In 1985, Atlantic Records released one of the best hits collections ever compiled, Aretha Franklin’s 30 Greatest Hits. Covering just the years 1967 through 1974, it features one immortal track after another, songs the radio hasn’t really stopped playing since their release — some of which have come to define a whole era. But if there’s a problem with having a couple-of-dozen-and-change hits that everyone knows, it’s that they can overshadow everything else an artist recorded. 30 Greatest Hits and its streaming era descendants like Spotify’s “This Is Aretha Franklin” playlist understandably lean heavily on Franklin’s best-known tracks, as does the new Jennifer Hudson-starring biopic Respect. But you could wipe them from existence and still be left with a remarkable body of work. So consider this list a kind of alternate universe version of 30 Greatest Hits, an imaginary album beamed in from a world in which “Respect” and “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” never existed, or at least took a back seat to some of the album tracks, one-off singles, and unreleased-in-their-time tunes featured here.
“Won’t Be Long” (1961, Aretha With the Ray Bryant Combo)
Aretha Franklin made her breakthrough in 1967 at the age of 24 with “I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Loved You),” her first single for Atlantic and the first time producer Jerry Wexler teamed her with a team of red-hot musicians based in Muscle Shoals and Memphis who understood how to follow Franklin’s lead. The single’s success, and the success of its follow-ups, effectively relegated everything she’d recorded before to prehistory, but Franklin had already cut nine albums for Columbia by that point, after signing with the label at the age of 18.
Yet despite the resources of a major label and the guidance of producer John Hammond — who’d already played key roles in the careers of Billie Holiday, Count Basie and many others and would later do the same for Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen — Franklin never enjoyed more than moderate success at Columbia. The main problem: Columbia didn’t quite know what to do with her or whether she would be their next great jazz artist, an R&B star, or a blues singer.
The answer was all of the above but also none of the above. But while Franklin’s defining work as the Queen of Soul still lay ahead of her, there’s much to enjoy from her Columbia years. Though she sometimes lacked direction and had to settle for questionable material, Franklin’s voice and interpretive skills were already evident. Look no further than the first track of her first album, 1961’s Aretha with the Ray Bryant Combo, which finds Franklin locked into pianist and bandleader Bryant’s easygoing groove while pushing her voice beyond its borders. The song became a top-10 hit on the R&B charts but barely made a blip on the pop charts.
“Operation Heartbreak” (B-Side, 1961)
Franklin’s biggest pop success during this era would be with a version of Al Jolson’s “Rock A Bye Your Baby With A Dixie Melody” soulful enough to blow away any hint of nostalgia for the antebellum South.But the R&B charts embraced the B-Side, a scorching ballad that suggests the soul hits to come (at least until the syrupy strings come in toward the end). In a sign that Columbia didn’t always know how to sort wheat from chaff, the song didn’t even rate a spot on Franklin’s second album, The Electrifying Aretha Franklin, until later reissues.
“Soulville” (1964, from Unforgettable: A Tribute to Dinah Washington)
Franklin and her siblings — sisters Erma and Carolyn (both notable singers in their own right) and a brother, Cecil, who’d later serve as Franklin’s personal manager — grew up in the home of their father C.L. Franklin, a pastor at one of Detroit’s largest and most influential Black churches. The Franklins’ place became a regular destination both for civil rights leaders and musicians, including Dinah Washington. Franklin looked up to her, but their relationship turned complicated when Franklin turned pro, most visibly when Washington started an angry mid-concert confrontation after Franklin started performing one of her songs.
Despite this thorniness, which helped set the pattern for Franklin’s own discomfort with younger performers like Roberta Flack and Natalie Cole later in her career, Franklin’s album-length tribute to Washington is one of the highlights of her Columbia years. This rollicking take on “Soulville” pointed toward Franklin’s future with more than just its title.
“One Step Ahead” (1965, Single)
Though it can now be found on the compilation A Bit of Soul, this hard-to-find 1965 gem was long one for the crate diggers, a track released as a single but never included on any of her albums. Among those crate diggers was the producer Ayatollah, who built the beat for Mos Def’s 1999 song “Ms. Fat Booty” around Franklin’s scorching vocal.
