The main man appears to be in the zone. He’s demure, pensive, almost a bit melancholy: the antithesis of his wired, caffeinated stage persona. Carla Williams, his manager, says one of Franklin’s missions is to wage “all-out war” against the stronghold the world has on youth. “We’re competing for the attention of our young people,” she says solemnly. Maybe his reticence is just him getting psyched for battle.
On the way to the 106 & Park studio, Franklin’s entourage bumps into Keyshia Cole’s. Hers is way bigger than Franklin’s—more youthful, skinnier, flashier, more…sparkly. Their urban, dress-to-impress swagger epitomizes the teenaged contingent Franklin is about to mingle with—a far cry from just about everyone in Franklin’s crew. A few hugs and stares are exchanged, but Franklin’s troupe quickly keeps walking. They can’t be late this time.
The mainstream spotlight and the accolades are nothing new to Franklin. He’s got the GRAMMYs, the platinum plaques, and countless No. 1 hits. He’s the best-selling gospel artist of the SoundScan era. He’s recorded with Bono, R. Kelly, and Mary J. Blige. Soul legend Stevie Wonder was a guest on his previous album. He was the only faith-based artist in a compilation celebrating the songs of Earth, Wind & Fire. And forget about Christian or gospel music: he can dial up anyone in the genres’ phonebook and get them to appear on his albums, whether it’s P.O.D.’s Sonny Sandoval, sister duo Mary Mary, or homeboy tobyMac. And that’s just the music part of his curriculum vitae. When it comes to ventures in the small and big screens, Franklin’s almost done it all: he executive-produced the soundtrack to the movie Kingdom Come. He’s appeared on Oprah. Until December, he was the host of Sunday Best, his own reality-based talent search show. And soon Lionsgate—the same independent film studio that won a best-picture Oscar® for CRASH—will bring Franklin’s dramatic rags-to-riches life story to the silver screen.
As Franklin is briefed before going live, everyone else is ushered to an unremarkable waiting area. One thing does stand out: the walls. They’re lined with huge portraits of countless hip-hop stars, both dead and alive: Tupac, Jay-Z, Snoop, Biggie, Aaliyah. Will Franklin’s mug be there some day? Judging from the 106 & Park appearance, maybe not.
The mini-interview and video premiere came and went with little fanfare. The chat was nothing revelatory: just a short talk about his Southern upbringing, doing God’s work, and his musical DNA. Premiere the new video…mention the release date…fin. The label people are satisfied; at least he got to plug the new disc. For Franklin, though, it was not enough. It all seemed a blur, and that bothers him.
“How was it?” he asks his manager, as if looking for affirmation. “The thing was rushed. Everything was rushed.”