The Greatest Oldies Music

Oldies Musics

1967’s Sensational Smash Hit: Aretha Franklin’s ‘Respect’

Introduction

Aretha Franklin, the legendary Queen of Soul, left an indelible mark on the music industry with her powerful vocals and timeless classics. Among her many hits, “Respect” stands as an anthem of empowerment and a cultural phenomenon. Released in 1967, this iconic song continues to inspire and resonate with audiences worldwide.Aretha Franklin - Wikipedia

Did You Know?

  • “Respect” was originally written and recorded by Otis Redding in 1965. Aretha Franklin’s rendition, released in 1967, transformed it into a feminist and civil rights anthem.
  • Aretha Franklin’s cover not only became a chart-topping hit but also earned her two Grammy Awards.
  • The song’s catchy spelling out of “R-E-S-P-E-C-T” became an enduring symbol of self-worth and empowerment.
  • Aretha Franklin’s contribution to music earned her the title “Queen of Soul,” and she remains one of the best-selling female artists of all time.Aretha Franklin Respect 50th Anniversary - Aretha Franklin ELLE Interview

Video 

Lyrics: Respect

What you want
Baby, I got it
What you need
Do you know I got it?All I’m askin’
Is for a little respect
When you come home
(just a little bit)
Hey, baby
(just a little bit)
When you get home
(just a little bit)
Mister
(just a little bit)I ain’t gonna do you wrong
While you’re gone
Ain’t gonna do you wrong
‘Cause I don’t wannaAll I’m askin’
Is for a little respect
When you come home
(just a little bit)
Baby
(just a little bit)
When you get home
(just a little bit)
Yeah
(just a little bit)

I’m about to give you all of my money
And all I’m askin’ in return, honey
Is to give me my propers
When you get home

(just a, just a, just a, just a)
Yeah, baby
(just a, just a, just a, just a)
When you get home
(just a little bit)
Yeah
(just a little bit)

Ooh, your kisses
Sweeter than honey
And guess what?
So is my money

All I want you to do for me
Is give it to me when you get home
(re, re, re ,re)
Yeah, baby
(re, re, re ,re)
Whip it to me
(respect, just a little bit)
When you get home, now
(just a little bit)

R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Find out what it means to me
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Take care, TCB

Oh (sock it to me, sock it to me
Sock it to me, sock it to me)
A little respect
(sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me)
Whoa, babe
(just a little bit)
A little respect
(just a little bit)

I get tired
(just a little bit)
Keep on tryin’
(just a little bit)
You’re runnin’ out of foolin’
(just a little bit)
And I ain’t lyin’
(just a little bit)

(re, re, re, re) ‘spect
When you come home
(re, re, re, re)
Or you might walk in
(respect, just a little bit)
And find out I’m gone
(just a little bit)
I got to have
(just a little bit)

Related Post

Elvis Presley’s greatest musical gift was not putting words onto paper. It was hearing something inside a song that other people sometimes could not hear yet. Give him someone else’s melody and lyrics, and he could reshape the emotion through his phrasing, timing and voice until the recording felt intensely personal.

The musicians at RCA Studio B were ready to make records. They were not ready for the way Elvis Presley entered the room. During his celebrated Nashville sessions in 1970, bassist Norbert Putnam remembered Elvis appearing in dramatic fashion—wearing a flowing black cape and carrying an ornate cane. Putnam later recalled the impression that it was almost as though “a prince had walked into the room.”

STONEWALL JACKSON ASKED TOM T. HALL TO WRITE A PRISON SONG, BUT HALL COULD NOT DO IT BECAUSE HE HAD NEVER ACTUALLY BEEN TO PRISON. Tom T. Hall spent his early career turning out the kind of polished, commercial hits that Nashville publishers lived for. He could write what people expected, but he always felt like a fraud. When Stonewall Jackson approached him requesting a prison song—hoping to capture that rugged, authentic aura Johnny Cash was building—Hall hit a wall. He stared at his notepad, realized he had no genuine experience with a cell, and flatly refused to fake it. He was a songwriter, not an actor, and his pride kept him from writing about a world he didn’t know. His wife, Dixie, cut through the tension with a simple reminder: he had indeed spent a week in a county jail in Kentucky after a traffic violation. That memory was not cinematic or heroic. It was just mundane, quiet, and uncomfortable. It involved bad food, the sound of iron bars, and the slow, agonizing crawl of days where the jailer’s wife suddenly started looking like the most beautiful woman on earth. He stopped writing songs that invented generic situations and started reporting the people and places he actually encountered. The result was his first number one hit, written like a man telling a story across a kitchen table. Stonewall Jackson never got his song, but Hall finally found his own voice in the silence of that jail cell.

You Missed

Oldies Musics

Elvis Presley’s greatest musical gift was not putting words onto paper. It was hearing something inside a song that other people sometimes could not hear yet. Give him someone else’s melody and lyrics, and he could reshape the emotion through his phrasing, timing and voice until the recording felt intensely personal.

Oldies Musics

The musicians at RCA Studio B were ready to make records. They were not ready for the way Elvis Presley entered the room. During his celebrated Nashville sessions in 1970, bassist Norbert Putnam remembered Elvis appearing in dramatic fashion—wearing a flowing black cape and carrying an ornate cane. Putnam later recalled the impression that it was almost as though “a prince had walked into the room.”

Country

Lisa Marie Presley grew up in a house visited by some of the most famous people in the world, yet the person who mattered most to her was the man everyone else called the King. To millions, Elvis Presley was an untouchable superstar. To Lisa, he was the father who loved to spoil her, make her laugh and turn ordinary moments at Graceland into childhood adventures.

Country

BOB DYLAN AND JOHNNY CASH SHATTERED THE WALLS OF NASHVILLE WITHOUT FIRING A SINGLE SHOT. Columbia Studio A sat thick with the smell of stale coffee and cigarette smoke on a February morning in 1969. While the rock world was chasing ghosts in psychedelic haze, Bob Dylan stepped into the epicenter of American country music with a voice that sounded like it had been dragged across gravel. He wasn’t there to challenge the gatekeepers at the Opry; he was there to find the heartbeat of a sound he had loved from afar. Johnny Cash walked through the heavy studio doors, guitar in hand, and for two days, the rigid borders of genre simply dissolved into the air. They didn’t record some grand manifesto to change the industry. Instead, they sat on stools and tore through old folk standards and each other’s deep cuts, letting the microphones capture the loose, unvarnished truth of a collaboration that felt more like a porch gathering than a major label session. Carl Perkins added his own licks to the mix, blending the percussive snap of rock and roll with the lonesome ache of a country ballad. It was a deliberate, quiet rebellion that treated the traditions of both worlds as neighbors rather than strangers. When the tape stopped rolling, they walked away having proved that the lines drawn by radio programmers were mostly make-believe. The Ryman Auditorium stage eventually welcomed a new kind of guest, and the air in Nashville felt lighter, forever changed by two men who knew that music didn’t need permission to belong everywhere at once.