagined it with her artistic vision. While King's original was a gentleman's request, Franklin's version of the arrangement is deceptively simple, anchored by gospel piano and handclaps that mirror a church revival more than a radio single. The tension between rhythmic uplift and lyrical betrayal gives the song its bite. It reached No. 11 on the Billboard Hot 100 and topped the R&B chart, confirming Franklin's winning streak at the dawn of the '70s. Her voice moves through the lyrics precisely and relentlessly, and there's no flourish for its own sake—only conviction. She plays with tempo, stretching specific phrases and snapping others to hold her emotional line. It's a performance that's technically disciplined but emotionally raw, and that balance is what elevates it. Franklin reinterprets the song but also reclaims it in a way that only a true artist can. When she is done with the song, the polite heartache of the original is gone and replaced with something stronger, more complex and authentically hers. Where others might have leaned too hard on the metaphor, Franklin cuts straight to the emotional truth. 'The House That Jack Built' flips the idea of material success on its head. The house is still standing, but the love that gave it meaning is gone, and Aretha makes sure you feel every inch of that emptiness. At the time, she was struggling with the breakdown of her marriage to Ted White, and it shows. Here, she taps into outrage and heartbreak through tightly wound phrasing and dynamic command. Listen to how she glides through 'What's the use of crying'—cool, controlled—then lets loose on the chorus with a punch of clarity and defiance: 'I got the house, I got the car... but I ain't got Jack.' The song's structure—one part allegory, one part lament—provides a dramatic canvas, and Franklin fills it with vocal depth that rises and collapses with intention. The horns punch, the rhythm section sways and Franklin commands both, pushing the story forward with operatic vigor and zero waste. Upon its release, the song peaked at No. 6 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 2 on R&B, another milestone in a stretch where nearly everything she touched turned to gold. But the real victory here is artistic: Franklin builds a house of sound, then tears it down to show you what's underneath. Franklin's interpretation of this Bacharach-David composition was a confident reimagining that hummed with spiritual intensity, transforming a quiet devotion into a form of testimony. Dionne Warwick delivered the original version of this song as pristine, controlled and beautiful in its distance. Franklin's version, captured almost as an afterthought during sessions for another recording, was distinct, not because of its vocal technique, but because of Franklin's precision as a master craftswoman. The mechanical insistence of the piano arrangement—clockwork devotion, metronomic obsession—creates a foundation that mirrors the very ritual the lyrics describe. When Franklin elongates 'forever' into what sounds like a full measure of eternity, she takes the song from the parlor to the sanctuary. The commercial reception—No. 10 pop, No. 3 R&B—provides only a surface measurement of a deeper artistic achievement. Franklin had not merely covered a song but revealed its hidden architecture, exposing layers of meaning that its creators may not have known existed. This was the Franklin method in microcosm, and by October 1968, 'I Say a Little Prayer' had climbed to No. 10 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 3 on the R&B chart. That same month, it was certified Gold by the RIAA, marking yet another commercial triumph. It also became Franklin's ninth—and final—consecutive Top 10 hit on the Atlantic label, closing out a remarkable run with characteristic force. On its surface, "See Saw" might read like a playful metaphor, but in Franklin's hands, it becomes a study in how love tips, shifts and knocks off balance. Although the song pulsates with infectious energy thanks to its swinging rhythm guitar and punchy horns, Franklin's voice remains steady. She captures the emotional unpredictability of love with remarkable vocal agility, pivoting instantly from playful tease to stern warning, from euphoric joy to weary resignation—sometimes within a single phrase. The call-and-response with her backing singers transforms simple vocal interplay into psychological theater, turning flirtation into confrontation before sliding back into perfect harmony just as the emotional tide shifts. The arrangement gives Franklin space to explore not just melody, but power dynamics themselves—she plays with tempo and emphasis, making listeners feel the actual motion of that seesaw. Recorded during her late-'60s peak, 'See Saw' reached No. 14 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 9 on the R&B chart. This is one of those tracks that doesn't announce itself with drama but leaves a lasting impression through sheer craft and intelligence. Not many artists can outshine the Ronettes at their own game, and Franklin certainly didn't try to replicate their grandeur; she just took a spin on it to create something more intimate and grounded. The production is rawer, the arrangement leaner, but emotionally, it hits harder. Franklin's vocals are fierce and unfiltered, and when she barrels into the chorus with total