Connie Francis Deserved Better
Among the hundreds of songs Connie Francis recorded over the years, in multiple languages, she never sang “Respect.”
She never got much, either.
Francis died Wednesday at the age of 87 and she did go out on a modest if gratifying high note. Her obscure 1962 recording “Pretty Little Baby” became one of those bizarre viral TikTok hits two months ago, with dozens of random versions introducing her to millions of folks who likely had no idea she was one of the top three female artists of the 1950s and 1960s — ahead of, among others, Aretha Franklin.
During the intervening years, unfortunately, Francis sometimes made more news for an incredible run of personal bad luck and tragedy. A botched nose operation made it impossible for her to sing for four years. She suffered from depression. Her brother George, whom she called “the only man who understood me,” was murdered by Mob hitmen.
In 1974 she was raped at knifepoint in a Long Island motel, a trauma she said shaped the rest of her life.
“I spent eight years in and out of mental hospitals,” she said in a 2013 interview. “They thought I was bipolar, or I was manic-depressive, when really it was PTSD. PTSD just wasn’t recognized at the time.”
What did get recognized, from early 1958 to early 1964, were Connie Francis records. She placed 43 songs on the national Billboard charts, including three №1s (“Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool,” “My Heart Has a Mind of Its Own” and “Don’t Break the Heart That Loves You”).
Early rock ’n’ roll was perceived as a man’s game, its defining image to this day being an Elvis-like figure with a guitar. While some “girl groups” like the Chantels and Shirelles cracked the charts, Francis and then Brenda Lee were about the only solo female artists who consistently forced their way into the game.
“In the early days I was rock ’n’ roll,” Francis said in a 1993 interview. “You had the black market, the LaVern Bakers, but those records mostly didn’t make the pop charts. I was the first to do a song like ‘Stupid Cupid’ with that beat.”
Over those half dozen years Francis played a major role in the transition of female artist recordings from the classic Big Band-derived pop style of the early 1950s — Margaret Whiting, Patti Page, Doris Day, Joni James, etc. — into rock ’n’ roll.
“I grew up on those classic ballads,” Francis said in 1993. “I was singing songs like ‘St. Louis Blues.’ Rock ’n’ roll was new to me. The first time I realized the power of rock ’n’ roll was when Bobby Darin and I would go to Apollo to see R&B artists like James Brown.”
She hated “Who’s Sorry Now,” her breakthrough single in early 1958. But Dick Clark played it on American Bandstand — “getting picked up by Dick Clark,” said Francis, “meant it would be a hit” — and while she would eventually cut uptempo songs like “Lipstick On Your Collar” and “Vacation,” “Who’s Sorry Now” more or less established her brand: love songs, usually heartbroken love songs, sung with a powerful voice to a hypnotic beat and a melody that was irresistible when it crackled onto a car radio.
Connie Francis became a crucial bridge from Jo Stafford to Dusty Springfield, Dionne Warwick and the other women who clawed their way into the revolutionized pop music world of the mid-‘60s and beyond.
Not that most rock ’n’ roll history sees her that way. When the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was considering its early inductees, the consensus was to favor artists who had been important or influential, not artists who had merely sold a lot of records. While that’s an admirable approach in many ways, the conversation almost always literally or figuratively ended with some variation of the line, “If we went by sales, we’d have to include Pat Boone and Connie Francis.” Everyone would chuckle at the preposterous notion of surrendering their rock ’n’ roll cred, and they would move on.
“Many people ask me about the Rock Hall,” Francis said in 1993. “It’s a nice thing. It’s prestigious, important and good for the public. Am I sorry I’m not in there? No, because so far I don’t feel it’s been an equitable process. If it were, I’d feel badly about it.”
Interestingly, however, Francis didn’t entirely disagree with the Rock Hall, or with many rock critics, about her early work.
“I recorded hundreds of songs for MGM [her early record label],” Francis said in 1993. “I think they could have moved me into Columbia Records type songs [classic ballads]. But I was the only MGM artist selling any records, so this is what they wanted. A lot of what I recorded was so much better than anything the public heard.
“When I do shows now, you have to do those hits or the audience will drive you crazy. So I do a hit medley early in the show. Silly little songs that were good for their time. Then in the second part I do artistically free songs, like ‘Brother, Can You Spare a Dime,’ ‘Never On Sunday,’ ‘Exodus.’ ”
Francis did a session with Phil Spector, which produced the top-10 hit “Second Hand Love.” She played Lincoln Center, the Copacabana and other prestige venues. The first time she played Carnegie Hall, she recalled, was when she guested on The Perry Como Show in 1960. She wanted to sing “God Bless America,” but Como said there was no way he could follow that, so she should sing “Mama.” After “a big argument,” she said, “Mama” it was.
As for the offstage part of her life, Francis said she would preferred it also remain off-limits. “I wish these things were not public,” she said. ”The depression, the loss of my voice, the rape, the murder. What normal person wants to read about all that? You’d have to be crazy to want publicity about it.”
Since she got publicity anyway, she eventually channeled it into causes, including a campaign to provide mental health benefits for military veterans with PTSD.
From her own experience, she said, “I understand how people think you can just turn the switches off. You can’t. You feel like you’ve lost your place in the world. A lot of people talk about helping people like the soldiers and not many deliver.”
Over her career Connie Francis sold more than a hundred million records, including hit albums she sung in Yiddish, German and Italian. She was the first solo female artist to score a №1 hit in the rock ’n’ roll era.
And then there was the rest.
“It’s still very difficult for me to put it all behind me,” she said in 1993. “Sometimes I lie down for hours and think of all the negatives. Sometimes I laugh with friends for three hours.
“I don’t know if the highs make up for the lows. I just don’t know.”
