Unveiling the Tornado of Treasure: The Unparalleled Essence of Tina Turner

     Unleashing the Energy: Tina Turner's Unforgettable Journey (1939-2023)

There's something magical about a well-worn paperback that has accompanied you through countless pages and chapters of a beloved story. However, when the pages of your treasured copy of "I, Tina" start fluttering away with each turn, a bittersweet sense of loss ensues. Last night, page 37 took flight, carrying with it a snippet of Tina Turner's childhood memories, where she reminisces about the songs that ignited her spirit. The rapid tempo of LaVern Baker's "Tweedle Dee" resonated with young Tina, fueling her love for fast-paced melodies and dynamic energy.

Although "I, Tina" is commonly referred to as amemoir, it has always felt more like a recipe book to me. Its ingredients? Force, power, will, sex, and might. These elements infused Turner's life, making her appear immortal. For over seven decades, as she created music that sizzled with her unique energy, it seemed as though it emanated from every fiber of her being—her feet, thighs, hands, arms, shoulders, hair, and even her very words.

When Tina and her trio of Ikettes took the stage, their performances transcended mere dancing; they became acts of sorcery. It wasn't just the music that enchanted audiences, but the electrifying energy coursing through their movements. While Tina covered numerous songs throughout her career, she never needed to perform "I Put a Spell on You" explicitly—the spellbinding dance itself was enough. Adrienne Warren, who portrayed Turner on Broadway, required physical therapy and personal training to survive the role, while Angela Bassett, who played her in the Hollywood movie, transformed into a powerhouse of muscle. Both actresses deserved their accolades, but the most fitting prize for embodying Tina Turner would be a gold medal.

As a professional vocalist, Turner was well-versed in scales. Yet, it seemed as though the scales themselves knew her intimately—the Richter scale, Kelvin scale, Decibel scale, and even the Fujita-Pearson scale (reserved for tornadoes). If we consider her performance as the Acid Queen in "Tommy," we might even add the pH scale to the mix. Turner's inexhaustible energy birthed a unique branch of rock 'n' roll, where you could hear the very essence of her being. While other legendary singers possessed incredible voices, Tina, raised among Pentecostals, possessed a distinct ability to scream. It was a match made in heaven when she arrived in 1960, just as amplified sound was coming into its own.

Her first hit, "A Fool in Love," recorded with Ike Turner—the man who bestowed her with the name "Tina" after the white jungle queens of Saturday matinees, the man she spent fifteen tumultuous years with, enduring his belittlement and abuse—epitomized the power of call-and-response. As the backing singers called out the chorus, Tina responded with a resounding cry: "Yay-ay-hey-hey-heeyyy!" The sheer magnitude of her vocal prowess and the unmistakable Blackness in her voice would send chills down your spine. It was a paralyzing, exhilarating experience—powered by that energy.

But Tina Turner's artistry encompassed more than just powerful vocals. She growled, panted, moaned, squealed, and yipped her way through performances. While she possessed stunning beauty, once she delved into a song, conventional standards faded away. Black singers understood this phenomenon—the art of embracing "stank." Sometimes, to create that art, one had to become art itself. In the midst of a song, Tina's face became a captivating masterpiece, oscillating between raw vulnerability and celestial grace—a living embodiment of Cubism. A prime example can be found in her collaboration with Phil Spector on "River Deep — Mountain High." With each chorus, she triumphantly pushed her love boulder, defying the odds, in a battle between her raw sonic force and Spector's symphonic, percussive Wall of Sound. And yes, she used a napkin to dab her brow—a move that infuriated Ike.

Turner possessed the ability to lower her voice to a sultry, sweaty, and sensual register that bypassed mere suggestion. It was a tantalizing blend of pleasure and pain—an embodiment of exquisite torment. One need only listen to her rendition of "Let Me Touch Your Mind" from "Live! The World of Ike & Tina" (1973) to understand the depths of her vocal range. Onstage, she transformed Otis Redding's emotional ballad, "I've Been Loving You Too Long," into an X-rated psychodrama in which Tina herself had to learn to revel. She had to find a way to sell it.

Following her official divorce in 1978, Tina embarked on a relentless journey, taking her music to every corner of the globe. In 1982, the electrifying energy of her performances reached the small town of Onoway, Alberta. My friend James, hailing from Edmonton, reminisced about his parents' pilgrimage to witness Tina Turner's awe-inspiring show at the Devil's Lake Corral. He shared a mind-blowing video capturing the acrobatics, precision, adrenaline, weight, and extravagant costumes that defined her performance. It was a typical Tina Turner spectacle, leaving her drenched in sweat before the halfway mark. But what stood out most was the way she started.

Turner burst onto the stage, donning a sandy-colored top and tights that would have turned heads even in Bedrock. Her silky golden wig resembled the rear of a Shih Tzu. However, her opening number was not her iconic rendition of "Proud Mary" or her soul-stirring interpretation of "Help" (which would come later). Instead, she took on Rod Stewart's "Foolish Behaviour," a song filled with nightmarish tales of murdering wives. Tina, in her characteristic fashion, tore the song apart, leaving no room for the Devil himself at his nearby lake.

Chutzpah and irony were among the additional ingredients that defined Turner's performances. Her energy had the power to mesmerize crowds, coaxing them to chant "yeah," "oh," and "ooh" in unison, with screams of adoration. Standing at an average height of 5'4", Tina defied the limitations of a scale. When she took to the stage in an arena, she seemed to scrape the very sky.

I have watched the footage of thousands of people captivated by her performances, often predominantly white audiences in cities like London, Osaka, Sweden, and Los Angeles. The cries of adoration recorded on "Tina Live in Europe" (1988) move me to tears. Witnessing a Black woman raised in the depths of Tennessee, in Nutbush, enthral the masses with her sheer presence is an awe-inspiring experience. Oprah Winfrey's audience, among others, erupted with a level of admiration usually reserved for wonders of the world.

What was the source of this captivating power? It was a testament to Tina Turner's indomitable spirit—the survival of poverty, of Ike Turner's abuse, and even of tuberculosis unbeknownst to her. It represented the hard-won freedom she had earned. The songs she sang promised that she would prevail: "It's Gonna Work Out Fine." But there was more to it than survival. It was her self-love, her embrace of her true self. We yearned to capture a fraction of that essence. As she wrote on page 133 of "I, Tina": "I got to thinking that maybe I was such a mixture of things that it was beyond black-or-white, beyond just cultures—that I was universal!"

The Tina I encountered was the Arena Tina, the Universal Tina—the Tina of "Private Dancer" and "What's Love Got to Do with It." My first glimpse of her was probably on "Friday Night Videos" when I was just 8 years old. There she stood, a statuesque figure in a leather miniskirt, stockings, heels, a denim jacket, and hair as regal as a lion's mane. A younger me aspired to strut down the street like her in the "What's Love" music video, with one leg boldly crossing the other. She exuded confidence, a fierce certainty in her own power. And then she would lean back into a dancer, shimmy with his buddy, and proceed to shimmy with another gentleman. When she won a plethora of Grammy Awards in 1985, I wished to possess the same commanding presence as she accepted those accolades. Was it a blend of her continental and Southern roots? Or perhaps a touch of Caribbean showbiz flair?

"I, Tina" is more than just a book. Despite its tattered appearance, I never truly pondered its title until now. It is both a declaration—a claim staked on her life—and the beginning of a vow: a vow to live life to its fullest, to live with cosmic exuberance and contagious energy, daring to defy expectations at every turn. A life so vivid, so rich, sozestful, that when she eventually departed, no one would believe it.