Etta James and 'that look'

The songs were great, but I don't remember many of them. The voice was superb, but I can't say if it was as good as ever. There are some nights in life where you remember so much, and yet, remember so little. That's how I feel about the night Etta James performed at Public Square in Cleveland in 1996. James was special. Not just that night, but in general. She had a brilliant, powerful voice. And she used it to perform and record in all kinds of styles, from jazz to standards to blues. I wish I'd known all that the night I saw her perform. I wish I knew about her time working at the recording studios in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, or her practically magical renditions of songs like "Tell Mama." But when I saw her, all I knew was her classic performance of "At Last," a Mac Gordon/Harry Warren composition that she released in 1950. Trust me, you've heard it. James' version is up there with Frank Sinatra's "The Way You Look Tonight" and Aretha Franklin's "Respect" as one of the greatest recordings in the history of American popular music. She performed the song that night, but I don't remember much of that, either. But I remember the look. The look is what came back to me earlier this week, when I was driving home. Bob Dylan's got a show on XM radio, and one of the songs he played was "Only Time Will Tell" by Etta. And then, the look came back. On that night some 23 years ago, I was with my parents, my brother and my best friend. I was about 16. Etta had a personality. She joked with the crowd, and interacted with the screamers from the balcony of the small building. And then, during a performance, I noticed something. Etta James was looking right at me. And she kept looking at me. It was a diverse crowd that night. There were Blacks, whites, people of just about every age. Just about. As far as I could figure, my little group contained the only teenagers in the audience. And Etta had talked to the audience; I finally assumed — after almost 30 seconds — that she was going to say something to me. "What's this young kid doing at this show?" I imagined her saying. Maybe she'd invite me up to sing with her. Hey, I was 16. And I hold on desperately to my delusions of grandeur. They're my favorite kinds of delusions. Anyway, the one-way conversation (and potential performance) never came to pass. Etta James moved on. But I always have been grateful that we saw her that night. How many people my age can say that? Etta died in 2012. But appreciation for her music continues. As it should. She had a remarkable career. Three Grammys, countless hits. And for me, that look.