“A Little Bit of Soul” (1967, from Take it Like You Give It)
Is it a coincidence that Franklin’s final album for Columbia begins with a (very good) cover of the Jerome Kern/Oscar Hammerstein II show tune lament “Why Was I Born?”—an example of Columbia’s tendency to try every sort of material to see what sticks—and ends with a bouncy, gospel-inspired gem that has “soul” in the title? Probably, but “A Little Bit of Soul” still sounds like the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. A new label, a producer who better understood her gifts, and success on a scale she’d never experienced before all beckoned.
“Don’t Let Me Lose This Dream” (1967, from I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You)
Getting there wasn’t without its tumult, however. In 1961, Franklin married Ted White, a Detroit native described by those around the singer as a “gentleman pimp” who brought an instinct for hustling to the music industry and helped orchestrate her move to Atlantic. White also abused Franklin — who separated from him in 1968 — and cut short Wexler’s first attempt to record her with the local talent at Muscle Shoals. “I Never Loved A Man (The Way I Loved You)” became a radio hit, however, and Franklin agreed to return to the studio with Wexler and many of the same musicians, provided they work in New York. The result was I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You, home to classics like the title track, “Dr. Feelgood,” “Do Right Woman, Do Right Man,” and the towering “Respect.”
It’s an album so stacked with hits they tend to overshadow the lesser-known tracks, like this sweet, pleading track penned by Franklin (and, nominally at least, White). Like much of the album, it captures how important Franklin’s piano playing is to her breakthrough work. She’s in the driver’s seat. Everyone else is along for the ride.
“Satisfaction” (1967, from Aretha Arrives)
I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You and Franklin’s third Atlantic album, Lady Soul, flooded the market with hit after hit. Sandwiched between them, Aretha Arrives only sent “Baby, I Love You” up the charts, but it’s filled with Franklin’s unique interpretation of others’ material, kicking off with this memorable take on the Rolling Stones’ 1965 classic. (Years later, Keith Richards would produce Franklin’s cover of another Stones song, “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” for the 1986 film of the same name.)
“96 Tears” (1967, from Aretha Arrives)
In covering “Satisfaction,” Franklin was following in the footsteps of Otis Redding, who’d cut an impassioned cover a few years earlier. In covering the ? and the Mysterians garage rock classic “96 Tears,” Franklin was blazing her own trail. Just as Redding threw away much of what the Stones had done to make the song his own, Franklin dispenses with all but the most basic elements of the original to reshape the song into her own image. A chugging lament driven by a spooky organ becomes a ferocious call to arms, as if that’s what it should have been all along.
“So Soon” (1967, from Rare and Unreleased Recordings)
The Franklin equivalent of one of Bob Dylan’s Bootleg Series releases, the 2007 collection Rare and Unreleased Recordings combs the vault for worthwhile forgotten tracks and finds no shortage of them. Recorded for Aretha Arrives, “So Soon” remained unheard for years. But like most of Franklin’s outtakes, the punchy track is hardly a failure and, had it made the cut, might easily be considered one of her classics. It’s a victim of a time when Franklin was turning out high-level work at such a feverish pace that less immediate classics simply got left behind.
“People Get Ready” (1968, from Lady Soul)
Franklin’s family friends included the great Chicago soul musician Curtis Mayfield (with whom she’d later collaborate for one of the highlights of her ’70s recordings). Franklin’s cover of this Mayfield-penned Impressions classic brings the gospel elements of the original to the fore, then sends them soaring to the rafters.
“Groovin’” (1968, from Lady Soul)
The Rascals helped set the standard for blue-eyed soul in the 1960s, making records with a deep respect for the genre and a desire to put their own spin on the music they loved. Franklin’s cover of the band’s easygoing hit provides a tip of the hat to their efforts that taps into the song’s relaxed mood and a vocal that’s anything but passive.
