Whitney was a a talent. Definitely a talent. She had a gift. And Sissy’s baby. What if I told you that Queen of Soul wasn’t as saintly as we thought? For decades, Artha Franklin was untouchable. The voice of respect, winner of 18 Grammys, the first woman ever inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
But at 76, she shattered that perfect image with one shocking confession. She named seven musicians she secretly hated. People she once called friends, mentors, even heroes. They praised her in public, then stabbed her in the back when the lights went out. And when she finally revealed their names, the last one left you speechless.
Ray Charles, the brother who betrayed her on stage. If there’s one name on Artha Franklin’s hate list that shocks everyone, it’s Ray Charles. Artha wants him called Brother. Together, the two legends could be unstoppable. But what happened between them turned admiration into lifelong silence. It was the mid70s and television executives wanted magic.
Artha and Ry performing live together, a duet people would talk about for generations. Rehearsals were warm and easy. They laughed, sang gospel runs, teased each other about rhythm. “You play like Sunday morning,” she told him once, and he grinned. It felt like family until the cameras started rolling. In the night of the broadcast, Rey began changing everything, the timing, the melody, even the rhythm.
It threw Artha off instantly. She tried to adapt, but every move he made pulled the song further away from what they’d built. The audience thought it was genius. But Artha knew better. Later, someone overheard Ry joking with producers. She’s great, but not quick on her feet. That joke was gasoline on fire. Artha took it as pure humiliation.
A man she admired, turning her into a punchline. After that night, she swore she’d never sing with him again, and she never did. Years later, when reporters brought up his name, she gave a polite smile and said, “I wish him well.” But behind that smile lived a wound she never let heal. Luther Vandros, the studio battle that shattered their respect.
Second on Artha’s list of people she couldn’t stand, Luther Vandross. And trust me, this one was ugly. Their feud didn’t start on a red carpet. It started inside a studio late at night with both of them refusing to back down. In the early8s, Clive Davis thought pairing the young, perfectionobsessed producer with the Queen of Soul was genius. It wasn’t.
From day one, Luther tried to shape her sound, rewriting harmonies, cutting verses, correcting her phrasing midtake. Artha wasn’t having it. She’d been recording longer than he’d been alive in the business. Every suggestion from him felt like an insult. One night, during a tense session for Jump to It, Luther stopped the band and snapped, “You’re over singing again, Artha.
” The room froze. She looked up from the mic, calm, but burning inside, and said, “Nobody tells the queen how to rain.” Then she walked straight out. The next morning, reporters got wind that she’d taken a break. In truth, she refused to come back until Clive himself begged her.
The album went on to become a hit, but behind those smooth tracks was chaos. Artha later told a confidant, “He made a good record, but he made it hell to make.” Luther, for his part, brushed it off in interviews, calling her difficult but brilliant. They never worked together again. And years later, when his name came up, Artha would purse her lips and say quietly, “He learned the hard way, this crown doesn’t share.
” Beyonce, the crown that started a war between two queens. Third on Artha’s list, and this one still stings, was Beyonce. Yeah, that Beyonce. You’d think two queens could share a stage, but one sentence changed that forever. It was the 2008 Grammys. Beyonce walked out in gold, introduced Tina Turner, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the queen.
” The audience cheered. But in Detroit, Artha Franklin turned to the TV stone-faced. To Artha, it was blasphemy. She had spent four decades earning that crown. Queen of Soul wasn’t just a nickname. It was her legacy. In her world, you didn’t hand the title of queen to someone else while she was still alive.
Within hours, Artha released a public statement. She didn’t name Beyonce, but everyone knew. She called the moment a cheap shot and a lapse in respect. Behind the scenes, she told friends, “You don’t call another woman queen while this one’s breathing.” After that night, she refused to attend any event Beyonce headlined, turned down tribute shows, and even vetoed photos with her.
In her circle, she started referring to Beyonce as that talented girl who forgot to curtsy. Years later, when Beyonce dedicated a concert in Detroit to Artha’s memory, fans thought it was reconciliation. But those close to her knew the truth. Artha never forgave the insult. Keith Richards, the rock legend who insulted her soul.
Number four on her hate list, the rock legend himself, Keith Richards. And believe me, this one came out of nowhere. Artha wasn’t even feuding with him until he opened his mouth in 2007. During a Rolling Stone interview meant to celebrate the history of Soul and Rock, Keith casually dropped the line that would ignite a firestorm.
Soul died with Otis Reading. Artha’s still around, but it’s not the same. Fans brushed it off as typical Keith. Grumpy, careless, a little drunk, maybe. But Artha, she didn’t laugh. She heard a man who’d watched her break barriers reduce her entire career to a footnote. To her, that was disrespect. Within days, she fired back on a radio appearance. Calm voice, sharp tongue.
