Stewart Francke died on May 9th at the age of 66. He was a pillar of Detroit’s music community, releasing fourteen albums in a recording career that spanned three decades. A child and student of the city’s interlocking musical traditions, Francke’s music earned praise from listeners around the world (including fans like Bruce Springsteen) and twelve Detroit Music Awards. He was a writer of prose too, who started his career as a critic and later published two books. He also became an advocate for cancer patients and their families, following a 1999 leukemia diagnosis that led to a bone marrow transplant and some of his most affecting music. He launched the Stewart Francke Leukemia Foundation to fund marrow matches for people of color, and worked with other organizations even amidst further health problems in recent years.

He was a good soul, a brilliant writer of both words and music, and a friend to many of us. So, for this special “Turn It Up,” we thought we’d open the chorus to a few of the many people who’ve been touched by his work and spirit. Thank you, Stewart Francke.

“What We Talk of When We Talk” (from What We Talk of… When We Talk, 2000)

Stewart Francke, a white, Detroit-based singer-songwriter, has made one of the finest soul albums in recent memory. Previously, Francke’s music sounded a bit like Jackson Browne dancing with Southside Johnny. On What We Talk of… When We Talk, he expands his sonic horizons, calling out to Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, and Curtis Mayfield—giants of seventies soul who confronted issues of race and class with music that could inspire, and get you dancing too, even as it broke your heart. In his own soulful, complexly orchestrated songs, Francke recounts some of the scariest details of our own times: little kids packing heat, adults working two jobs and getting nowhere, electoral options that aren’t options at all, racial profiling and police violence and on and on. As one song bleeds into the next, Francke makes plain that answers will only be found when we stop kidding ourselves about the questions. In the album’s opening title cut, Francke offers an invitation to conversation that picks up on the sounds of Gaye’s famous call, “What’s Goin’ On?”, while also suggesting that honest, intimate exchanges can be, a la “Let’s Get It On,” a rejuvenating aphrodisiac. In old-school soul, Francke’s found a language that will let us really “talk it out.” - David Cantwell [previously published in The Pitch, February 2001]

Stewart Francke - “Motor City Serenade” (from Motor City Serenade, 2005)

Any white kid growing up in the Rust Belt inhaled the sweetness of the soul music floating out of Detroit. For Stewart, it wasn’t just the air he breathed, but a point of pride. With a breathiness that’s equal parts savor and celebrate, “Motor City Serenade” delivers all the small snapshots of working class exultance. Wrapped in whirling strings, Motown’s iconic rhythm section, the Funk Brothers, share the moment, a rolling bass figure offering a delicious retro-rhythm & blues hook. Stroh’s, Soupy Sales, church and the gospel chorus that suggests “let the night swallow us whole, cause we’re alive in the city of soul…” What existed as Stewart’s hymn to basking in where you are in full Midwest glory is now a benedictive reckoning with what he would, no doubt, want us all to live to the fullest. A beautiful (song)writer, but even more, a human being of deep grace and empathy for all. - Holly Gleason

Stewart Francke – “Letter from Ten Green” (from Swimming in Mercury, 1999)

The opening feels like an homage to Lou Reed’s “Street Hassle.” Both songs feature ominous bass and cello as backdrop and bleak raps staring down death. Instead of the ratcheting tension of “Street,” Francke’s lower strings pulse like the hospital equipment that surrounds him in the wake of a bone marrow transplant. The violins do something else, lifting out of the darkness toward some light that seems just out of reach. Francke declares, “There’s so much left unsaid/And everybody’s done too soon,” and that’s when the drums kick in. They just barely keep it together because a little girl down the hall has died, and the singer grasps pen and paper to offer his children anything he can give them in this moment. As he writes his letter, Francke’s soulful voice is joined by harmonies as bright as those strings. Out pours a beautiful litany of faith and love (and faith in love) that serves as a radiant prayer for us all. – Danny Alexander

Stewart Francke - “Heaven and Earth” (from Swimming In Mercury, 1999)

Detroit singer-songwriter Jill Jack said that when her friend Stewart found out about her cancer diagnosis, he grabbed her by the shoulders and said “Whatever they told you — live, live, live.” Indeed, I don’t know if I ever met anyone who appreciated life — every bit of it — as much as Stewart did, and nowhere in his catalog is that more powerfully expressed than in “Heaven and Earth” from Swimming in Mercury, the album he recorded when he was recovering from his bone marrow transplant in 1999. It’s my favorite song on my favorite album of his, a song that finds him staring death square in the eye and telling his wife “don’t be sad / think of all the good we had,” then hitting the chorus: “If I’m between heaven and earth / let me fall back to where I know I’m loved for sure.” “Heaven and Earth”’s lush soundscape evokes the Beach Boys, Todd Rundgren, and Bruce Springsteen, alternating between minor-key tension and major-key release, perfectly evoking the border between the here and the hereafter. Raised Catholic and deeply spiritual, Stewart explored this tension often; he even named his essay collection Between the Ground & God. Songs like “Heaven and Earth” made it clear that he’d choose life, no matter how hard or messy, every time. It’s part of being warm-blooded, baby. - Eric Schumacher-Rasmussen

Stewart Francke - “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang” (from Where The River Meets The Bay, 1995)

