No one could drop a fur like Aretha Franklin.
When she was performing, she didn't slither out of her mink or her chinchilla as though she was doing a flirtatious little striptease for her audience's pleasure. Instead, she discarded her fur coats as though she was shedding bothersome earthly shackles in order to commune directly with the Holy Spirit.
The coat drop was a signal that Franklin, who died last Thursday at 76, was ready to loose her full vocal power in a transformative sermon of gospel, soul and rhythm and blues.
That voice was more lush and valuable than the coat. Still, she did not want to sweat out her coat. She threw it off. The coat was dismissed.