The Lady Ms. Vagina Jenkins

20th January 2012

Post with 12 notes

Rest, Child, rest. Thoughts on Etta James

“Don’t bring me posies, when it’s shoes I need!”

My first burlesque name was Mocha James. Part obligatory confectionary name appropriate for black girls, part homage to Ms. Etta James.

Jamesetta Hawkins was born in Los Angeles and grew up hard.  Hard in all the ways it’s hard to be a black, poor and woman in this country.  I’ll let you read all the biographical news articles and her own memoir “Rage to Survive.”  But you could hear how hard in her voice.

I discovered Etta James some time in my high school years. My rebellion to my mother’s constantly updated collection of black pop music was to dig deeper in the crates until I found something that looked the opposite of Kool Moe Dee/Whitney Houston/Keith Sweat.

And I found Ms. Etta.

I found her wailing and moaning and sounding like church in a way that didn’t make me feel anxious and guilty.

I kept holding on to her.  When the kids at school refused to sit next to me (at all, anywhere) because of my “B.O.” I was “Tough Mary.”

When I had my first boyfriend and he would fly off the handle with jealousy and rage I’d say “Trust in Me.”

I never got invited to the house parties, but I’d put on “Down in the Basement” and pretend I was grinding on somebody sweaty under a red light and I was happy.

I had my first crushing depression at 16. A little fog that turned into a massive black cloud that just would.not.let.go for 2 years. I cried. A lot. I slept even more. I cut myself and I played “Feeling Uneasy and “All I cCould Do Was Cry” on repeat for as long as I could at night while my mom was at work.

I made it through.

And then again at 20, and again at 23, and again now.

And I know I’ll make it throug again. Cuz I’m a fighter and I know tis and I can do this.

Etta James’ “Sunday Kind of Love” was the first song I ever stripped to. At the Michigan Womyn’s music festival on a chilly August Sunday night.  And I started to come out.

Coming out, for me,meant less about talking to every damned body who would listen about who I was fucking. And more about living like ME. Who I knew I really was. ALL THE TIME.  I couldn’t pretend I wanted to go to grad school and become a professor (though I still tell that lie when I meet painfully judgemental folk that I need to escape.) I couldn’t pretend that I wanted to be “normal.”

I grew up hard, too, Ms. James.  I’ve been “othered” nearly to death all my damned life.

When I made the choice to come out, to start living my truth. I couldn’t help but bring you with me, Ms. Etta.

I had you with me in my heart and I still was hungry for more.

You were everywhere. You made that album with my favorite band, The Roots.  When I read about my femme icons they always referenced you.  I can imagine you coming home from a hard tour, just wanting to soak your feet and finding Sylvester and a gang of ladybois rifling through your wigs and things!

I got to see you once live. At Chastain Park ampitheatre in Atlanta. The one time I got to see you perform and I’d like to say I didn’t let those snooty, rich white folks ruin it for me , but they got on my nerves. With their $50 bottles of wine and picnic baskets making dinner conversation while you were working, excuse me, WERKING!

But I tried reallyreallyreally hard not to let it get me down. I was there to see YOU, grrrl! And you kilt that shit! And I sang real loud and danced real hard and ignored all those folk shushing me and telling me to sit down, because it was an ETTA show!  And when you sang “Sugar On the Floor”  it made me cry even through the singing. Cuz I knew what you meant. And I felt it. And still feel it.

And I’m crying now just the same way I was then. Heavy, salty and quiet tears that feel like mourning and recognition all at the same time.

I’m heartbroken that I won’t see you again. But I’m so glad you made it safely to the other side. That you got to be at home with folk that love you (and look like you.)

This jaded agnostic is currently listening to “God’s Song (That’s Why I Love Mankind)”  and I’m happy imagining you channeling “Tough Mary” giving that SOB the what-for.

I love you so much Ms. Jamesetta Hawkins, Ms. Etta James, Ms. Peaches.  Thank you for sharing your gifts.  Thank you for being so present in my life.

http://youtu.be/sKfxqWgGRBQ  (God’s Song)

Tagged: bluesR&BqueerettajamesEtta JamesmourningRIPVaginaJenkins