Stewart Francke believed in the mighty power of the pop song to lift our spirits and strengthen our spines. “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang” was his first big swing at a classic of his own, released on his debut album, Where The River Meets the Bay (1995). It’s got all the ingredients of Stewart’s big-hearted music: sensitively drawn characters—lost souls in the Saginaw Valley—who rise at twilight and try to make it through the night, chiming guitars with deep roots in the whole history of rock, and his warm, passionate vocals. In the middle of the song, after the second chorus, his vocals on the line “bang, bang, bang” have a sadness and wisdom that choke me up every time. It should’ve been a big hit, but if you’ve never heard it, now’s your chance. - Lauren Onkey

Stewart Francke - “Peace Like a River” (from Wheel of Life, 2002)

Stewart was the brightest light, charming, handsome, talented, passionate. When he loved something or someone, he loved them with all his heart. That echoed through his songs, soulful, rocking, expressive, the sounds of his beloved Michigan filtered through his own remarkable experience. Stewart wanted a big sound and big messages to match. Having fun was always part of it, the adventure of rock and roll was itself a big message that lived especially in his live performances. But as you listen to so many of his great songs, there’s a message of empathy, understanding and forgiveness that he desperately wanted us to hear. Stewart taught me a lot about what it meant to be a working musician, too, how to navigate a world where you desperately want to share your art with a society that doesn't want to pay you for it. But he made it work, and then some. Even those of us deeply engaged in popular music don’t do enough to recognize that artists like Stewart create both music and community that makes our cities and towns a better place to live. I'll miss the laughter while wandering together through Detroit and Austin. You deserved better than the hand you were dealt, but you handled it with remarkable grace and used it to make other people's lives better. Your legacy is in your family and your songs, my friend. - Alexander Shashko

Stewart Francke - “Drive North” (from Love Implied, 2013)

Drive North, from the 2013 album "Love Implied," may be the most perfect expression I've yet heard in my 35 years in Michigan of the ethos of this state's natives. "Around here, we drive North." It should be a state song. It's who we are. I've only been to St. Ignace a couple times, but when Stew sums up the connection of place, life and song with an exquisite final line, "By midday tomorrow, I'll be in St. Ignace singing some new song," the resonance is perfect; I want to go now. “Drive North” is music as life, music as a way of being alive. Elsewhere on the same album, Stew sings, "I love you more than my favorite song." Isn't that the ultimate expression of love?

This picture is Stew performing "Drive North" at the Love Implied release party gig, January 25, 2013, at the Magic Bag in Ferndale, with band members Christopher Plankster, Gia Warner, Pete Peltier and Beth Griffith. - Matthew Orel

Stewart Francke - “Touching The Glory” (from What We Talk Of… When We Talk, 2000)

Listening to Stewart Francke's What We Talk Of . . . When We Talk is like waking up and finding yourself in an alternate universe. It's a place where rock and soul still speak to each other, where you catch glimpses of what the seventies might have become if we'd lived up to their long-forgotten promise. The album immerses you in a soundscape where you hear Motown and Philly International communing with Pet Sounds and Fleetwood Mac. It's a good world to imagine, and, Francke promises us, it isn't really out of reach. Part of the sense of promise lies in the music itself… Whether you're coming at the music from rock or soul, you can close your eyes, relax and let it wash over you. When you come back to the world, you'll feel energized and renewed. That sense of regeneration speaks to the deeper levels of what's going on in What We Talk Of. Like the best music of the rock and soul era, this music believes. It believes that we can reach a higher ground, that the conversations between black and white, between blues realism and gospel redemption, remain as vital as they were before narcissistic irony swamped our shared hopes and dreams…Francke never forgets that, whether we let ourselves know it or not, we're standing in the shadows together…And, he insists, the only meaningful response it to love each other and to change the world. He's doing his best to live the life he sings about in his song…But above all, Stewart Francke is a musician and what musicians do is keep our shared story alive. What We Talk Of . . . When We Talk testifies to the world that is and the worlds that can be. The seventies didn't have to collapse into a Reaganite nightmare. In "Touching the Glory," Francke reminds us that, as long as we're alive, as long as we keep the faith, the future is never a closed book. His own words sum it up perfectly: "All this wasting of time/when we should be writing our story/we're perfecting our lines . . . when we could be touching the glory." Amen, brother. - Craig Werner [taken from the liner notes for What We Talk Of…When We Talk, 2000]

Stewart Francke – “House of Lights” (from House of Lights, 1997)

Stewart Francke’s music glows with a joyous sincerity that matches the man himself. And, as others here have noted more eloquently than I will, it places him in a rock ‘n’ soul tradition that draws equally from R&B’s sparkling visions and the driving promise of rock and roll. The title track of his third album, “House of Lights,” is one of my favorite examples, a ringing meditation on dreams and what it means to hold on to them. It’s got a dynamite chorus, and it’s constructed with the sturdy foundation and vibrant production that characterized his expert skills honed on the road and in the studio. As usual with Stewart, there are important lessons here. He honors his memories, but also advises “don’t look back, it’s only time we lose.” He ends with the reminder that “you never know just how long good times last.” And, most of all, he understands the costs of living but yet celebrates “how great my luck is, how good my fortune,” symbolized less by his own house of lights and more by the love and life that surrounds him. I learned a lot from Stewart Francke over the years, whether through his music, his other writing, his advocacy, and his friendship with me and many people I care about. I’m glad I got to know him, though by no means well enough, and I’m glad I’ve got these recordings to carry me when I need them. They all share the beat of his big, true heart. Rock on. – Charles Hughes

In memory of Stewart Francke, please consider donating to BeTheMatch.org.

Recommended reading:

-Doug Bradley on Stewart Francke, for his Warriors Publishing Group

-Shawn Poole on Stewart Francke, for Letters To You

-Robert Martin on Stewart Francke, for The Review

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