authority, her vulnerability and power are front and center. There's no slow build, no dramatic lead-in—just a woman saying exactly what she wants and daring anyone to question it. The track peaked at No. 4 on the Hot 100 and topped the R&B chart. The backing vocals—provided in part by her sisters, Erma and Carolyn—don't cushion the performance but intensify the depth of the song, giving the track an urgency that cuts deeper than the lyrics alone. Franklin was ahead of her contemporaries at the time because she didn't sing to the listener but sang through the moment. Here, she transformed the moment by asserting love and taking control of a story that could otherwise be passive or sweet. In just over two and a half minutes, she turns a basic pop sentiment into a declaration of presence. Aretha's version of the song was featured in the critically acclaimed movie Goodfellas (1990). At first listen, Chain of Fools might sound like a simple breakup anthem—compelling storyline, unforgettable hook and a woman fed up with a man who's done her wrong. But that's only the surface. Don Covay's lyrics provide the frame, but Franklin is the true mastermind. She constructs the emotional weight of the song line by line, repetition by repetition, until that single word—'chain'—feels less like a metaphor and more like a diagnosis. Her delivery itself relies on repetitive escalation. The first 'Chain, chain, chain' drips with weary recognition. But as the song comes into focus, each phrase is cut with precision, with her tone shifting from world-weary to steely resolve, mainly because she describes the pain, owns it and then moves on. The lyricism, anchored by Joe South's coiled guitar riff, never lets up. It's taut, minimal and menacing—a slow burn that gives Franklin room to work. The call-and-response vocals, shaped by gospel traditions, do more than add texture. You hear them, and you realize this isn't just her story—it's ours. The song was released in late 1967, and at a time when the country was teetering between protest and despair, the song resonated far beyond romantic frustration. Within the repetition was something unmistakably political: a woman speaking out, not just to a lover, but to a society that had underestimated her. Franklin didn't need to shout to be heard. She just needed to repeat the truth until there was no denying it. It reached No. 2 on the pop and R&B charts and earned Franklin the Grammy for Best Female R&B Vocal Performance. Aretha Franklin and Ray Charles perform onstage at the Fillmore West in San Francisco. Franklin co-wrote 'Think' with her then-husband Ted White and the song's lean, immediate and bracing tone represents an explosive refusal to be controlled or silenced. Unlike some of her other slow-tempo songs, Franklin doesn't build toward anything here; she begins in full sprint, as if the conversation has been happening and you've just arrived. Her vocal is rhythm itself—sharp, clipped and deliberate. She moves with the beat, not over it, turning each lyric into a direct address. No filler, no delay. When she lands on 'freedom," stretching it into something longer than a single breath, the word stops being a slogan and becomes a demand for oxygen. The band behind her locks in tight and the instruments hold steady, but everything defers to her phrasing, which controls the energy of the song. 'Think' hit No. 7 on the Billboard Hot 100 and topped the R&B chart, and by the time Franklin reprised it in The Blues Brothers (1980), it had already outgrown its own era because the message hadn't aged and the stakes hadn't changed. Underneath the hook is something that's never been far from Franklin's best work: the idea that power and vulnerability are not opposites, but collaborators. The song is not a reaction to mistreatment but represents a woman refusing to be erased by it. In two minutes and nineteen seconds, she sketches the whole emotional outline of self-respect: sharp corners, firm boundaries and no exit unless she says so. Written by Carole King, Gerry Goffin and Jerry Wexler, '(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman' was already a stellar record, one that was elegant in structure and direct in sentiment. But in Aretha Franklin's voice, the song moved into another register entirely the moment she started singing. The arrangement is lush with piano, strings and light percussion, but nothing ornamental and it's a love song designed for presence, and Franklin's vocal delivers. She doesn't race through the song but instead approaches it with deliberation, letting each phrase carry its emotional weight. Her first verse is quiet, almost tentative, as if testing the edges of vulnerability, but when the chorus arrives, there's no hesitation—only assertion. Franklin places each note with intention, stretching certain phrases just behind the beat, and instead of being overtly sentimental as most love songs are, she opts instead for clarity in her delivery. The single reached No. 8 on the Billboard Hot 100 and earned Franklin a Grammy nomination for Best Contemporary Female Solo Vocal Performance. Franklin's interpretation made space for a kind of emotional authority that, at the time, was rarely granted to women—especially Black women—in popular music. Over half a century later, 'Natural Woman' remains one of Franklin's most iconic recordings—not because