#452: Diana Ross and the Supremes, 'Anthology'
Tamla/Motown, 1974
In one of my early blogs, I wrote that I did not understand the draw of Diana Ross. Her voice was flimsy, thin and innocent. I didn’t feel the aspirational womanhood in it that I felt with my other vocal heroes, in voices belonging to Gladys Knight, Aretha Franklin, Roberta Flack and Dusty Springfield.
Over the last couple of weeks, this anthology became the soundtrack to heavy moments sitting with women that I don’t know very well telling me the most secret stories of their lives, their tragedies in pregnancy, birth and motherhood.
I’ve been invited to these spaces by people who have stepped out of the dusty corners of my community to pray over my family to support my older sister whose baby has been living in the NICU fighting through brand new complications every day.
I have not known how to support my sister, my brother-in-law, their children and also my own heart.
As I stand still, I find myself in spaces listening to whispered memories about creating life. I’ve watched women dry their own eyes while they described the outfits down to the shoes they were wearing when they said goodbye to their babies. They detailed the conversations they had with their spouses. They shared the nightmares they have had since. They named the smells unique to their lost child and also of their living children.
I, a woman who has never given birth nor been pregnant, have been invited into these spaces to witness, not to carry their burdens but to join in their sisterhood. I am a woman. My body shares these secrets and these fears.
What soundtrack is appropriate for these conversations? I don’t know if there is one. I don’t know if there is music that captures the depth, suffering and joy of the very real and dangerous rollercoaster of becoming a mother. Somehow Diana Ross and The Supremes capture the sadness while also making us smile. I think it’s because Diana has been there. I think she knows what it feels like to be afraid and to be worried and to love someone more than yourself.
As I’ve listened to The Supremes over the last couple of weeks, I keep thinking about these quiet stories shared only in spaces of trauma. It’s been strange listening to songs like, “You Can’t Hurry Love” or “Baby Love” right after being pulled aside to witness these memories. It’s a strange, almost inappropriate juxtaposition. Somehow, it works though. I feel Diana’s voice reach out to me and say, “I have been there too. We all have.” I feel her solidarity even while she sings lyrics about a jilted lover and not a lost child.
None of us are alone even if these moments of intimate sharing are difficult to hear. Difficult, not only because of the content but also because of the volume. These stories are told so quietly that if you are not straining to hear them, you might miss them.
Diana’s voice is perfect for these talks. It is not overpowering or overwhelming. It is gentle and unique with a tone perfectly feminine and fully alive.
It feels sacred to be in a quiet room of women being vulnerable and honest, admitting to each other that we have all really lived. We have all been alive in these terrifying moments from womb to stroller. Whether we are supporting others in it, or if we are the ones reaching out and touching the climax of the human experience.
For my trans friends, I cannot imagine a more holy experience than having you join those spaces with me and share the lessons you have learned moving within your bodies and transformations, your own relationships with the female body.
Listening to The Supremes dramatizes these talking circles perfectly. Listening to Diana Ross illuminates this joy in sisterhood. She carries the weight of a womb in her voice while still holding the notes light as a feather. Her work magnifies the dignity of being a woman in America holding space to mourn the scars our bodies inherit while also transforming them into that sweet, sweet sounds of effervescent joy.
With Diana Ross and The Supremes, I can enter any space knowing that I am part of a sisterhood. I am not alone.
Thank you, Diana Ross. Thank you, The Supremes. Thank you, Motown. Thank you, womanhood, for the inherent sisterhood.
Top songs: The whole anthology. Listen to it. It is healing and fun and perfect.