5 Underrated Aretha Franklin Records From The 1970s

Franklin didn’t just cover a song. She breathed new life into it as if it were her own, and sometimes, made it definitive. Best known for her self-penned R&B classic, “Call Me,” this 1970 covers-heavy album feels like it was conceived as a producer’s bid to get Franklin more crossover exposure in the pop-rock scene, with fine readings of staples from the likes of Burt Bacharach and Hal David (the title track), Robbie Robertson (The Band’s “The Weight”), and Paul McCartney and John Lennon, in which her recording of “Let It Be” hit stores months before The Beatles’ version. But it also shares the virtues of her best work: the Muscle Shoals rhythm section cooks everything into high gear, augmented on some tracks by all-star players like saxophonist King Curtis and guitar god Duane Allman. There’s those heavenly backing vocals from the Sweet Sensations, with Cissy Houston and Dee Dee Warwick. Above all, a gritty Southern soul energy powers these sessions with Franklin’s blues-soaked performances taking everything over. Just listen to how she brings the house down on brooding covers of Ben E. King’s “It Ain’t Fair” and Jean Wells’ “Sit Down and Cry.”

All great artists throw a curveball every once in a while. On her first Atlantic LP without the winning production aid of Jerry Wexler, Arif Mardin, and Tom Dowd, Franklin decided to shake things up with the legendary Quincy Jones. This was a no-brainer: one of music’s greatest singers paired with one of music’s greatest maestros at the peak of their powers. Originally envisioned as a straight-ahead jazz experiment (similar to Franklin’s underrated 1969 LP, Soul ’69), the result was her most musically adventurous work yet. 

Best known for her poignant hit, “Angel,” co-written by her sister, Carolyn, this eclectic 1973 LP found Franklin stretching her earthy R&B into psychedelic funk (check out the album’s esoteric title track and her homage to troubled soul and blues singer, Esther Phillips, “Sister from Texas”), classical (her otherworldly cover of the Leonard Bernstein showstopper, “Somewhere”), vocal jazz (her fantastically frantic reading of James Moody’s evergreen, “Moody’s Mood for Love”), and blues (the eight-minute cooker, “Just Right Tonight,” features Franklin’s tasteful piano solos augmented by some of her most stone-to-the-bone belting on tape). There’s also Franklin’s first stab at social commentary with “Mister Spain,” an R&B slow burn on the plight of heroin addiction and racial politics. Although this was critically maligned and underperformed commercially during its initial release, Franklin’s broad, sterling voice was above her peers.

Dusting off the commercial misfire of the Quincy Jones-produced Hey Now Hey (The Other Side of the Sky), Franklin got back to basics on her 20th studio album. An elegant update of her gospel-charged soul mold, Let Me in Your Life embodies the quiet fire and grace of 1970s female R&B at the dawn of disco. Posh strings, driving funk-based rhythms, and stylish backup vocals galore, she spun her gorgeous vocal mastery onto a wide array of singer-songwriter classics, from Bill Withers (the title track), Stevie Wonder (“Until You Come Back to Me (That’s What I’m Gonna Do)”), and Herb Magidson (“The Masquerade is Over”) to Leon Russell (“A Song for You”), Bobby Womack (“I’m in Love”), and Ashford & Simpson (“Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing”). There are also two lone originals, written by Franklin herself,  “Oh, Baby” and “If You Don’t Think,” with the former being a sexy, orchestrated ballad highlighting her spine-tingling ad-libs soaring into euphoric ecstasy.   

By the mid-’70s, many soul vets like Aretha were in a commercial rut. Amid disco’s takeover and emerging soul divas, namely Chaka Khan and Natalie Cole, drawing from Franklin’s gutsy R&B style, she held on. Her last production with Jerry Wexler, 1975’s You isn’t in the same class with her early ’70s triumphs Spirit in the Dark or Young, Gifted and Black. But it surveys Franklin in a funky mid-’70s R&B mode with several surprises. In one of its best cuts, “Without You,” Franklin struts her fiery voice onto a spunky, Rufus & Chaka Khan-tinged groove, rivaling 1972’s “Rock Steady” as her funkiest jam. She even takes a dip into reggae waters on “You Got All the Aces” and delivers a joyous vocal on the light disco of “It Only Happens (When I Look at You).” In her beautifully understated cover of Van McCoy‘s “Walk Softly,” she infuses tender conviction into the longing ballad as only she could. She also tackles Cole’s ballad “You,” which Cole originally cut for her debut album, Inseparable. The slicker R&B styles on You being a far cry from the gritty, gospel-infused soul of her earlier Atlantic classics factored into its poor sales and lukewarm reception. But it’s certainly overdue to be rediscovered, along with her other later 1974-79 Atlantic output.  

The follow-up to 1976’s gold-selling, Curtis Mayfield-produced Sparkle soundtrack, Sweet Passion could very well be dubbed Franklin’s breeziest album. Primarily helmed by legendary Detroit soul master Lamont Dozier, there’s a mystery as to why this plush 1977 LP didn’t fare better commercially than it did. It produced Franklin’s last number-one R&B hit until 1982’s “Jump to It” with the Marvin Hamlisch and Carole Bayer Sager quiet storm ballad, “Break it to Me Gently,” which also nabbed a Best Female R&B Vocal Grammy nomination. But there are other delights on this eclectic fest: the rousing, gospel-fueled disco workout, “Touch Me Up,” with Franklin’s signature call-and-response vocals riding a four-on-the-floor beat, the string-laden disco soul of “No One Could Ever Love You More,” and the mellow rare groove stepper “Sunshine Will Never Be the Same.” In showing off her jazz credentials, Franklin boldly tackles a swinging medley of Kiki Dee’s “I’ve Got the Music in Me” and Clark Terry’s “Mumbles,” launching into a dazzling marathon of scat singing with her luminous piano work. Hopefully, the unfortunate reputation of this and the rest of her late-period Atlantic output gets remedied once they’re made available in digital formats someday.