“My Song” (1968, single)
Here’s a funny thing about hit songs: sometimes they depend on repackaging to be remembered. “My Song” found the lower reaches of pop’s top 40 chart and hit #10 on the R&B chart. But it never made it to an album or any of Franklin’s hits collections, because it had to make way for even bigger hits. A mournful cover of a song made famous by the doomed ’50s star Johnny Ace, it deserves a fate better than obscurity.
“I Can’t See Myself Leaving You” (1968, from Aretha Now)
A minor hit that arrived on the heels of “Think” and “I Say a Little Prayer,” “I Can’t See Myself Leaving You” closed out another first-rate album with a song that sounded like one from the heart. Franklin was always reluctant to talk about her private life in anything but glowing terms and deeply upset by any press she perceived as negative, including a 1968 Time cover story that made reference to White’s abuse. She could sing hauntingly about troubles that sounded a lot like her own, however, as on this track that finds the singer adopting the perspective of a woman trapped in a relationship she knows she should leave.
“I Take What I Want” (1969, from Aretha Now)
Franklin’s habit of crafting covers that redefined songs made famous by others continued with this reworking of a Sam and Dave single that, like “Respect,” turns a song about a man’s demands into a take-no-prisoners anthem of female equality.
“Gentle on My Mind” (1969, from Soul ’69)
The jazziest of Franklin’s Atlantic albums, the misleadingly titled Soul ’69 produced no hits of any significance. It’s still a pretty great album, however, and this anything-but-gentle cover of a Glen Campbell hit is a particular stand-out. Franklin never attempted an extended soul/country fusion on the scale of Ray Charles’ Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music, but this track suggests what might have been.
“Let it Be” (1970, from This Girl’s in Love with You)
In David Ritz’s Aretha Franklin biography Respect, Jerry Wexler claims that “Let it Be” was written specifically for Franklin but Franklin passed on the chance to record it because the “Mother Mary” line made it sound “a bit Catholic” for the Baptist singer. But even though the Beatles recorded it first, Franklin’s version was the first to see release. And though it was another Beatles cover, “Eleanor Rigby,” that made the charts, this version provides Franklin’s first ’70s album with one of its most moving moments.
“Fool on the Hill” (1970, from Rare and Unreleased Recordings)
Did Franklin feel like she was going to the Beatles well too often? Little else explains the shelving of this fine cover that builds (and builds and builds) on the original’s melancholy whimsy.
“Try Matty’s” (1970, from Spirit in the Dark)
Franklin was no slouch as a songwriter, particularly during this stretch of her career, and this original finds the singer paying homage to a greasy spoon that doubles as a place of solace for the heartbroken. It’s a standout on one of her strongest albums. While Franklin has become synonymous with the 1960s, some of her best work belongs to the early years of the seventies.
“Oh No Not My Baby” (1970, from Spirit in the Dark)
Songwriter Carole King and Gerry Goffin penned “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman,” but Franklin only returned to the team’s catalog one other time for a take on a song first made famous by Maxine Brown. It’s a killer interpretation and, in the intensity of its despair over a cheating man, serves as a kind of sequel to “I Can’t See Myself Leaving You.”
“Spirit in the Dark” / “Spirit in the Dark (Reprise) (Live) (1971, Live At Fillmore West)
The proper way to take in this version of the title track from Franklin’s second 1970 album requires a bit of commitment. Fortunately, that commitment involves listening to one of the greatest live albums ever made, a record of Franklin’s performance at San Francisco’s Fillmore West. Unsure of what her reception would be, Franklin only reluctantly agreed to play the epicenter for the West Coast counterculture. She needn’t have worried. The album captures the crowd’s rapturous response and the enthusiasm feeds into a performance that climaxes with an extended take on “Spirit in the Dark” in which Franklin plucks Ray Charles from the audience to join her.
“All the King’s Horses” (1972, from Young, Gifted and Black)
Nina Simone’s “To Be Young, Gifted and Black” provides this album both with its title and its most powerful moment, but the album otherwise serves as a showcase for some of Franklin’s best work as a songwriter, including “Day Dreaming,” “Rock Steady,” and “First Snow in Kokomo.” It also includes this Franklin heartbreaker, which balances her powerful voice against the delicate, music box-like sound of the celesta.
