Too late, I fear

A third of News at Ten (ten minutes - an eternity on TV) was devoted to Aretha Franklin who died recently. I was aware of her, notably via Sesame Street; Oscar the Grouch kept her records in the trash-bin where he lived. What I was unaware of was her worldwide significance. Big names were her friends and Obama wept at a 2016 performance.

Aretha Franklin sang soul and I have no idea what soul is. Rather I imagined it to be perhaps reflective, an expression of the black burden: yet last night’s initial extracts were fast, loud and assertive. The Obama extract (You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman - I've just looked it up) was longer, more varied and I had time to respond.

Yes, I could latch on. Time to hear it again in full.

Done that. I'll ditch emotion and dwell on one skill - the mastery of rhythm. The ability to float away from a comparatively simple accompaniment, to stretch out, to compress, to expand a single lyric word into a whole ode of meaning, to snap, to move physically, to find time to smile or (more often) to frown with concentration, without departing for a nanosecond from the swinging heartbeat of the chosen piece of music. Swing is at the core of US music. I’ve heard fire-brigade bands and hack ensembles of Boy Scouts swing. Franklin's swing is transcendental.

Soul comes poorly defined, a mix of several kinds of popular music although I like "impassioned improvisatory delivery". But what label could be worse than "classical", implying "hallowed by age". Categories are nearly always imperfect. I’m too late for Aretha Franklin since I have other fish to fry, the pan’s already hot and time’s a’wasting. Others, ignorant but younger, should find time.