Etta James, RIP

I don't know if my introduction to Miss James was the below duet with Dr. John, or her amused growling of "Rock & Roll Music" in CHUCK BERRY: HAIL! HAIL! ROCK & ROLL, but "I'd Rather Be Blind" would be the far better introduction:

James' live album ROCKS THE HOUSE and her Chess-with-strings sides are great, but you couldn't feel the full force of Hurricane Jamesetta until she went to Muscle Shoals, where they knew how to record and mix a singer's heartbroken wailing right, for the TELL MAMA sessions. "Steal Away" is my favorite at the moment -- no one could make desperate neediness so palpable, much less attractive, as James could:

Here's hoping that Etta James can finally reconcile with her biological dad, Minnesota Fats, in the afterlife -- although I'm somewhat hoping there isn't an afterlife today, unless it's one where she can't see the legions of dipshits on Twitter who can only grasp her importance as being Beyonce's real-life character in CADILLAC RECORDS. I really shouldn't look at trending topics; they can only make me wish my Twitter account had a neck so that I could slowly strangle it to death after I have the stark reality that the average Twitter user has the cultural education of a basic-cable package and the memory retention of goldfish rubbed in my face yet again. Oh well, here's some more soul to cleanse the palette, pun intended:

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