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• I first heard Etta James while buckled into my aunt’s truck during a particularly cold Seattle winter. The heat blasted as I struggled to stay awake. I was 6. NPR was playing. Saturday night jazz. Her voice was beautiful, but I couldn’t understand why she was repeating “battleaxe” over and over again. The song was At Last.
  

• In 10th grade Laura Saffioti gave me Etta James’ greatest hits for Valentine’s Day. She just understands, she explained, sitting on the dirty carpet of the theater building lobby, looking out on The Wall, where the objects of our affection wore wallet chains and pushed their greasy hair out of their eyes.

• I moved across the country and into my first apartment after college graduation. It was essentially a barn with no kitchen, 20 foot ceilings, and no door to the bathroom. It did, however, have a blue clawfoot bathtub. I would get home from a long day of feeling entirely inadequate and put I’d Rather Go Blind on loop while sitting in the tub. She always understood.

(Source: coketalk)