The Magic of Aretha and a Red Dress

I’d always admired the gutsy, truth behind Aretha Franklin’s songs but never more than the day I decided to go, solo, to sing karaoke. What was I thinking?

I still reeled from the stinging comment my sixth-grade chorus teacher used to mute me for more than thirty years: You sound like a bullfrog with laryngitis. She couldn’t see any potential in my vocalizations. Neither did the church choirmaster who softly told me that he appreciated my passion for hymns and he understood that I was using the voice God had given me, but he thought I might best serve the choir by learning to lip sync.

It’s true. I can’t carry a tune in a thimble or a bucket, even if the entire Westminster Abbey Choir came to help. I’m quite possibly tone deaf, too. My first husband asked me to refrain from singing in the shower, the car, or the garden. Even the dogs ran away when I started humming and birds left the trees in a hurry.

But twenty-five years ago, I put on my favorite red dress, a pair of heels that didn’t pinch too much, and I decided that some strangers in a bar needed to hear my rendition of Aretha’s RESPECT. The Queen of Soul was about to meet the Queen of Goal. You see, I needed to sing that song, that night and I needed an audience. For too long, I had not felt respected, loved, or even seen, and that night, my divorce was final. It was important for me to celebrate and since I had no one to celebrate with, I chose to celebrate alone, in a crowd.

Maybe I somehow channeled my idol’s diva-hood and she came though. It’s possible I arrived late enough that the patrons were too drunk to notice if I was off-key, too loud, or got the words wrong. All I know is that when I finished singing, people cheered – enthusiastically. They invited me to do an encore, but I felt I had accomplished my goal. I sang before a crowd of humans and they appeared to enjoy it. I left without a goodbye. I didn’t know those people and I didn’t owe them a farewell. I thought that first appearance had been a fluke. Besides, I think my red dress was the only stage-worthy one I owned.

I couldn’t get Aretha and her repertoire out of my mind. For weeks, I hummed or sang her other songs and always remembered the compliments I’d received on my performance. I visited my favorite thrift store and found myself something else to wear on stage, just in case I changed my mind about returning. Jeans and a cute, red top. I supposed I’d stumbled on a theme. I was sure that the people who applauded my first appearance did it out of kindness, drunkenness or their own tone deafness and I was afraid to chance an encore that might risk the ridicule I was certain would follow a second song. No, better to guard myself and just stay home.

But the allure of Aretha was too strong. The opportunity to sing my Siren’s song was worth the risk of being laughed out of a small-town bar. I decided I could always stop after my fated failure. So, I squeezed into my jeans, put on the red shirt, opted for more comfortable shoes, and when I walked in, I was greeted by half a dozen people who wanted to know where I’d been. None of them knew my name and I was surprised they remembered my face. My last visit had been so brief. One of the women asked me to join her and her friends and one of the men told me he would give up his spot at the microphone for me and since I had come to sing, I accepted his offer.

This time, I sang Chain of Fools and this time, when I finished, I heard shouts of “encore” and “Zoomin’! Zoomin’!” Nobody has ever asked me to sing a second time. This was completely new to me. I shook my head and took a bow, then I left. I felt it best to leave on a virtual good note and this was too good to be true.

I’ve often heard that divorce changes people and how adversity can make people grow, but I never believed that singing Aretha Franklin songs in a karaoke bar could make my voice improve.

After another hiatus, I returned to that bar to sing, every Thursday night and even though we never socialized outside of that venue, I grew close to some of the regular patrons. Women who had never sung before often joined me for duets or group songs. They were always songs by Aretha Franklin. We had so many to choose from!

The karaoke bar has closed and I’ve long move on from that small town. I’ve fallen in love and have a new life in another state. People now tell me that I have a pretty singing voice and while I know I will never compare to the Queen of Soul, her words and her spirit transformed me into who I am today.