she reinvented the song, but because she further revealed everything it already had to say. It's usually difficult to distill an artist's repertoire into a list because music is inherently subjective, but many people would concede that 'Respect' is Franklin's magnum opus. Originally written and recorded by Otis Redding, the song began as a man's plea for acknowledgment at home. But in Franklin's hands, it became something far more expansive: a woman asserting not only her worth, but her right to be heard, to be taken seriously and to be treated as equal—on her terms. Franklin's version is lean, direct, and electrically charged from the downbeat. The arrangement is tighter than Redding's, stripped of indulgence and sharpened into a rhythmic engine. Her voice enters not with softness but with authority, calibrated like a bell—clear, unmistakable, unignorable. In this record, she doesn't ease in but owns each note from the first word, all while structuring the song around tension and release. The staccato rhythm section, the sudden bursts of background vocals, the precise spelling of R-E-S-P-E-C-T—each element builds on the last, until the entire song becomes a controlled explosion. By the time she gets to 'sock it to me," we have both a catchphrase and syncopation. The single reached No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 and R&B charts, winning Franklin two Grammys, including Best Female R&B Vocal Performance. But its legacy has never been measured solely in accolades. The record was released at the height of the civil rights and women's rights movements and became a cultural hinge that bridged private frustration and civic demand. It spoke to a generation, and still speaks, because Franklin never lets the message feel locked in its time. Her version isn't angry. It is focused. It is not reactive but strategic. She doesn't raise her voice because she's emotional but rather does so because she is right. And in doing so, she delivered what may be the most essential vocal performance in American music: not the sound of a woman asking, but the sound of a woman deciding. The song has been featured in several movies and TV shows, including Forrest Gump (1994), Sex and the City (1998) and Get Real (1988). In 2002, the Library of Congress added Franklin's version of the song to the National Recording Registry, and it has been named the Greatest Song of All Time by Rolling Stone. Bottom Line This list isn't merely a catalog of chart successes but a study of an artist who rewrote the fundamental grammar of American music. Aretha Franklin never bent to the marketplace or courted approval; instead, she delivered each record with an authenticity that compelled the world to recalibrate itself to her frequency. These songs are classics not as monuments to the past but as benchmarks for a gold standard that remains unmatched.
Yahoo
17 hours ago
- Yahoo
Sir Brian May doesn't believe claims that Queen bandmate Freddie Mercury had a secret lovechild
Sir Brian May doesn't believe that his Queen bandmate Freddie Mercury has a secret daughter. A new biography has sensationally claimed that the late music icon fathered a child following an affair with a close friend's wife in 1976 - with the revelation being kept a closely guarded secret amongst his inner circle - but Brian's wife Anita Dobson has revealed that the guitarist is unconvinced about the revelation. Recalling when she heard about the claims, Anita told the Daily Mirror newspaper: "I went, 'What?'. I thought, 'No?'. I said to Brian, 'Do you know about this?'. He said, 'Do you believe this?'. The former EastEnders actress thinks that Freddie - who passed away in 1991 from AIDS complications - was too big a star for the secret to be kept under wraps for so long. Anita, 76, said: "He's iconic. It seems inconceivable he would have a child with someone we don't know about. Where is she - step forward. If she exists." Biographer Lesley-Ann Jones, who has penned the book Love, Freddie, insists that she has DNA proof that the 48-year-old woman is the child of the Bohemian Rhapsody singer and claims that she has always known the identity of her famous father - even handing over 17 of his journals that were used in the writing of the biography. The book - which will be released in September - features a handwritten letter from the woman, known only as B. She wrote: "Freddie Mercury was and is my father. We had a very close and loving relationship from the moment I was born and throughout the final 15 years of his life. Those who have been aware of my existence kept his greatest secret out of loyalty." Jones has hit back at those doubting the biography's claims and insists that the necessary research was conducted before publication. The writer said: "To those 'demanding' to see proof of a DNA test, rest assured the requisite verification was obtained, legal teams have been involved." She added: "To those insisting Freddie's diaries were faked with AI, that his daughter 'doesn't exist': wait and see." Jones explained that her "instinct was to doubt everything" when she was first contacted by Freddie's daughter - who lives in Europe and works as a medical professional - but is certain that the woman is telling the truth. She told the Daily Mail newspaper: "My instinct was to doubt everything, but I am absolutely sure she is not a fantasist."
