Alice Tan Ridley, the powerhouse vocalist and mother of Oscar-nominated actress Gabourey Sidibe, passed away quietly in early 2025 at the age of 72 — but her story is only just beginning to be heard.

 

From the tiled corridors of New York City’s subway system to the national stage of America’s Got Talent, Alice’s journey was one of resilience,

grit, and extraordinary heart.

 

Before the world knew her as Gabourey Sidibe’s mother, Alice was already a star underground — literally.

 

Armed with a microphone, a portable speaker, and unmatched talent, she stopped thousands of commuters in their tracks.

 

But every note she belted wasn’t just performance.

 

It was survival.

 

Born in Georgia in 1951 and raised in a family rooted in gospel, soul, and blues, Alice’s dream was always music.

 

But life had different plans.

 

She became a special education teacher in Harlem and put her music on hold to raise her children, including her daughter Gabby.

 

Yet, the dream never left her.

 

Each evening, after work, she returned to the subway — her stage, her sanctuary, her shot.

 

People called her the “Queen of 59th Street,” but mainstream success remained elusive.

 

In 2010, at the age of 58, everything changed.

 

Alice auditioned for America’s Got Talent, performing Etta James’ “At Last.”

 

The judges were stunned.

 

The audience cried.

 

She went viral overnight.

 

For a moment, it seemed her time had come.

 

But the industry isn’t always kind.

 

Despite the acclaim, Alice faced a ruthless business that demanded compromise.

 

She turned down offers that didn’t align with her values — and paid the price.

 

She remained largely independent, resisting the pressure to conform.

 

Fame came, but so did exhaustion.

 

As years passed, Alice retreated from the spotlight.

 

She spoke less about music and more about health.

 

And then, silence.

 

She battled illness privately, determined to be remembered for her voice — not her pain.

 

When she passed, there was no major announcement, no headlines.

 

Just a quiet goodbye.

 

But for Gabourey Sidibe, the loss was thunderous.

 

The Precious star called her mom “our anchor, our peace, our warrior.”

 

In a heartfelt tribute, Gabby wrote, “She sang for strangers her whole life. But at home, she was everything.”

 

Tributes poured in.

 

Fans left flowers at her subway spots.

 

Singers covered her songs.

 

TikTok videos honoring Alice went viral.

 

Her life became a symbol — not of tragedy, but of tenacity.

 

And now, Gabby is ensuring her story isn’t forgotten.

 

She’s developing a documentary that will explore Alice’s life, struggles, and untold songs.

 

Yes — Alice left behind handwritten lyrics and unreleased compositions.

 

Love songs.

 

Gospel anthems.

 

Memories from Georgia.

 

Plans are underway to turn them into a posthumous album.

 

The goal?

 

To preserve her raw, emotional voice while pairing it with modern sounds.

 

But it’s not just about music.

 

Alice’s final wish was that her songs inspire young girls like her — with big dreams and no stage to stand on.

 

To honor that, Gabby is launching a scholarship in her mother’s name for young female musicians from underserved backgrounds.

 

Because Alice believed everyone had a story worth telling — and a voice worth hearing.

 

Her influence is already reaching classrooms.

 

Music teachers in Harlem are using her subway performances to teach authenticity and soul.

 

Online, her legacy is being shared by communities of Black mothers and late-blooming artists as proof that it’s never too late.

 

Letters from fans continue to arrive — people who never met her but were moved by her voice in their darkest moments.

 

One cancer survivor wrote: “When I thought I couldn’t make it, I found your mom’s version of ‘I Will Always Love You.’ I cried. Then I got up.

I’m still here.”

 

That’s impact.

 

That’s legacy.

 

Alice Tan Ridley wasn’t just a subway singer or someone’s mother.

 

She was a beacon of strength, passion, and perseverance.

 

She didn’t wait for the world to notice.

 

She sang anyway.

 

And now, even in death, her voice still echoes — reminding us that true greatness isn’t measured by charts or fame.

 

It’s measured by heart.

 

By resilience.

 

By the lives you touch when no one is watching.

 

If this story moved you, share it.

 

Speak her name.

 

And remember — it’s never too late to be heard.