For a critical profile of Ms. Franklin in The New Yorker, its editor, David Remnick, reached out to the president. As a critic, I feel a duty to point out that that’s an unusual move. Mr. Remnick is also, among other things, a critic. He knows Ms. Franklin’s worth as an American treasure and that it has no price. He’s more than equipped to sum her up. But he outsourced that job. To the president of the United States. And if you got to that section of that story and considered rolling your eyes (“When I emailed President Obama about Aretha Franklin and that night …”), you immediately retreated when you read what Mr. Obama wrote in response.

“Nobody embodies more fully the connection between the African-American spiritual, the blues, R. & B., rock and roll — the way that hardship and sorrow were transformed into something full of beauty and vitality and hope,” he wrote back, through his press secretary. “American history wells up when Aretha sings. That’s why, when she sits down at a piano and sings ‘A Natural Woman,’ she can move me to tears — the same way that Ray Charles’s version of ‘America the Beautiful’ will always be in my view the most patriotic piece of music ever performed — because it captures the fullness of the American experience, the view from the bottom as well as the top, the good and the bad, and the possibility of synthesis, reconciliation, transcendence.”

Mr. Remnick wrote to him because he knew that Barack Obama would deliver. Mr. Remnick asked for two cents. The president gave him a dollar. Mr. Obama, for nearly all of his tenure, was fully aware of, interested in, and knowledgeable about popular culture, even as it grew impossible to take it all in. He tried: sports, movies, television, the internet, music, books. He was protean and catholic. He was thoughtful and self-deprecating, cool and yet far from it. He was a version of America’s dad and the dad some kids wished theirs could be: fit for world leadership, fit for a sitcom.