But I don't have to tell you the primary instrument that carried the song, do I? Whatever happened to cause her to let out all her years of studying under gospel's Dutch masters and the flood of emotions of her abusive relationship in a vocal explosion was nothing short of a blessing. Nothing in pop music has been the same since. In Aretha's liberation with her vocal lines came a whole new language and artistic paradigm to modern pop. Taking Mahalia Jackson's endless range and ability to render immense emotions that you didn't know you had, Clara Ward's breathtaking ability to squeeze feeling through pinpoint phrasing; and a staggering penchant for taking massive vocal risks, Aretha created an art so close to god, I would be foolish to describe it in one sentence.

On "Never Loved A Man," she rips through conventional vocal bars with an immense sadness nearly everyone was in awe of but few could understand. She went past modern interpretation and gave her audience something equivalent to blend of deep dark blues and a constant, never-ending full tent revival. All done with a visceral impact clarity and range that still sounds transcendental today.

After White freaked out and canceled the deal, only to be cajoled back in the studio with more money; they moved to New York to record "Drown In My Own Tears," an old Ray Charles number. In a way, its the queen paying tribute to him, blending jazz chords, bluesy horns and straight gospel singing into a puree that would sound like ear candy if Aretha didn't sing the song as if she were a moment a way from suicide ("Drown in my own tears.")

But was she a perpetual victim? Unlike Billie Holliday, who could sense and feel hell coming closer with every passing day; or Ella Fitzgerald, who created beautiful musical worlds that always seemed like a momentary escape from it; Aretha fought her hell head on, battling tooth and nail to keep her sanity. "Save Me," is the sound of Aretha's inner defense mechanisms telling her that she needed to get healthy right now, whether she liked it or not. More rock oriented than anything on the album, the music serves as perfect compliment to the message. It's less textured than anything on the album and too frenetic to dance to (the guitar riff owes a debt to Them's "Gloria"). But it, along with Aretha, makes the point: sometimes you have to act crazy to keep sane.

Is "Respect," the most known R&B song in the history of recorded music, played more than the national anthem? Yep. Played into the ground by oldies radio stations? Yes. Commercialized and watered down beyond belief? Yes again. Butchered by anyone who dares to cover it? That too. Yet after 35 years, "Respect," like virtually all great standards, doesn't lose impact as much as it has morphed into part of the blood stream..