Some people confused loud guitars with depth. “Bless his heart,” she said. “It was pure Artha.” After that, the line was drawn. She refused every event that involved the Rolling Stones, rejected offers to appear at the same tributes, and banned any of their music from her own rehearsals.
“When journalists tried to soften the story, she didn’t. He wanted to bury Soul.” She told one reporter, “He can dig his own grave first. Artha made sure there never would be. The next time Keith’s name came up, she didn’t roll her eyes. She simply said, “Who?” and kept walking. That was her final word on the matter. And everyone knew it.
Dion Warick. The funeral lie that ended a friendship. Fifth on her list and maybe the pettiest yet most personal was Dion Warwick. And if you think Artha only got angry over music, wait till you hear this. Their beef reignited at one of the saddest moments imaginable, Whitney Houston’s funeral in 2012. In front of cameras, microphones, and half of Hollywood, Dion said, “Rey’s not here, but she is here.
She’s Whitney’s godmother. Sounds harmless, right? Not to Artha. She was at home that day, sick, swollen feet, barely able to stand. She couldn’t attend, but Dion made it sound like she’d skipped out on purpose, and that one little sentence spread like gossip wildfire. Headlines read, “Area snubs Whitney’s funeral.” She was humiliated.
For five years, Artha stayed quiet. Then in 2017, she struck back like only she could with a five-page fax to the Associated Press. In it, she accused Dion of blatant lies and using a sacred event to stir drama. She ended it cold. Dion knows what she did. That line hit the industry like a thunderclap. Dion tried to laugh it off later, saying, “I don’t care what she says.
” But insiders say Artha never forgave her. “You don’t lie about me at a funeral,” she reportedly told a friend. From then on, when Dion’s name came up, Artha’s eyes narrowed and she’d mutter, “Some people can sing sweet and still be sour inside.” Billy Joel, the rehearsal that destroyed their duet dream.
Sixth on her list, the piano man himself, Billy Joel. And this one stung because unlike the others, Artha actually admired him at first. She respected his songwriting, the way he honored musical tradition, the respect he had for the greats. So when someone pitched the idea of a joint concert in the early 2000s, she said yes. She thought it’d be a classy night of music, two icons at one piano.
But what she got was something very different. From the first rehearsal, the chemistry was off. Billy joked too much, treated the room like a bar instead of a sacred stage. He called her re and kept saying, “Let’s loosen up. Have fun with it.” Artha didn’t loosen up. She prepared. She commanded. She led.
The final straw came during a break when Billy grinned and said, “Come on, Rey. Take a shot of whiskey. Lighten the mood.” The room went silent. Artha didn’t drink. Never had. That joke hit like an insult. She closed her sheet music, stood up, and said quietly, “You play your way. I’ll keep my dignity.” Then she walked out. The concert was cancelled within a week.
No press release, no explanation. friends later recalled her saying, “He plays piano like a poet, but talks like a fool.” And that was it. She erased him. To Artha, respect wasn’t about fame. It was about knowing your place. Billy crossed that line, even if he thought he was being charming. In her book, it means you were done.
Eminem, the Detroit silence she never forgave. And finally, the seventh name on her list, the one nobody saw coming. Eminem. Same city, same streets, but worlds apart. Artha was Detroit’s heartbeat long before Marshall Mats was even old enough to rhyme. She gave back to the city that raised her.
Gospel fundraisers, charity concerts, mentoring young talent. So when Eminem exploded worldwide and started calling himself the pride of Detroit, Artha expected something simple. A nod, maybe one lyric of acknowledgement. But it never came. Song after song, album after album, he shouted out every Detroit legend except her. To the public, it meant nothing.
To Artha, it was personal. “He knows who I am,” she told a close friend. “He just chose not to care.” She saw it as disrespect, not from a stranger, but from one of her own. When asked about him in a 2010 radio interview, she gave a one-word answer. Noise. That was Artha’s version of slamming a door.
Eminem never replied, never apologized, never sampled her voice. It’s easy to fight someone who insults you, she once said, harder when they pretend you don’t exist. And that was it. No collab, no call, no reconciliation. To Artha, indifference was the crulest insult of all. And that’s why the hometown boy made her list. So now you know the seven names that haunted the queen of soul until her final days.
Do you think Artha was right to hold those grudges? Or did her pride cost her peace? Tell us what you think in the comments. Hit like if you were shocked and subscribe for more untold stories behind music’s greatest legends.
