Fontella Bass, whose voice soared in the 1965 hit "Rescue Me," died Wednesday at 72, her family said in a statement.
"She was surrounded by her children and grandchildren when she was
called home," the family said, thanking the singer's famiy, friends and
fans for their support.
St. Louis TV station KSDK reports that Bass died of a heart attack.
Bass came from a musical family. Her mother was gospel great Martha
Bass, and her brother was R&B and gospel singer David Peaston, who
died in February.
"Rescue Me" topped the R&B charts for a
month in 1965, reached No.4 on the pop charts, and sold over a million
copies. Yet Bass' name was never as famous as that of the tune, as many
assumed the song was sung by Aretha Franklin instead. The very first
line in Bass' entry in the online AllMusic encyclopedia reads, "The 1965 classic "Rescue Me" is widely regarded as the greatest record Aretha Franklin never made."
Her other hits included "Don't Mess With a Good Thing" and "You'll Miss Me (When I'm Gone)," both with Bobby McClure.
Wrote
one fan on the YouTube video for "Rescue Me": "Fontella Bass was one of
the greatest soul / rhythm & blues vocalists of the 60's &
70's. Her voice to this day all these decades later still chills my skin
each time I hear her singing. She was one of my generation's most
recognized yet often mistaken singers. Rest well, goddess of soul &
blues, you'll be deeply missed & remembered always darling."
In 1993, she won a lawsuit against American Express for their use of "Rescue Me" in a 1990 commercial.
She is survived by four children.
The extended choral/symphonic works he penned and performed around the world took him well outside the accepted boundaries of jazz. And the concerts he brought to colleges across the country in the 1950s shattered the then-long-held notion that jazz had no place in academia.
As a pianist, he applied the classical influences of his teacher, the French master Darius Milhaud, to jazz, playing with an elegance of tone and phrase that supposedly were the antithesis of the American sound.
As a humanist, he was at the forefront of integration, playing black jazz clubs throughout the deep South in the ’50s, a point of pride for him.
"For as long as I’ve been playing jazz, people have been trying to pigeonhole me,” he once told the Tribune.
"Frankly, labels bore me."
He is survived by his wife, Iola; four sons and a daughter; grandsons and a great granddaughter.