“You’ll Never Walk Alone” (1972, from Amazing Grace)
Like Live At Fillmore West, Franklin’s landmark gospel album Amazing Grace is best experienced all at once (and also by watching the incredible documentary of its recording that was finally released three years ago). But those just wanting to sample it, who might feel more comfortable easing into the sacred world with a secular song, should try this Rodgers and Hammerstein track from Carousel. Earlier in her career, Franklin didn’t seem quite sure what to do with show tunes. By the early ’70s she’d figured out how to take them to church and make them sound like they always belonged there.
“Medley: Bridge Over Troubled Water / We’ve Only Just Begun” (1972, from Oh Me, Oh My: Aretha Live in Philly 1972)
Another great live set from the early ’70s, and one that stayed in the vault until the ’00s, Live in Philly finds Franklin at the height of her powers, including on this inspired pairing of hits by Simon & Garfunkel and The Carpenters.
“Master of Eyes (The Deepness of Your Eyes)” (1973, single)
Another single that fell through the cracks, though it’s now included on Hey Now Hey (The Other Side of the Sky), the slinky “Master of Eyes” sounds a bit like Franklin’s stab at a Roger Moore-era James Bond theme. Maybe it’s the jazz flute.
“A Song for You” (1974, from Let Me in Your Life)
Franklin’s career would begin a cycle of slumps and comebacks after the release of her 1974 album Let Me in Your Life, but on this reflective take on Leon Russell’s elegiac love son she still sounds confident, in control, and in touch with the times.
“Jump” (1976, from Sparkle)
Franklin hit a rough spot in the mid-’70s thanks to changing tastes, changing fortunes, and some subpar releases but this album-length soundtrack collaboration with Curtis Mayfield helped right the ship for a bit. “Something He Can Feel” became the hit, but there’s no filler to be found, including this uptempo track that combines the best of Mayfield’s sophisticated singing and Franklin’s forceful vocals.
“What a Fool Believes” (1980, from Aretha)
Some soul singers got a second life in the disco era. Others floundered. Franklin fell into the latter camp, despite a few half-hearted attempts. (Turning down Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards when they offered her “I’m Coming Out” and “Upside Down,” both hits for Diana Ross, didn’t help.) Franklin brought her time at Atlantic to a close with the disco-y La Diva then tried to start over at Arista. It took awhile for her to find her place in the ’80s, but this fun cover of the Doobie Brothers demonstrates her ability to bend new material and new sounds to her voice’s needs.
“Love Me Right” (1982, from Jump to It)
Franklin began a successful, if tumultuous, two-album collaboration with Luther Vandross with Jump to It. The energetic title track brought her back to the charts but this track, which features Vandross’ tenor surrounding Franklin’s seductive vocals, captures the chemistry at its best.
“Sweet Bitter Love” (1985, from Who’s Zoomin’ Who?)
Purists don’t have a lot of use for Franklin’s ’80s albums, which produced hits but surrounded her voice with production touches that didn’t allow for a lot of depth. That’s a fair criticism, even if it ignores the surface pleasures of a song like “Freeway of Love,” the biggest success from this 1985 album. But two tracks in, all the synths and pre-programmed drums drop out as Franklin reprises a song penned by songwriter Van McCoy that she first recorded back in her Columbia days. However much electronic filigree now surrounded her remarkable voice, her interpretive powers remained undimmed.
“A Rose is Still a Rose” (1998, from A Rose is Still a Rose)
An indisputable legend, Franklin’s profile remained high throughout the ’90s. Yet while her old material had never been more revered, she struggled to interest listeners in her latest work. Franklin attempted a big-swing comeback with this 1998 album, which brought in hit-making collaborators like Dallas Austin, P. Diddy, and Jermaine Dupri to give the album a contemporary sheen. It mostly works, and though the comeback didn’t stick, it did produce a fine title track produced by and featuring Lauryn Hill. “A Rose is Still a Rose” casts Franklin as an elder imparting wisdom to the next generation. Released as a single, the track wasn’t the beginning of the bold new phase that Franklin might have imagined, but it neatly sums up what she meant to those who followed in her footsteps.