|
Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...
|
The pews of the historic Abyssinian Baptist Church were filled with love, tears, and music as the world gathered to say goodbye to Roberta Flack, a woman whose voice defined generations. She wasn’t just a singer. She was a storyteller. A healer. A vessel for emotions too deep for words.
The Harlem-born, North Carolina-raised icon passed away peacefully in January. And while months have gone by, the wound of her absence still feels fresh. Her memorial was not just a funeral. It was a celebration of life, legacy, and the indelible mark she left on soul music and Black culture.
Like many, I was introduced to Roberta through her tender interpretation of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.” Although the song was originally written by Ewan MacColl, Roberta Flack made it her own. She didn’t just sing it. She breathed through it. It remains my favorite song of hers to this day, not because it was chart-topping or award-winning, but because it feels like the closest thing to love itself. Listening to it is like remembering someone you thought you forgot.
Inside Abyssinian Baptist Church, time seemed to pause as those who loved Roberta, both personally and musically, gathered under the vaulted ceilings of a church steeped in Black history. Among the many tributes, one moment stood above the rest. A surprise performance from Lauryn Hill and Wyclef Jean of the Fugees, who joined together to sing “Killing Me Softly With His Song,” their own 1996 hit inspired by Roberta’s legendary version.
As they sang, Stevie Wonder, a longtime friend of Roberta, stepped forward with his harmonica, weaving soul through every note. It was unscripted. It was raw. It was Roberta.
The room stood still. There were no flashing lights or egos, just voices lifted in grief and gratitude. Lauryn’s voice, soaked with emotion, cracked slightly as she carried the verses. Wyclef, more restrained than usual, looked downward in reflection. Stevie’s harmonica cried for all of us.
Beyond the music, Roberta Flack was a teacher, an advocate, a woman of grace and purpose. A classically trained pianist who broke into the male-dominated world of soul and jazz in the late ’60s, she reminded us all that tenderness is strength, and vulnerability is power.
Her songs weren’t just love songs. They were truths, about heartbreak, about joy, about being Black, female, and seen.
From “The Closer I Get to You” to “Back Together Again,” Roberta gave us timeless records that live in the soundtrack of our lives. But it’s her influence that might echo even louder. Artists like Alicia Keys, India.Arie, H.E.R., and the Fugees owe parts of their artistry to her spirit.
Her funeral was a reflection of that. One where gospel blended with soul. Where protest lived beside praise. And where the crowd didn’t just mourn. They celebrated.
As the service ended, a recording of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” played through the sanctuary, softly wrapping the mourners in sound. I closed my eyes. I thought about the first time I heard it. I thought about the last time I played it. And I thought about the voice we had just lost.
Roberta Flack may have left this world, but her voice, that voice, will always live among us. It will live in quiet car rides. In wedding dances. In empty kitchens. In moments of stillness and in moments of love.
Rest well, Roberta. Thank you for showing us the power of a whisper, the strength in softness, and the beauty of honesty.
