Angela Bofill: When the Voice Was Gone, the Love Remained

Remembering an extraordinary Afro-Latina singer, her otherworldly voice, and the woman whose life was so much bigger than her music.

Angela Bofill had one of those voices.

Oh, that woman could SING.

If you grew up listening to soul, jazz, and R&B in the late 1970s and 1980s, you probably remember hearing her on the radio. Maybe you were cleaning the house on a Saturday morning. Maybe you were getting dressed for a date, or sitting quietly after somebody had disappointed you in love.

And then Angela Bofill would come on.

Her voice could be warm and tender one moment, deep and commanding the next. She could make a note sound as though it had traveled through several lifetimes before reaching your ears. Her approach to songs was powerful in their tenderness. 

She wasn’t simply singing about love. She seemed to know something about it.

But there is another part of Angela Bofill’s story that deserves to be remembered. It concerns what happened when a woman whose extraordinary voice had given so much to the world could no longer sing the way she once had. And it raises a question that reaches far beyond the entertainment industry.

What happens to a woman when illness takes away the very thing she spent her life learning to do?

A Bronx Girl With Cuban and Puerto Rican Roots

Angela Tomasa Bofill was born on May 2, 1954, in New York City and grew up in the Bronx. Her father was Cuban, her mother was Puerto Rican, and her mother’s heritage included Afro-Latino roots.

Angela was proud of her Latina heritage. In a 2014 interview with Sacramento Cultural Hub, she spoke warmly about her family’s culture, food, humor, and music.

Her father had sung with the legendary Cuban bandleader Machito. Angela herself was performing professionally while still a teenager. She studied music seriously, eventually earning a degree from the Manhattan School of Music in 1976.

She could sing jazz with the sophistication of someone who understood every note. She could deliver an R&B ballad with the emotional familiarity of a woman talking to her closest girlfriend. And beneath it all, you could hear the musical richness of her Afro-Latin upbringing.

She didn’t have to choose between those traditions. She belonged to them.

Her first album, Angie, arrived in 1978. Then came Angel of the Night in 1979, and a remarkable career that carried her through the 1980s and beyond.

She was a songwriter, too. She began writing as a teenager, including compositions that became some of her most memorable recordings. And if you have never heard her sing Under the Moon and Over the Sky, you have a treat waiting for you.

Then Life Changed in a Way Nobody Could Have Prepared Her For

In 2006, Angela suffered a stroke. In 2007, she suffered another.

The strokes affected her mobility, speech, and ability to sing. She underwent years of rehabilitation.

. Imagine having a gift that has been part of you since childhood, something you have studied, practiced, protected, and shared for decades, and then finding that your body can no longer do what once came so naturally.

Angela’s voice had carried her around the world. Now even speaking required effort.

And while she was dealing with the physical and emotional consequences of her strokes, financial problems were mounting.

Medical care was expensive. Her ability to earn a living had changed dramatically. She faced serious financial hardship and lost her home. Fellow musicians and friends organized benefits to help with her expenses.

And she still faced the possibility of financial devastation because of illness.

Now imagine the women whose names we don’t know.

The hairdresser whose hands no longer cooperate. The nurse whose back can no longer tolerate another twelve-hour shift. The woman who has cleaned houses for thirty years and suddenly cannot climb the stairs in her own home.

What happens to them?

We often describe these experiences as sad stories. We admire how people survive them. We organize fundraisers. We tell them how strong they are.

But women should not have to depend on extraordinary generosity to survive an ordinary human possibility: becoming ill.

Illness is not a character flaw. Disability is not a failure to plan. And needing medical care should not automatically put everything a person has worked for at risk.

These are questions Americans need to keep asking about healthcare, disability protections, employment, and financial security, throughout the fifty states and every U.S. territory.

Because sympathy may help someone through a difficult afternoon. It cannot, by itself, pay for years of rehabilitation.

Angela Found Another Way to Meet Her Audience

Here is the part of her story I especially love. Angela Bofill eventually returned to the stage.

She couldn’t perform the way she once had. The voice that had made her famous was no longer available to her in the same way.

But she could still tell stories. She could still laugh. She could still share memories of her career. And audiences could still come together to celebrate her music.

In The Angela Bofill Experience, other singers performed her songs while Angela appeared onstage, talked about her life, and spent time with the people who had loved her for so many years.

The arrangement was different. The affection was not. And I wonder how many women need to hear that.

So many of us have spent our lives being valued for what we can do. We are the ones who remember birthdays, prepare meals, solve problems, organize family gatherings, care for relatives, and somehow find enough energy to keep going.

Then something happens. We get sick. We become disabled. We grow older. We need assistance with things we once handled without a second thought.

