“You can hear it in my music. It’s always been there. I had it when I was a little kid. I have it now. I’ve been racing, raging through life as long as I can remember. I’m not sure what the rage is all about—a restlessness, an anger when things are too calm or slow or boring, when people are phony, when too much is expected of me, or too little. I rage when I’m threatened, or when it seems like I’ve hit a dead end. My rage finds me a way out, a shortcut around the back alley, an escape hatch through the floor. Don’t get me wrong—in middle age, my rage is now nothing like it used to be. We all slow down. I like mellow people, and I can even enjoy a few mellow moments, but it doesn’t take much to get me going. I know myself; I’ll be raging in the old-age home.

It’s not easy to sort out that early rage—the places it took me, the people who were friends, freaks, foes. You could say I was crazy. I sure as hell wasn’t normal. But as I look back and follow my path from scene to scene—running around the country, looking to get over, building up some kind of name for myself, seeing everything there was to see, trying everything there was to try—I get dizzy. It all happened so fast.”

-Rage to Survive: The Etta James Story