Yahoo
18 hours ago
- Yahoo
Lorde's new album 'Virgin' is messy, emotional, and perfectly suited for the moment
Lorde released her fourth studio album, "Virgin," on Friday. The lyrics are frank and transparent, tackling knotty topics like sex, drugs, and eating disorders. The album's themes reflect a cultural shift away from polish and toward authenticity. For most of us, the first words we heard come out of Lorde's mouth took the shape of a disavowal: "I've never seen a diamond in the flesh." Lorde wrote "Royals" in 30 minutes when she was 15 years old. Growing up in New Zealand, disillusioned with materialism and flex culture — especially in the US — she proudly cast herself as a distant observer. She saw, she understood, but she didn't participate. This posture resonated with millions. "Royals" topped the Billboard Hot 100, where it remained for nine weeks. The smash hit was later certified diamond and won two Grammy Awards, including song of the year. Lorde has spent much of her career being portrayed as elusive and infallible by fans and media outlets alike. She tends to release an album every four years, and in between, she retreats from the spotlight. Even her stage name (Lorde's real name is Ella Yelich-O'Connor) evokes an office that's separate and superior. But a lot has changed since "Royals" was released as a single in 2013, just a few years after Instagram was launched. At the time, the platform was generally used for sharing one perfectly posed (and heavily filtered) photo at a time. Now, Instagram timelines look much less curated, with the savviest social media enthusiasts sharing unrefined "photo dumps" and spontaneous Instagram Stories instead. Pop culture has tilted dramatically in favor of relatability, transparency, and authenticity, too. Consumers no longer demand polish, poise, or aloof nonchalance from celebrities. "Mess is in," DJ Louie XIV, music critic and host of the Pop Pantheon podcast, recently told me while discussing the state of pop music. Several of last year's biggest hits corroborate his thesis: Taylor Swift embraced chaos and lust in writing "The Tortured Poets Department," and it became the best-selling album of her career. Chappell Roan canceled concerts, shared off-the-cuff videos on TikTok, scolded photographers on red carpets, and then won best new artist at the Grammys. Charli XCX's summer-defining album "Brat" — which the singer described as "my flaws, my fuck ups, my ego all rolled into one" — offers perhaps the clearest example of how this aesthetic has taken over. "Even Charli's outfits are tattered. She can't sing except in autotune. The whole album is about emotional messiness," Louie said. Charli XCX even recruited Lorde for a remix of the track "Girl, So Confusing," to hash out their long-simmering tension in real time. For the new wave of pop stars, he added, fans "seeing the seams is a plus." Lorde has surely noticed this trend because there's plenty of mess in her fourth album, "Virgin," released on Friday. Gone is the detached, enigmatic attitude from Lorde's debut album, when she insisted, "I'm kind of over getting told to throw my hands up in the air, so there." Now, she won't only throw her hands up, but she'll admit to getting them dirty, just like the rest of us. Lorde has said that "Virgin" represents a sort of rebirth — a newfound willingness to follow her gut and experience the world without a protective veil. The album's 11 tracks tackle an array of knotty topics, from enjoying unprotected sex ("Clearblue") and yearning for her mother's approval ("Favourite Daughter") to dabbling with drugs ("What Was That") and struggling with an eating disorder ("Broken Glass"). Lorde's honest lyricism is punctuated with palpable details: a discarded at-home pregnancy test, a dead uncle whom she resembles, blown-up pupils, and rotting teeth. These images make her life feel real and human. "Mystique is dead," she sings bluntly. This is not to say Lorde has never used personal details in her music. However, her last two albums, "Melodrama" and "Solar Power," offered confessions often cloaked in self-conscious theatrics, metaphor, or irony. When Lorde sang, "I can't feel a thing / I keep looking at my mood ring / Tell me how I'm feeling" in the 2021 single "Mood Ring," she was poking fun at the cult of wellness and the blonde caricature she adopted in the music video. By contrast, when she sings, "Take an aura picture, read it, and tell me who I am" in the new album's opening track, "Hammer," it's clear that she's disclosing a raw moment of self-doubt. (And her habit of taking aura photos in New York City's Chinatown is well-documented.) Lorde's "Virgin" co-producer, Jim-E Stack, told GQ how the duo intentionally added sounds that felt raw or jarring to reflect the author's mindset. With AI and modern technology, he pointed out, it's easy for artists to make perfect-sounding records with no hiccups or texture. And when it comes to art, easy usually translates to boring. "That is what's exciting in music right now, and where innovation is happening: People channeling their imperfections and saying stuff that's a little scary," Stack told the publication. "There [are] definitely songs on Ella's record that are like, 'Whoa, can you say this as a pop star?'" He was right to be concerned; a lesser artist wouldn't be able to pull it off. But Lorde can, she should — and she did. Read the original article on Business Insider