And suddenly, some of us begin wondering whether people will still want us around if we cannot do everything we used to do.

Angela’s audiences offered a beautiful answer. They came to see her. They came because they wanted to spend time with Angela Bofill.

She Was Still Angela

One of the things I appreciate about Angela’s later interviews is that she did not lose her sense of humor. She could laugh about her circumstances. She could talk about her disappointment. She could appreciate the singers who performed her music.

But we shouldn’t mistake her humor for an absence of grief.

In a remarkable 2011 interview with journalist DeNeen L. Brown for The Washington Post, Angela discussed her depression, her difficult rehabilitation, and the frustration of no longer being able to sing.

She also talked about how surprised she was that audiences still wanted to see her. There was something touching about that surprise.

And in a 2014 interview, when asked how she felt watching other artists perform her songs, Angela said she considered it a blessing to hear them performed so beautifully. She was particularly complimentary of singer Maysa.

Sometimes we cannot return to the life we had. Sometimes there is no miraculous recovery, no restoration of everything illness has taken.

But there may still be music. There may still be friendship, laughter, grandchildren, storytelling, and the pleasure of being in a room full of people who are happy to see us.

And sometimes we need help getting there.

Angela’s story is not proof that a positive attitude can overcome every hardship. She had people who helped her, and she had losses that could not be reversed.

It is a reminder that a woman’s life remains valuable even when her abilities change.

Let’s Put on Some Angela Bofill Music

1. I Try: That extraordinary ache in her voice. A beautiful place to begin.

2. This Time I’ll Be Sweeter: Tender, hopeful, and familiar to generations of soul music listeners.

3. Under the Moon and Over the Sky: Listen to her vocal range and musical imagination. Truly something special.

4. Angel of the Night: Atmospheric, soulful, and unmistakably Angela.

5. Too Tough: For the woman who wants a little more attitude in her music.

6. Break It to Me Gently: A heartbreak song delivered with tremendous control.

7. Tonight I Give In: Romantic and beautifully expressive.

8. I’m on Your Side: A lovely reminder of the emotional warmth she brought to her recordings.

9. Something About You: A wonderful example of her early-1980s sound.

10. Let Me Be the One: Another lovely ballad worth rediscovering.

You can explore her recordings through Angela Bofill: Platinum & Gold Collection on Apple Music.

And if you have never heard Under the Moon and Over the Sky, please give that woman your full attention for a few minutes.

Remembering Angela, Not Just What Happened to Her

Angela Bofill died on June 13, 2024, at age 70, at her daughter’s home in California.

She left behind a daughter, grandchildren, friends, fellow musicians, and listeners whose lives had been enriched by her music. Her story deserves to be remembered for more than the strokes that changed her life.

She was a gifted songwriter. A proud Afro-Latina artist. A classically trained musician who moved comfortably between jazz, soul, Latin music, and R&B. A woman who could be funny, gracious, opinionated, and deeply appreciative of the people who supported her.

She was also a woman who experienced tremendous loss and needed help. There should be no shame in saying both.

We can celebrate her courage while acknowledging the financial hardship she experienced. We can admire the people who organized benefits while questioning why someone facing serious illness could be left without adequate healthcare protection.

And we can honor her extraordinary voice without suggesting that losing it made her any less extraordinary.

Because somewhere today, a woman is sitting at home wondering what her life will look like now.

Maybe she can no longer work. Maybe she misses dancing. Maybe her body has changed in ways she never expected. Maybe she has become frightened of asking for help because she has always been the one everybody depended upon.

I hope she knows that needing care does not make her less deserving of love.

I hope she gets to discover new pleasures without feeling pressured to replace everything she has lost.

And I hope she has people who come to see her simply because they want to be with her.

Angela Bofill gave the world a voice we will never forget.

But perhaps one of the most beautiful parts of her story came when she no longer had to sing to be welcomed onto the stage.

The music had brought people to Angela. The love brought them back.

And that is worth remembering.

A Survivor Affirmation to Keep

I am more than the work I can perform, the care I can provide, or the talents I can share. If my health changes, my worth does not. I deserve tenderness, meaningful support, financial security, and the freedom to discover joy in the life I have now.

Further reading

For readers who want to hear Angela speak about her life in her own words, these two interviews are particularly valuable:

• A New Pitch, The Washington Post (2011). DeNeen L. Brown’s moving account of Angela’s return to the stage, her rehabilitation, and her financial struggles.

• This Time, She’s Even Sweeter, Sacramento Cultural Hub (2014). A warm interview with Angela about her heritage, music, family, and life after her strokes.

In loving remembrance of Angela Tomasa Bofill, May 2, 1954 – June 13, 2024.