One of my favorite performers died today. Etta James. Her tunes got under my skin when I was in second grade, and they’re still there. Even at that tender age, listening to her made me want to dig down inside myself and pull out whatever was in there and have it pour all over the piano. It was one of her songs that made me want to write music and somehow express all the hope in my seven year old heart, and that was what I loved so much about her tunes. They were hopeful. They were a celebration of what life could be despite the bluesy words and sound, despite Etta’s difficult life.
When I thought of her earlier today, I finally saw her as the kid she must have been when she became a singing sensation and being completely overwhelmed by it. I saw her as a kind of Lindsay Lohan and was sad at the thought of people using her and of her using herself. But she’s at peace now, and all we’ll remember are these:
I have to include this. How perfect — Etta James and Richard Armitage:
RAFrenzy 